tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89130098422358051932024-03-15T06:04:05.924-04:00The Wit And Weirdness Of Al Bruno IIIThe Binder Of Shame, Channel Ab3 And More!albruno3http://www.blogger.com/profile/01410254757982165309noreply@blogger.comBlogger6950125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8913009842235805193.post-80348145674471254452024-03-15T06:03:00.001-04:002024-03-15T06:03:33.965-04:00This is Channel Ab3 Episode Ten: Everything Must Go<iframe title="Libsyn Player" style="border: none" src="//html5-player.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/28573233/height/90/theme/custom/thumbnail/no/direction/forward/tdest_id/3973509/render-playlist/no/custom-color/87A93A/" height="90" width="100%" scrolling="no" allowfullscreen webkitallowfullscreen mozallowfullscreen oallowfullscreen msallowfullscreen></iframe><br /><p><em>The last remnants of a time-lost love are uncovered when I revisit a once-thriving mall to shop its final liquidation sale...<br /></em></p> <p><img src= "//assets.libsyn.com/show/465843/Everything_Must_hos.png" alt="" width="300" height="300" /></p> <p><a href="https://albruno3.blogspot.com/">'Everything Must Go' was written by Al Bruno III</a></p> <p><a href="https://www.castingcall.club/rallikat">It was produced and read by Kenneth Cooper</a></p> <p><a href= "https://www.amazon.com/stores/Adam-J-Thaxton/author/B004PIKAXU?ref=ap_rdr&store_ref=ap_rdr&isDramIntegrated=true&shoppingPortalEnabled=true"> Our unpaid scientific advisor is Adam J Thaxton</a></p> <p><a href="https://www.fiverr.com/rachelfwilliams">The Channel Ab3 theme was written and performed by Rachel F Williams</a></p> <p><a href= "https://www.fiverr.com/kitsunekei1?source=gig_page">Channel Ab3 logo was designed by Antonio G </a></p> <p>Are you enjoying the show?</p> <p><a href="https://www.patreon.com/ChannelAb3">Become a recurring subscriber.</a></p> <p><a href= "https://www.paypal.com/donate/?business=SD7FDSV24SU48&no_recurring=0&currency_code=USD"> Or make a one-time donation!</a></p> <p>This is Channel Ab3 is distributed and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Sharealike 4.0 International License</p> <br /><p><a target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" href="https://directory.libsyn.com/episode/index/id/28573233/tdest_id/3973509">Check out this episode!</a></p>albruno3http://www.blogger.com/profile/01410254757982165309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8913009842235805193.post-81588112206116652682024-03-15T05:00:00.002-04:002024-03-15T05:00:00.272-04:00MY SUITCASE OF MEMORIES: Everything Must Go<div style="text-align: center;"><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9UJdZlwHIEg2LjVpllnG12Q4QS7NauSw4yqP4aIojZWzwcL-g_70Gp37a1rdQjN7fUcFe7EjjwG52G9_qTwy3HLqgndYQuQZlJahVAbqfPla9n2iyrwV_ebaESixkJWdGGpquxKA6r1NJJGdHSn_lINVM9WCLtWvk6DhTaG0pXe2yhr4qKWfdjkn6L7__/s3000/Everything%20Must%20hos.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="3000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9UJdZlwHIEg2LjVpllnG12Q4QS7NauSw4yqP4aIojZWzwcL-g_70Gp37a1rdQjN7fUcFe7EjjwG52G9_qTwy3HLqgndYQuQZlJahVAbqfPla9n2iyrwV_ebaESixkJWdGGpquxKA6r1NJJGdHSn_lINVM9WCLtWvk6DhTaG0pXe2yhr4qKWfdjkn6L7__/w640-h640/Everything%20Must%20hos.png" width="640" /></a></span></div><p></p></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b>by<br />Al Bruno<br /></b></span></p></div><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /><b>Fall 2002</b><br /><br />It was not a physical decay that had rotted Mountainview Mall away from the inside but an economic one. The stores had bled away bit by bit. Some had been small businesses that never stood a chance, like a store that sold nothing but products made in Switzerland. Others had been casualties of changing tastes and fashions.<br /><br />Losses like that could be dealt with, but when the mall's McDonald's closed down, it was the beginning of the end. I was there for a liquidation sale for a big box electronics store that had been placed there in hopes of reviving customer traffic. The plan had failed, and now this store was the only business left. Everything else was just empty windows and boarded-up doorways. I wasn't there to buy anything but would bring something away with me nonetheless.<br /><br />Bargain hunters like me entered the mostly defunct electronics store through the front door, but there was another door to be found. It was at the back, near the nearly empty video department. All left there now was a handful of Playboy features and cheaply produced Disney direct-to-video movies. I doubt anyone would have the nerve to bring either video cassette to the sour-looking woman at the register. That second door was kept open to cool down the store, better than paying for air conditioning.<br /><br />It was easy enough for me to slip through those doors and wander into The mall's darkened interior. I could see the empty spaces that had been a Woolworth's, a restaurant, and Spencer's gifts. When I was a teenager, I had frittered so many hours and dollars away in this place.<br /><br />The mall's fountain had dried up long ago, the water turned off, the pennies and nickels snatched away. There was dirt and dust everywhere, as well as scraps of old paper and rat droppings, some dried and some fresh. The newspapers said that as soon as the electronics store was emptied, this mall would be knocked down, and a much more eye-pleasing shopping plaza would rise up from the ruins. There were even hushed and reverent whispers that a Target or Wal-Mart would be there.<br /><br />I wondered when that would be. I was thirty-six, and so many of my life's landmarks had disappeared or changed into something unrecognizable. I asked how much longer it would be before the wrecking ball came for this place. I didn't know, but I knew this would be my last chance to get what I had left behind.<br /><br />Despite the shadows and the grime, I found the spot easily. It was just an ordinary bench; I remember it faced a women's clothing store. The bench was chipped and lopsided. It creaked threateningly as I sat down. When I closed my eyes, I could remember the girl sitting beside me. The strawberry blonde, my first love.<br /><br />The sounds came first, the murmur of voices, the empty din of the piped-in music. I saw myself at sixteen years old, so awkward and forever feeling like I would never measure up to the world's expectations of me.<br /><br />I could tell you that my first love was as cute as a button, but that would be a lie because there wasn't a button made that could have held a candle to her. I remembered the white winter jacket she wore and the scent of her perfume. It was soft, gentle, and unique like her, and I never smelled it like it again. That day, we had been sitting side by side, joking and talking. That first kiss, my first kiss, happened so fast, and after that, nothing was ever the same again.<br /><br />Did we look ridiculous sitting there, making out in full view of the world? Probably, and I suppose more than a few people didn't approve, but no one tried to separate or shame us.<br /><br />Which is good because you couldn't have pried her from my embrace with a crowbar. I didn't want those kisses to end. I wanted them to go on forever.<br /><br />Impossible, I know, but when you're sixteen, time moves so slowly that forever seems easy.<br /><br />But there was no forever. There was just that moment, which had ended as surely as Mountainview Mall had become a faux-deco tomb. I opened my eyes, and I was thirty-six- definitely older but only maybe a little wiser. I have a wife, daughter, and an appalling number of pets waiting for me back home, and for all my mooning over the past and smartass remarks, I couldn't wait to see them.<br /><br />I savored that memory, hiding it away in my mind and my heart as I brought it with me. I was sure no one would mind one less ghost haunting a place like this.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNKHjtqn7AmYcWtAJ6eZMMhZzt5DNPiFRBL4JF0I_u4b7XQi_xYER_FHjZI3CA1uDI6GtPiLlZqTzhJ4bcCDBOwJ4VbCSUNfJtKIG8DasEE0aw8lO-XPdggtIZqCuhhn18Hf9RFGoTTMKGkIkJieP1H4mQgOXDlYvR6h-W2WfZ2-RmOhyXBlJyB65buw/s2000/0000BLOGCOL.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="2000" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNKHjtqn7AmYcWtAJ6eZMMhZzt5DNPiFRBL4JF0I_u4b7XQi_xYER_FHjZI3CA1uDI6GtPiLlZqTzhJ4bcCDBOwJ4VbCSUNfJtKIG8DasEE0aw8lO-XPdggtIZqCuhhn18Hf9RFGoTTMKGkIkJieP1H4mQgOXDlYvR6h-W2WfZ2-RmOhyXBlJyB65buw/w640-h512/0000BLOGCOL.jpg" width="640" /> </a></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span> </span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span><iframe title="Embed Player" style="border: medium;" src="https://play.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/28573233/height/192/theme/modern/size/large/thumbnail/yes/custom-color/000000/time-start/00:00:00/playlist-height/200/direction/backward/download/yes/font-color/FFFFFF" height="192" width="100%" scrolling="no" allowfullscreen="" webkitallowfullscreen="true" mozallowfullscreen="true" oallowfullscreen="true" msallowfullscreen="true"></iframe></span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span><br /></span></span></span></p></div>albruno3http://www.blogger.com/profile/01410254757982165309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8913009842235805193.post-20177239747186167932024-03-01T14:03:00.004-05:002024-03-01T14:03:27.929-05:00Listen to THIS IS CHANNEL AB3!<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0hyphenhyphenHQ3gtJvkO39TzvS0VSi44L6EoIbNgYFlGaPL9yPeyW46uhXTmII49BbE1zF637VkPx3es5nQun8Pgf_v7Jv7N56yBAI95a6Q6ZPHN9RqEVCtkceStnM2hlazbgG5lVAvTU0RKD_Gj6i3-lVaxZ4UrEO8n1GJ9vgrSCj6vVrQPmXH0dgleakoIW3dFP/s6912/TEMPLATE.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="6912" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0hyphenhyphenHQ3gtJvkO39TzvS0VSi44L6EoIbNgYFlGaPL9yPeyW46uhXTmII49BbE1zF637VkPx3es5nQun8Pgf_v7Jv7N56yBAI95a6Q6ZPHN9RqEVCtkceStnM2hlazbgG5lVAvTU0RKD_Gj6i3-lVaxZ4UrEO8n1GJ9vgrSCj6vVrQPmXH0dgleakoIW3dFP/w640-h320/TEMPLATE.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u>EPISODE ONE<br /></u></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u><iframe allowfullscreen="" height="192" mozallowfullscreen="true" msallowfullscreen="true" oallowfullscreen="true" scrolling="no" src="https://play.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/26706102/height/192/theme/modern/size/large/thumbnail/yes/custom-color/000000/time-start/00:00:00/playlist-height/200/direction/backward/download/yes/font-color/FFFFFF" style="border: medium;" title="Embed Player" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="100%"></iframe></u><br /></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u><br /></u></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u>EPISODE TWO<br /></u></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u><iframe allowfullscreen="" height="192" mozallowfullscreen="true" msallowfullscreen="true" oallowfullscreen="true" scrolling="no" src="https://play.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/26706264/height/192/theme/modern/size/large/thumbnail/yes/custom-color/000000/time-start/00:00:00/playlist-height/200/direction/backward/download/yes/font-color/FFFFFF" style="border: medium;" title="Embed Player" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="100%"></iframe></u></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u><br /></u></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u>EPISODE THREE</u></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u><iframe allowfullscreen="" height="192" mozallowfullscreen="true" msallowfullscreen="true" oallowfullscreen="true" scrolling="no" src="https://play.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/26706375/height/192/theme/modern/size/large/thumbnail/yes/custom-color/000000/time-start/00:00:00/playlist-height/200/direction/backward/download/yes/font-color/FFFFFF" style="border: medium;" title="Embed Player" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="100%"></iframe></u></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u><br /></u></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u>EPISODE FOUR<br /></u></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u><iframe allowfullscreen="" height="192" mozallowfullscreen="true" msallowfullscreen="true" oallowfullscreen="true" scrolling="no" src="https://play.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/26706642/height/192/theme/modern/size/large/thumbnail/yes/custom-color/000000/time-start/00:00:00/playlist-height/200/direction/backward/download/yes/font-color/FFFFFF" style="border: medium;" title="Embed Player" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="100%"></iframe></u></h3><h3 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u>EPISODE FIVE<br /></u></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u><iframe allowfullscreen="" height="192" mozallowfullscreen="true" msallowfullscreen="true" oallowfullscreen="true" scrolling="no" src="https://play.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/26708685/height/192/theme/modern/size/large/thumbnail/yes/custom-color/000000/time-start/00:00:00/playlist-height/200/direction/backward/download/yes/font-color/FFFFFF" style="border: medium;" title="Embed Player" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="100%"></iframe></u></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><br /></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u>EPISODE SIX<br /></u></h3><p><u><iframe allowfullscreen="" height="192" mozallowfullscreen="true" msallowfullscreen="true" oallowfullscreen="true" scrolling="no" src="https://play.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/26792829/height/192/theme/modern/size/large/thumbnail/yes/custom-color/000000/time-start/00:00:00/playlist-height/200/direction/backward/download/yes/font-color/FFFFFF" style="border: medium;" title="Embed Player" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="100%"></iframe></u><br /></p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u>EPISODE SEVEN<br /></u></h3><p><u><iframe allowfullscreen="" height="192" mozallowfullscreen="true" msallowfullscreen="true" oallowfullscreen="true" scrolling="no" src="https://play.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/26793147/height/192/theme/modern/size/large/thumbnail/yes/custom-color/000000/time-start/00:00:00/playlist-height/200/direction/backward/download/yes/font-color/FFFFFF" style="border: medium;" title="Embed Player" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="100%"></iframe></u><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span><br /></p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u>EPISODE EIGHT<br /></u></h3><p><u><iframe allowfullscreen="" height="192" mozallowfullscreen="true" msallowfullscreen="true" oallowfullscreen="true" scrolling="no" src="https://play.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/26793291/height/192/theme/modern/size/large/thumbnail/yes/custom-color/000000/time-start/00:00:00/playlist-height/200/direction/backward/download/yes/font-color/FFFFFF" style="border: medium;" title="Embed Player" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="100%"></iframe></u><br /><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u>EPISODE NINE<br /></u></h3><u><iframe allowfullscreen="" height="192" mozallowfullscreen="true" msallowfullscreen="true" oallowfullscreen="true" scrolling="no" src="https://play.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/26793351/height/192/theme/modern/size/large/thumbnail/yes/custom-color/000000/time-start/00:00:00/playlist-height/200/direction/backward/download/yes/font-color/FFFFFF" style="border: medium;" title="Embed Player" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="100%"></iframe></u><br /><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span><h3 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0xkm3S5qmJN7LolMQYa3YADPWhTIU8l-wIzQ9aWLKdseDCrbINe42wP85Feq-XQXDTmoqy8q280G6-LEYbnb1c9UiPzX6DjZ4Jof-SXo4v2f7RyWTQb5nqk0AKjfnxtv7S6xmLO7SAU45FXiRsZX1T5vI9wqJHPPP9qeMo084Tgtb3e-zNJtjuAVP9eno/s2000/Untitled%20design.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="2000" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0xkm3S5qmJN7LolMQYa3YADPWhTIU8l-wIzQ9aWLKdseDCrbINe42wP85Feq-XQXDTmoqy8q280G6-LEYbnb1c9UiPzX6DjZ4Jof-SXo4v2f7RyWTQb5nqk0AKjfnxtv7S6xmLO7SAU45FXiRsZX1T5vI9wqJHPPP9qeMo084Tgtb3e-zNJtjuAVP9eno/w640-h512/Untitled%20design.jpg" width="640" /></a></div></span></h3><p><br /></p>albruno3http://www.blogger.com/profile/01410254757982165309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8913009842235805193.post-55546149257642103462024-03-01T13:56:00.002-05:002024-03-01T13:58:08.807-05:00MY SUITCASE OF MEMORIES: A Little Something For Daddy<div><p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc7pUgPtrhT2D47yoOMIRhb9lXJGQh-W1WEO9W2waKx5Qx8kjJZwps9V1r-5dxAYb7hZu3eaNAr6QC3kIlGblAfCXrUTDfAA8Y2Fjv6PlXgi1QYUgAmge7YWNwZhkcG1hG0Cod3vjINGRgA59aYgL9GDXb9ysRdUR7P2o4BB5IbkqsPIP-scpG5fLBcaZP/s640/Suitcase%20of%20Memories(2).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc7pUgPtrhT2D47yoOMIRhb9lXJGQh-W1WEO9W2waKx5Qx8kjJZwps9V1r-5dxAYb7hZu3eaNAr6QC3kIlGblAfCXrUTDfAA8Y2Fjv6PlXgi1QYUgAmge7YWNwZhkcG1hG0Cod3vjINGRgA59aYgL9GDXb9ysRdUR7P2o4BB5IbkqsPIP-scpG5fLBcaZP/w640-h360/Suitcase%20of%20Memories(2).jpg" width="640" /></a></span></b></span></p><div align="center"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span">A Little Something For Daddy</span></b></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span">by</span></b></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span">Al Bruno III</span></b></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">2008</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> </span><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The
problem is that the local shopping mall has no bookstores and no place
that sells horror movies on DVD so when the Bruno family and I head out
there I find myself bored beyond reason or worse. Both my wife and
daughter get stuff on these trips but I never do, I mean I'm not greedy
but it would be nice to get a little something.<br /><br />The first thing
you notice as you walk into the mall is one of those crane games, you
know the kind where you try to free one of the twenty or so stuffed
animals crammed into the thing using a metal claw with the grip strength
of a geriatric on Quaaludes. My daughter is fascinated by these
machines and left to her own devices I think she would sacrifice her
entire college fund trying to win a misshapen replica of SpongeBob
Squarepants stuffed with shredded magazines and used Chinese diapers.<br /><br />This
time we managed to get away with simply sacrificing one or two dollars
but my daughter always voices some disappointment that I can never win
one of those things for her. Truth be told I never even try. It's one of
her uncles that has a real talent for those things, he can usually
empty one in the course of an hour but let's be honest here it's his
only marketable skill.<br /><br />That obstacle bypassed we stopped for a
bite to eat, the food court is clean, well lit and surprisingly rat
free. Laugh all you want but over a decade ago when I worked at one of
Albany's larger malls the food court had a real problem with rodents;
and these being New York rats they frequently carried switchblades.<br /><br />A
quick sodium filled meal later we made our first stop a ladieswear
store. I am not uncomfortable in such places because I spent a summer
working in women's clothing... but I never really learned how to walk in
high heels.<br /><br />Nyuck Nyuck.<br /><br />Most women's clothing stories
have chairs near the changing room for the men to sit in and contemplate
their lives of quiet desperation but I didn't get the chance to in one
of them because I was busy chasing after my daughter as she rummaged
through the spin racks full of beads and baubles near the main register.
She likes to try on everything- at once. My choice is not an easy one;
do I let my daughter have a good time or get a jump start on this
afternoon's tantrum? Eventually I give in to the withering gaze of the
clerk manning the register but not before my daughter looks like an
explosion at Cyndi Lauper's house.<br /><br />My wife called me over and asked for an opinion on a blouse.<br /><br />"Why don't you pick whatever one you like best?" I said.<br /><br />"Come on," the Missus chided me. "Your opinion matters. Do you prefer the blue or the yellow?"<br /><br />I paused for a moment considering, "The blue. Yes, the blue works best I think."<br /><br />The
Missus held each blouse up, nodding, "No. I don't think the blue goes
with any of my outfits. Yellow is more my color anyway."<br /><br />"I'm just glad I was able to help." I turned back to see my daughter trying to climb onto one of the shelving units.<br /><br />One
blouse, two pairs of slacks and an apology later we headed for another
store but this time it was so the Missus could find a new handbag. It
had been over three weeks since she'd changed purses and you could tell
that the strain of it was beginning to wear on her sanity. My daughter
started fussing that she wanted to go to look at toys so I had her stand
near the front of the store as a kind of impromptu time out. As my
daughter glared sullenly at the world the Missus remarked to me that she
couldn't find any purses that really caught her eye. I suggested that
she just use one of the older ones she had piled up in the hall closet.<br /><br />Once
I was out of time out we took my daughter to the toy store so she could
'Ooh' and 'Ah' over the bits of molded plastic. These days Hanna
Montana was her drug of choice but she was also starting to get into all
those other tweener bands. I couldn't stand the stuff. I mean what
happened to kids' music? When I was growing up we had real bands that
spoke for an entire generation like The Banana Splits, Jose and the
Pussycats and The Brady Kids.<br /><br />Laugh if you want but do you think the Jonas Brothers could survive being lost in outer space? I think not!<br /><br />The
Missus and I decided to let my daughter get a new doll, after all she
hadn't tried to disassemble the apartment's electrical system in almost a
week. Yeah she is kinda spoiled but I want to have these moments to
remember when she's a teenager and she hates my guts.<br /><br />The last
stop on this little excursion was the beauty salon. The girls wanted to
get their hair done and that was fine, except that I knew I would find
myself sitting there trying pass the time reading by Cosmo and Modern
Bride. The articles were kind of OK but all the perfume ads made me want
to sneeze.<br /><br />The hairdressers were all young and gossipy, the
salon was dead so my wife and daughter got immediate service. About
halfway through her rinse the Missus suggested, "You know there's no
other customer's why don't you get a haircut? You need one."<br /><br />She
was right that I did need a haircut, the sides and back were a ragged
mess but as always the top of my head looked like a satellite photograph
of the deforested areas of Brazil. Long ago all hopes of a comb-over
had been lost so I had taken to shaving my head on a semi-regular basis.
There is an old saying that when a balding man shaves his head its like
saying "You can't fire me I quit!" So be it.<br /><br />In the interests of
saving money I sheared my head using the clippers we had bought for
doing maintenance on our Persian cat's fluffy black fur. This was before
we learned that trying to shave down a cat was about as advisable as
opening a Fredrick's of Hollywood in Amish country.<br /><br />"Come on." The Missus said again, "This way I won't be cleaning hair out of the bathroom sink for days."<br /><br />"Sure." I said, "Why not?"<br /><br />"Hi I'm Kara." A red haired Chinese girl led me to one of the chairs and asked, "You want me to trim the sides and the back?"<br /><br />"No." I explained, "Just shave it all off."<br /><br />"What?" She draped the vinyl cape over me and around my neck.<br /><br />"Just take a pair of clippers and shear my head down until its like a GI JOE doll."<br /><br />She looked at me like I was crazy, "You want your hair like an action figure?"<br /><br />There
was a brief moment where I sobbed with the realization of how old I was
but then I gathered myself up again and explained, "Just take a pair of
clippers and take it all off maybe leave half and inch or so."<br /><br />"Oh OK."<br /><br />"You have done this kind of thing before right?" I asked.<br /><br />"Well your only my third or fourth customer since I got out of beauty school." She explained.<br /><br />The clippers buzzed to life, I took one last mournful look at the curves of my ears and she got to work.<br /><br />Thankfully
my beautician's hands were steady and the blades of the clippers were
clean and sharp.Soon enough my head looked like a farm fresh egg with a
light coating of brown mold. "There you go." She ran her fingers along
my scalp, "It feels nice."<br /><br />"Thanks." I said uncertainly, "You do good work."<br /><br />"Hey Kristy! Kitty!" She called over to one of the other girls, "Come here and feel this!"<br /><br />My
wife and daughter were freshly coiffured and waiting at the register
while three college aged hotties took turns rubbing the top of my head
telling me how much I looked like that Private Pyle guy from that old
movie. However it didn't take long for their amusement to wear off and
they all headed off for a collective cigarette break. Kara pulled the
cutting cape from around me and announced, "Ok you can get up now."<br /><br />"No," I said, "No I can't."<br /><br />A little something indeed.</span></div>albruno3http://www.blogger.com/profile/01410254757982165309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8913009842235805193.post-4055847823181286472024-03-01T12:55:00.005-05:002024-03-01T13:14:47.166-05:00MY SUITCASE OF MEMORIES: Fully Employed But Half Awake<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc7pUgPtrhT2D47yoOMIRhb9lXJGQh-W1WEO9W2waKx5Qx8kjJZwps9V1r-5dxAYb7hZu3eaNAr6QC3kIlGblAfCXrUTDfAA8Y2Fjv6PlXgi1QYUgAmge7YWNwZhkcG1hG0Cod3vjINGRgA59aYgL9GDXb9ysRdUR7P2o4BB5IbkqsPIP-scpG5fLBcaZP/s640/Suitcase%20of%20Memories(2).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc7pUgPtrhT2D47yoOMIRhb9lXJGQh-W1WEO9W2waKx5Qx8kjJZwps9V1r-5dxAYb7hZu3eaNAr6QC3kIlGblAfCXrUTDfAA8Y2Fjv6PlXgi1QYUgAmge7YWNwZhkcG1hG0Cod3vjINGRgA59aYgL9GDXb9ysRdUR7P2o4BB5IbkqsPIP-scpG5fLBcaZP/w640-h360/Suitcase%20of%20Memories(2).jpg" width="640" /></a></span></b></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b> <br /></b></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>Fully Employed But Half Awake</b></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>by</b></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>Al Bruno III</b></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b> </b></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">2009</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">This is not simply a blog entry, oh no.<br /><br />This is part of today's struggle a delaying tactic if you will.<br /><br />I am still at work and about to fall asleep at my desk.<br /><br /><i> mmmmmmm... sleep....</i><br /><br />It
wasn't that I stayed up to late, I am nothing if not responsible. It's
just that I was awoken by the sensation of my face being furiously
licked and sadly the culprit was not Jessica Alba or Judge Marilyn
Milian but my big eyed dog Jake. I patted Jake on the head and ushered
him away. Then I tried to get back to sleep but it was no use, I had
been awoken. I checked the clock radio, it was three AM. I groaned
audibly and pounded my fist against the mattress. The minor commotion
disturbed my wife and half-awake she grumbled "You're supposed to do
that in your office."<br /><br />Awkward.<br /><br />So now here I am, struggling to stay conscious as the workday ticks by slowly... numbingly... soothingly... so soothingly...<br /><br /><i> just a few minutes... I'll just close my eyes for a few minutes...</i><br /><br />But
no! I can't do that. That's the trap, I know that if I close my eyes
for what I promise yourself will just be a moment the next thing I know
I'll find myself waking up from lying face first on my keyboard, my face
slicked with my own drool. I drool a lot when I sleep, I drool like
Paris Hilton at a rich douchebag convention. Besides I know the minute I
nod off my boss or any number of corporate underlings will come
wandering into my cubicle for one reason or another.<br /><br />So I sit here typing away, pausing only for the occasional blackou-<br /><br /><br /><i> mustn't... black... out...</i><br /><br /><i>...or steal dialogue from Frank Miller comic books.</i><br /><br />I'm
no stranger to falling asleep at work, it doesn't matter what the job I
had I feel asleep there at least once. I once fell asleep while manning
a cash register in the middle of an afternoon rush. All I know is that I
started to get drowsy at 1:30 and the next thing I knew it was 2:45- I
still have no idea what happened during that missing hour and fifteen
minutes but oddly enough my cash drawer was perfectly even that day. I
rare occurrence for me.<br /><br />When I worked in an office supply store I
would frequently drowse off in an office furniture display while
'straightening it'- I guess it was kind of practice for now eh kids?<br /><br /><i>and my dreams, brief and disturbing... am at home dreaming of my job or at my job dreaming of home?</i><br /><br />And
I really do dream of work an awful lot really, maybe that's why I'm so
comfortable sleeping here. Maybe its just getting even, maybe its just a
sign of old but where I once dreamed I was a character in a
particularly Freudian episode of <i>Doctor Who</i> or <i> the X-Files</i>
I now dream that I'm on a quest to figure out where the latest
productivity meeting is. Where I once dreamed of banging away on Cindy
Crawford or Angela Lansbury I now find my dream self trying to bang a
toner cartridge into a dirty photocopier- a dirty dirty photocopier.
Where I once dreamed I was a long haired Adonis I now dream that I am a
long haired Adonis with a clip on tie.<br /><br /><i> why is it the more
tired I get the more offensive and surreal my material gets, like a tiny
Nazi riding on a mule wearing a spangled turban...</i><br /><br />It is
an amazing and cruel thing to be perfectly awake at 3 AM watching
infomercials and dead to the world at 3PM when you are supposed to be
enhancing shareholder value. I try to give my energy a boost by having
sugary snack, there are no shortage of sugary snacks around my
workplace. I believe it is an insidious plan by my corporate masters to
make us too bloated to leave our cubicles. I can almost see my future
self so bloated that he cannot move from his ergonomic chair, kept alive
and working via a company that pays us in insulin. Of course we will
passing the savings on to our customers.<br /><br /><i> barely awake now... dreaming of Nutty Buddy bars... </i><br /><br />I
promise myself that when I get home I'll go straight to bed but that's a
lie; dogs need to be walked, then re-walked, my daughter needs to be
made to do her homework - reason is rarely effective , the threat of
waterboarding has been a rousing success, my wife will most likely yell
at me for gently mocking her on the Internet. And really I shouldn't
mock her because of all the women I have made love to she is the only
one that never shouted <b>"What the HELL are you doing?"</b><br /><br />Oh yeah. She's a keeper.<br /><br />My
daughter's homework is a major stumbling block as well, I don't
remember my homework being quite so intricate when I was nine years old.
Then again I did have to take my classes in the boiler room with the
other 'creative' students. Now once my daughter gets focused she does
great but getting her to that point seems to take a long exhausting
time. Before I know it it's 8:30 and time to take out the garbage and
maybe clean the catbox, sure it might make more sense to do those chores
in reverse but that's just not how I roll.<br /><br />Before I can go to
bed however I first spend some time with the missus then try to add a
write a few pages. It could be anything, my blog, my writing, my ever
growing enemies list.<br /><br />You bastards know who you are.<br /><br />Then I
go to bed but I know I won't make it through the night, something will
wake me up at 3 AM even if it is the sound of my own snoring. <br /><br /><i>waking up now ...I can think again...</i><br /><br />Well I managed to stay awake, the brain activity involved in working on this little project is just what I needed.<br /><br />Of course now that you're read this there is a good chance I've put YOU to sleep.
</span></span></p>albruno3http://www.blogger.com/profile/01410254757982165309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8913009842235805193.post-14440150605168675042024-03-01T06:00:00.021-05:002024-03-01T11:45:27.474-05:00HIGH ADVENTURE AND LOW HUMOR: L'amour Looks Something Like You <p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigbWs1H8OqIsLgCk5lIk2tjf8dxPJD9ZavuHtv0o1egBKmic4oPJWpcFTOT_XK7CdKmm-9b_Opx-yfj1p_7aOVor37bcYvVM3B_hQtL1Tp8_K0GUkmjt41WS8SPVqPLiPgtp66NpHML6sCUyQltwB2HraRhExQ3Q1FjGlp1VNRU46b7NXOVrdKIMInEfwg/s1080/lamour(2).png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigbWs1H8OqIsLgCk5lIk2tjf8dxPJD9ZavuHtv0o1egBKmic4oPJWpcFTOT_XK7CdKmm-9b_Opx-yfj1p_7aOVor37bcYvVM3B_hQtL1Tp8_K0GUkmjt41WS8SPVqPLiPgtp66NpHML6sCUyQltwB2HraRhExQ3Q1FjGlp1VNRU46b7NXOVrdKIMInEfwg/w640-h640/lamour(2).png" width="640" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b><span><span><span>by</span></span></span></b></span><br /></div><div><p></p><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column"><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b><span><span><span>
Al Bruno III </span></span></span></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b><span><span><span> <br /></span></span></span></b></span></p><p>
</p><p>
</p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span>The bed was too small, the room was too warm and her
clothes were too tight but in a matter of moments one of
those problems would be solved for her. Kate felt his
hands snake up along her back and take hold of the
zipper on the back of her black dress.
</span></span></span></p><p>
</p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span>She couldn’t believe she was doing this! He was half her
age, half her age and b</span><span>eautiful. He still lived with his parents but he was
undressing her like an old pro.
</span></span></span>
</p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span>The dress fell away and Kate felt a flush of uncertainty,
these weren’t the perky breasts of a college hottie, these
weren’t the hips of a girl flush with the promise of youth.
Her shape was still lovely enough to catch a man’s eye
but she knew her body had been marked by the passage
of time; there were stretch marks and a tattoo that
had seemed like such a good idea at the time.
</span></span></span></p><p>
</p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span>What would she do if he flinched away from the sight of
her? She would die, she would just die.
</span></span></span></p><p>
</p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span>He didn’t look away and a little smile pulled at the
corners of his mouth, an appreciative smile. Then he was
pulling her close and closer still.
</span></span></span></p><p>
</p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span>There was stubble on his chin, his breath smelled like
gum and his kisses were like candy. His name was
</span></span></span></p><p>
</p></div><p>
</p></div><p>
</p><p>
</p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></p><div class="page" style="text-align: left;" title="Page 2"><p>
</p><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><p>
</p><div class="layoutArea"><p>
</p><div class="column"><p>
</p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span>Robbie. He was a valet and he had flirted with her as she
dropped off her car and headed into the grand old hotel
for the wedding reception. She was sure he gave the eye
to all the middle aged broads that crossed his path, but
he’d walked off the job to be with her hadn't he? Walked
off the job with a breezy laugh of “They won't fire me.”
</span></span></span></p><p>
</p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span>What was it her old friend Debbie had said about cougars
and cubs? Debbie was always one for smutty little
remarks. She’d even made them when she was in
hospice, trying to make the orderlies blush while she’s
still had the strength to speak.
</span></span></span></p><p>
</p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span>What would Debbie say if she could see her now?
</span></span></span></p><p>
</p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span>Robbie had stripped Kate down to her plain cotton
underwear. The panties of a woman with no expectations.
His touch skirted the old scar that marked the place
where the doctors had gone in to remove her cancerous
womb. Did he know what that scar meant? Or was he too
busy kissing just below her navel and working his way
down?
</span></span></span></p><p>
</p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span>In spite of everything Kate giggled when those kisses
reached their goal and he made himself busy. No one had
done that in a while!
</span></span></span></p><p>
</p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span>Or with such thoroughness.
</span></span></span></p><p>
</p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span>It had been the wedding of a daughter of an old
acquaintance, someone she had lost touch with since
college and then found again thanks to the dubious
miracle of Facebook. Kate decided to go on a whim,
thinking it might be fun to see her old home town again.
To see what had changed and what hadn’t. Maybe she
would even rekindle an old friendship or two.
</span></span></span></p><p>
</p></div><p>
</p></div><p>
</p></div><p>
</p></div><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></p><div class="page" style="text-align: left;" title="Page 3"><p>
</p><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><p>
</p><div class="layoutArea"><p>
</p><div class="column"><p>
</p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span>She had avoided the actual ceremony however, wedding
ceremonies left a bad taste in her mouth. She had been
burned twice and that was enough, the only thing more
expensive than her weddings had been her divorces.
</span></span></span></p><p>
</p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span>Now it was her turn to undress him. The terrain of his
body was familiar but there were surprises. A pierced
nipple, washboard abs and he was more than a handful in
all the right places; and he was ready to go! No purple
pills and pregnant pauses here.
</span></span></span></p><p>
</p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span>Pregnant.
</span></span></span></p><p>
</p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span>There was a word she didn’t like crossing her mind.
Especially considering what she had lost at such a young
age, even more so when she realized who else was at the
reception.
</span></span></span></p><p>
</p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span>Of course she should have guessed. Hadn’t the invitation
come from an old and mutual friend? Kate was civil
enough when Scott her old fiancee called out her name
and told her it was long time no see. He hugged her in a
way that showed he still didn’t have the slightest idea
how much he had hurt her way back when.
</span></span></span></p><p>
</p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span>He had smiled and told her she hadn’t changed a bit. He
bragged that he was the manager of this hotel and he
had charged the bride’s family half price for the affair.
Then he had introduced his wife and offered to show her
his wallet full of kids. The need for those kids was the
reason he had left her within months after the
hysterectomy.
</span></span></span></p><p>
</p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span>It was a clumsy move but she had excused herself by
pretending her cell phone was on vibrate and there was
an important call coming in. She made a show of talking
</span></span></span></p><p>
</p></div><p>
</p></div><p>
</p></div><p>
</p></div><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span><p>
</p><p>
</p><p>
</p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span>to someone that wasn't there and made as dignified a
run for the exit as she could.
</span></span></span></p><p>
</p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span>She hadn’t even known that she was crying until the
handsome valet had asked her if she was all right. This
was not the distracted concern of a well- trained
employee but the tentative reaching out of a would-be
friend. Ordinarily she would never have gone off with
some stranger but Kate already felt like she knew him.
</span></span></span></p><p>
</p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span>It had been good to have someone to talk to, better than
good, they found a booth in a little diner and talked for
hours.
</span></span></span></p><p>
</p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span>Then he brought her home sneaking her into the house
like they were a pair of horny teenagers. With the door
closed behind them there hadn’t been the need for small
talk.
</span></span></span></p><p>
</p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span>And now here she was holding him while he made love to
her, running her nails along his wide back until he
shivered. When she climaxed she cried out blissfully,
carelessly.
</span></span></span></p><p>
</p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span>That cry brought Robbie's parents running into the room.
Covering herself quickly Kate said the only thing she
could think of, “Hi Scott, long time no see!"</span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span></span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNKHjtqn7AmYcWtAJ6eZMMhZzt5DNPiFRBL4JF0I_u4b7XQi_xYER_FHjZI3CA1uDI6GtPiLlZqTzhJ4bcCDBOwJ4VbCSUNfJtKIG8DasEE0aw8lO-XPdggtIZqCuhhn18Hf9RFGoTTMKGkIkJieP1H4mQgOXDlYvR6h-W2WfZ2-RmOhyXBlJyB65buw/s2000/0000BLOGCOL.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="2000" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNKHjtqn7AmYcWtAJ6eZMMhZzt5DNPiFRBL4JF0I_u4b7XQi_xYER_FHjZI3CA1uDI6GtPiLlZqTzhJ4bcCDBOwJ4VbCSUNfJtKIG8DasEE0aw8lO-XPdggtIZqCuhhn18Hf9RFGoTTMKGkIkJieP1H4mQgOXDlYvR6h-W2WfZ2-RmOhyXBlJyB65buw/w640-h512/0000BLOGCOL.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></span></span></div><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span></span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span> </span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" height="192" mozallowfullscreen="true" msallowfullscreen="true" oallowfullscreen="true" scrolling="no" src="https://play.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/26793351/height/192/theme/modern/size/large/thumbnail/yes/custom-color/000000/time-start/00:00:00/playlist-height/200/direction/backward/download/yes/font-color/FFFFFF" style="border: medium;" title="Embed Player" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="100%"></iframe></span><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span><span> </span></span></span></p></div>albruno3http://www.blogger.com/profile/01410254757982165309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8913009842235805193.post-73156146561557001202024-03-01T04:07:00.001-05:002024-03-01T04:07:01.810-05:00This is Channel Ab3 Episode Nine: L'amour Looks Something Like You<iframe title="Libsyn Player" style="border: none" src="//html5-player.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/26793351/height/90/theme/custom/thumbnail/no/direction/forward/tdest_id/3973509/render-playlist/no/custom-color/87A93A/" height="90" width="100%" scrolling="no" allowfullscreen webkitallowfullscreen mozallowfullscreen oallowfullscreen msallowfullscreen></iframe><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> <span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><em>A middle-aged woman takes a chance on a handsome young valet.</em></span></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> <span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><img src= "//assets.libsyn.com/show/465843/lamour2.png" alt="" width="374" height="374" /> </span></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> <span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /> <a href= "https://albruno3.blogspot.com/2022/07/my-fiction-lamour-looks-something-like.html"> 'Lamour Looks Something Like You' was written by Al Bruno III</a></span></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> <p><a href="https://www.fiverr.com/linneas88">It was read and produced by <span class="">Linnea</span></a></p> <p><a href= "https://pixabay.com/music/modern-jazz-moment-14023/">This episode's music was 'Moment' by Serge Quadrado</a></p> <p><a href= "https://www.amazon.com/stores/Adam-J-Thaxton/author/B004PIKAXU?ref=ap_rdr&store_ref=ap_rdr&isDramIntegrated=true&shoppingPortalEnabled=true"> Our unpaid scientific advisor is Adam J Thaxton</a></p> <p><a href="https://www.fiverr.com/rachelfwilliams">The Channel Ab3 theme was written and performed by Rachel F Williams</a></p> <p><a href= "https://www.fiverr.com/kitsunekei1?source=gig_page">Channel Ab3 logo was designed by Antonio G </a></p> <p>Are you enjoying the show?</p> <p><a href="https://www.patreon.com/ChannelAb3">Become a recurring subscriber.</a></p> <p><a href= "https://www.paypal.com/donate/?business=SD7FDSV24SU48&no_recurring=0&currency_code=USD"> Or make a one-time donation!</a></p> <p>Are you in the market to sell your home, find a new home, or just explore real estate investment opportunities? <a href= "https://albertbruno.kw.com/">Don't hesitate to get in touch with me!</a></p> <p>This is Channel Ab3 is distributed and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Share Alike 4.0 International License</p> </div> <br /><p><a target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" href="https://directory.libsyn.com/episode/index/id/26793351/tdest_id/3973509">Check out this episode!</a></p>albruno3http://www.blogger.com/profile/01410254757982165309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8913009842235805193.post-66636172359492411132024-02-26T14:33:00.005-05:002024-03-01T13:01:58.241-05:00MY SUITCASE OF MEMORIES: Where Is Harry?<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc7pUgPtrhT2D47yoOMIRhb9lXJGQh-W1WEO9W2waKx5Qx8kjJZwps9V1r-5dxAYb7hZu3eaNAr6QC3kIlGblAfCXrUTDfAA8Y2Fjv6PlXgi1QYUgAmge7YWNwZhkcG1hG0Cod3vjINGRgA59aYgL9GDXb9ysRdUR7P2o4BB5IbkqsPIP-scpG5fLBcaZP/s640/Suitcase%20of%20Memories(2).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc7pUgPtrhT2D47yoOMIRhb9lXJGQh-W1WEO9W2waKx5Qx8kjJZwps9V1r-5dxAYb7hZu3eaNAr6QC3kIlGblAfCXrUTDfAA8Y2Fjv6PlXgi1QYUgAmge7YWNwZhkcG1hG0Cod3vjINGRgA59aYgL9GDXb9ysRdUR7P2o4BB5IbkqsPIP-scpG5fLBcaZP/w640-h360/Suitcase%20of%20Memories(2).jpg" width="640" /></a></div></span></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b><span>WHERE IS HARRY?</span></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b><span>by</span></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b><span>Al Bruno</span></b></span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><b><span><br /></span></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">1989</span><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />On this rainy day, I found myself at Guido's place. He was running another game of Dungeons & Dragons. For those of you unfamiliar with Dungeons & Dragons, the best way to explain it is to imagine a Fantasy Football league crossed with the Lord of the Rings trilogy with all the arguments of a game of Monopoly added in for spice.<br /> <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">*</span><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /><i>So it came to pass that the dwarf, the elf, the ranger, and the wizard arrived at the ruins of the temple of Fructose, the High Lord of the Reverse Hobbits...</i><br /> <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">*<br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br />"Woah woah here," I interrupted by putting my thumb against my forehead and waggling my fingers, "Fructose? Where the Hell did you get that name."<br /> <br />"Research," Guido said as he looked up from the back of his soda bottle.<br /> <br />"You're not making this up as you're going along, aren't you?" Gordon asked as he copied my gesture.<br /> <br />"I'm offended."<br /> <br />"Hey guys!" a voice, "Hellraiser II is on!"<br /> <br />Guido turned in his seat, "Goddamnit Harry get back in here!"<br /> <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">*<br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /><i>The cries of ravens filled the air, and the ragged remains of previous adventuring parties littered the ground.<br /> <br />The three heroes started walking again, then doubled back to drag the near-comatose Wizard With No Name along with them. The doorway that led to the cursed inner chambers of Fructose the High's temple hung open but showed only darkness.<br /> <br />They stood there in silence for a time, especially the Wizard With No Name. Bruce spoke first, "We need to establish a marching order."<br /> <br />"The dwarf goes first," Chemlar snorted, "he's got the best Armor Class..."</i><br /> <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">*<br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br />"You know better than to break character without doing the hand sign," Guido said, "that will cost you 1000 experience points."<br /> <br />"No fucking way!" Daniel said, "And those hand signs are stupid."<br /> <br />"You want to lose another 1000 experience points?"<br /> <br />Daniel sighed with resignation and put his thumb against his forehead, "I think the dwarf should go first. He has the best armor class." His finger waggling was half-hearted at best<br /> <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">*<br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /><i>The four heroes marched into the ruined temple, tunnels had been carved into the walls. "These were made by Kobolds," Thad observed. His dwarven vision allowed him to see perfectly in the dark. There was nothing the shadowed tunnels could hide from him.<br /> <br />Bruce lit a torch, temporarily blinding the dwarf. The dwarf blundered backward into the wizard. The Wizard With No Name panicked and cast a magic missile down the Kobold tunnel.<br /> <br />Before the thief could stop laughing, dozens of Kobolds charged out of the mouth of the tunnel. The ranger cursed, the dwarf called upon Odin to guide his still-blinded eyes, and the thief tried to take cover. The wizard said, "Just a minute, I have to go to the bathroom..."</i><br /> <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">*<br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br />Everyone else immediately raised thumbs to their foreheads and started waggling away. Gordon said, "That's gonna cost you 1,000 experience points dude."<br /> <br />"Whatever," Harry shrugged as he stood.<br /> <br />"Should we just go on without him?" I asked once he was gone.<br /> <br />Guido shook his head, "Nope. This is a scenario designed with four players in mind."<br /> <br />"Designed?" I said, "You can't really expect me to believe you aren't making this up as you're going along."<br /> <br />"What are you talking about?"<br /> <br />"First - you're pulling the names out of your ass; otherwise, why would Princess Solo be asking us to travel to retrieve the Graven Eye of Timor from the temple of Fructose, the High Lord of the Reverse Hobbits?"<br /> <br />Guido said, "Sounds like a standard D&D campaign to me."<br /> <br />"Sadly, you're right."<br /> <br />Guido looked around, "Where the Hell is Harry?"<br /> <br />We took a vote and sent Daniel to the bathroom to find our fourth player. He wasn't there, a brief search revealed his car was gone<br /> <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">*<br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /><i>Undaunted by the wizard's strange disappearance, the three heroes engaged the kobold hordes in battle and made short work of them.the passageways of the temple ruins were becoming clogged with bodies. The dirt floor was swampy with kobold blood. <br /> <br />Chemlar the elf announced, "I see a glow up ahead."<br /> <br />The cries of yet another kobold war party filled the air. "Here we go again," the dwarf said.<br /> <br />The kobold horde drew closer, and the pale silver glow became brighter and brighter. "What are they carrying?" Bruce asked, "Lanterns?"<br /> <br />Chemlar narrowed his eyes, "They're too sharp-looking to be lanterns, and that glow is magical"<br /> <br />"Magical?" Thad croaked, "are those vorpal blades?"<br /> <br />Bruce staggered in shock, "One hundred and twenty kobolds wielding vorpal blades?"<br /> <br />The dwarf cast an angry glare to the heavens, "It is almost as though the very gods themselves are trying to kill us out of spite..."</i><br /> <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">*<br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br />Guido was happily rolling critical hits, "Ab3 your character loses his shield arm at the elbow and the elf loses both his ears."<br /> <br />"What?" Daniel held his forehead, "What's the point of playing an elf without pointy ears?"<br /> <br />"What did I miss?" Harry walked back into the room.<br /> <br />"Where the Hell were you?" we all asked.<br /> <br />"I went to get something to eat," Harry sat down and picked up his dice, "Let's kill something!"<br /> <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">*<br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /><i>And just when everything seemed lost the Wizard With No Name charged into the chamber. His exhausted and partially dismembered companions looked up at him. The kobold army paused, uncertain what to make of this new stranger.<br /> <br />The wizard paused dramatically, "Uhm I cast I cast FIREBALL!"<br /> <br />"A fireball?" The ranger shouted, "Did you read about the dangers of casting fireball in an enclosed chamber?"<br /> <br />"You fool!" the elf cried, "Even if I make my save, I don't have enough hit points to soak that kind of damage."<br /> <br />"Damnit!" the dwarf cursed, "You do not know how to roleplay."<br /> <br />In the half-second before the ruins of the temple of Fructose the High Lord of the Reverse Hobbits was consumed in a mushroom of mystical hellfire each of the heroes grabbed their chests with the pain of losing another thousand experience points...</i><br /><br /></span></div>albruno3http://www.blogger.com/profile/01410254757982165309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8913009842235805193.post-14231033532685190782024-02-25T08:58:00.001-05:002024-02-25T08:58:05.876-05:00MY SUITCASE OF MEMORIES: The Best Worst Day Of My Life<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5phL8XbUefAzlFaijQjKD6eLtF-4ks_mukeF8Nl7NSbcWJMSTW_ZDsqD6Kl4ONWnrUQhhAuKA5CwCTJZXjq6YoZnZZfrchmmHhnyQocHKBWvN44T1c6e7yJIC_1jSZcsxWXl_PzLkQ2c07R0U1U9UIvvsK6-9YBiCokofQruAjpa4uT9UetX1a44ebt76/s1080/BWD1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5phL8XbUefAzlFaijQjKD6eLtF-4ks_mukeF8Nl7NSbcWJMSTW_ZDsqD6Kl4ONWnrUQhhAuKA5CwCTJZXjq6YoZnZZfrchmmHhnyQocHKBWvN44T1c6e7yJIC_1jSZcsxWXl_PzLkQ2c07R0U1U9UIvvsK6-9YBiCokofQruAjpa4uT9UetX1a44ebt76/w640-h640/BWD1.png" width="640" /></a></div><b>by<br />Al Bruno III<br /></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Fall 1981<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br />Let me take you back to the nostalgically idealized decade of the 80's. The year 1981, to be precise. I was fifteen years old and about to begin the first day of my second time through the ninth grade. That's right, I failed the ninth grade. Let me share a little background so you'll understand how.<br /><br />From a young age, I spent more time reading and creating stories than hanging out with other kids. Constantly spending time with adults left me with a sense of humor and vocabulary about two grades ahead of the other kids. In other words, when I started kindergarten and started talking, the other students looked at me like I was from another planet. And a very loquacious and verbose planet at that, but still.<br /><br />Couple that with the problem of my Kindergarten teacher. She knew my Mom was divorced and believed that children of divorce had behavioral problems, so she actively campaigned to have me removed from her class, and when she couldn't make that happen, she treated me awful. One time, she grabbed me by the back of my hair and dragged me across the classroom; another time, she had all my classmates scold me for her. And let's not forget the time she threatened to pull strings and have Santa Claus skip my house. <br /><br />Charles Dickens had nothing on the Albany School System in the 1970s.<br /><br />But what does all this have to do with me failing ninth grade? Maybe everything, maybe nothing. All I know is that from age five, I was marked, by staff and students alike, as a loser, an outsider, a subversive element. What followed was ten-plus years of varying misery. Sure, sometimes I would get a teacher who delighted in my presence. Sometimes, I would find a friend out on the fringes of the playground, but the older I got, the less interested the school system became in dealing with bullying and the more interested the bullies became in kidney punches and sharp objects.<br /><br />Eighth grade was when it all got to be too much. I reached a point where I'd start feeling depressed and anxious on Saturday nights, knowing school was just one sleep away. So, at the end of that academic year, my parents—Mother, Father, and Stepfather—moved Heaven and Earth to get me into a fancy schmancy parochial school with strict academic standards and a stricter dress code. My family and I were convinced that this would be a chance to begin all over.<br /><br />What no one in my family or I seemed to realize is that an oddball outsider trying to escape his problems is still an oddball outsider. The scenery changed, but the story stayed the same. But by November, I found myself back in the familiar territory of being treated the way I had always been. Except now, instead of exasperating underpaid civil servants, I was exasperating members of the clergy. Instead of trying to protect my dental work from middle-class kids, I was being tormented by snotty rich kids who dutifully said the Lord's Prayer in Homeroom every day before heading out to pummel me in gym class.<br /><br />Despite all that, maybe things could have worked out; at the end of the second semester, some of the kids who had openly disliked me for most of the year started being genuinely nice. Unfortunately, I was done in by my own intellectual shortcomings. See, I wasn't a dumb kid, but I wasn't smart. I was clever.<br /><br />Clever enough to coast through the public school system with a solid B minus average but not smart enough to realize this simply would not fly with my fancy schmancy new school. I crashed and burned. I crashed and burned so hard that I set records that still stand decades later.<br /><br />In fact, I crashed and burned so hard that in August of 1981, my parents got a letter telling them I flunked out, not just out of the grade but right out of the school as well.<br /><br />It was a painful and valuable lesson, painful to my smug little ego and valuable to my parents because they had spent a minor fortune to see their son end up right back where he'd started- Walking through the big ugly doorway of Dirt Lake Junior High.<br /><br />No, that isn't really the name of the school. In fact, before we go further, I want to inform you that the names of every institution and person mentioned in this story have been changed so no one gets offended or confused. And while some characters and events may have been altered for dramatic effect, the heart of what I am telling you is true. As true as any memory can be anyway.<br /><br />I don't know how it worked with other school systems, but in Albany, the eighth and ninth-grade students were warehoused in an L-shaped structure that had all the charm of a Russian tenement house while the tenth to twelfth graders occupied the building across the street, that was larger, better equipped and looked like an actual high school.<br /><br />Familiar faces started noticing me as I walked through the building. On one hand, the teachers and administrators were looking at me with a mixture of amusement and pity; on the other hand were the students I had gone to school with for most of my life, who were now a year ahead of me.<br /><br />None of them said a word to me, nor did I say a thing to them. What would I have said anyway? "Hey, you remember me? The kid that said it would be a cold day in Hell before you ever saw him again?"<br /><br />Turns out it wasn't a cold day in Hell, in fact, that September morning was positively balmy. That morning in September, I felt humiliated, defeated, and hopeless.<br /><br />I spent the first ten minutes of the morning struggling with my locker. Despite years of practice, I always forgot how to use them over the summer. Was it left, right, then two turns to the left, or was it two turns to the right, then left? Sometimes, I suspected they changed the pattern every summer just to mess with us. <br /><br />WHAM! <br /><br />Suddenly, I was on the floor, seeing stars. Someone had come up from behind me and body-checked me into my locker. Who had done it? A jock? A stoner? A mean girl? A rogue hall monitor with something to prove? I never found out, but thanks to them, I stumbled into Homeroom with a padlock-shaped indentation on my forehead and a fresh new headache. I made it to my assigned seat just as the bell rang.<br /><br />Homeroom itself was a relatively quiet affair, except for the fact the teacher was the same Homeroom teacher I'd had from 1979 to 1980, and she freaked out a little at the sight of me. As I waited to be dismissed, I checked over my schedule. It was all basic high school freshman stuff except for the second to last class. I had taken an elective.<br /><br />Do they still have electives these days? Just in case they don't, please allow me to explain.<br /><br />Electives were these special classes that weren't reading, writing, arithmetic… gym… or industrial arts. Some of the classes covered home economics or different types of literature or typing. There was even a class on camping! Obviously, some classes were there to prepare us for the workplace or being a homemaker, and I'm sure that some of them probably rounded out a high school transcript very nicely. Other classes were a little useless.<br /><br />"I signed up for Drama, one of the useless classes. Why? Because I was convinced I was going to be either the next John Belushi or the next Frankenstein Monster. Hell, maybe both. My first-period class was math with Mr. Crok. Normally, the first day of class should be devoted to the teacher outlining what material would be covered and what his expectations for us would be. Mr. Crok, however, spent the first forty minutes of our relationship regaling us with stories of his experiences in the Vietnam War. Riveting stuff, to be sure, but what I really needed to know was what kind of school supplies my parents needed to buy, not how to properly arm a claymore in enemy territory.<br /><br />Speaking of enemy territory, the second period was gym class.<br /><br />Ah, gym class in the 1980s, one part Lord of the Flies, one part dodgeball with just a little bit of rope burn thrown in for good measure. It was here that I first crossed paths with the Terrible Trio - Chuckles, NoNeck, and Stabby. Chuckles, the son of a state trooper, was gifted with the looks of a college student and mild fascist tendencies. NoNeck was the jockiest jock in the ninth grade; he did track, he did football and he seemed to believe that basic human empathy was dangerously high in caloric content. And Stabby? Stabby was a ticking time bomb in so many ways.<br /><br />But more on him later someday, so much more.<br /><br />While the rest of the students in the class were plodding through a game of kickball, the Terrible Trio were sizing everyone up, deciding who might be worthy to join the ranks of their followers.<br /><br />It should be no surprise to any of you that I was not asked to be one of their followers. It should also be no surprise to you that the gym teacher did nothing when kickballs suddenly started flying at my head. But I wasn't alone in this spherical assault; there was another kid running for his life. He was skinny with white-blonde hair and tinted horn-rimmed glasses. Like any good nerd, he was also pale-skinned from lack of sunlight. Put it all together, and he looked kind of like an albino Roy Orbison.<br /><br />You people still know who Roy Orbison is, right? Just in case you don't go listen to him, your ears will thank me later.<br /><br />Anyway, after gym class, I introduced myself to the kid. "Hi," I said, "my name is Ab3."<br /><br />“I’m Guido,” he said, “Guido Jones. Are you new here?"<br /><br />I shrugged as we walked together into the hallway, "Yes and no."<br /><br />"Do you play D&D?"<br /><br />"I've got the books," I said, "I dabble."<br /><br />And by dabbling I meant that I spent many a lonely Saturday afternoon rolling up characters and then having them fight random encounters as they made their way across a randomly generated map. I'm not sure, but I might have invented open-world gaming years early.<br /><br />"You gonna be in AV Club?" He asked as we huffed and puffed our way up the stairs to the second floor.<br /><br />"What's AV club?"<br /><br />And in the precious few moments before English class, Guido explained that not only was AV Club a great way to escape the doldrums and occasional terrors of Study Hall, but it was also a great place to learn how to use film projectors, audio equipment, and the school's slowly growing collection of VCRs and Video Cameras.<br /><br />We promised to talk more later. <br /><br />It was obvious we had made a connection. We both knew we had found a kindred spirit, someone more interested in Action Comics than AFL football, someone who preferred curling up with a good book over physical activity., someone who knew what it felt like to weep at the end credits of the Empire Strikes Back.<br /><br />I made it to my next class in the nick of time. It was English class and was taught by a tiny and cranky woman by the name of Miss Lattrex. As she explained her plans for the first part of the semester, I realized I was going to have to study SE Hinton's The Outsiders all over again. My heart leaped because I realized that I still had the essay I wrote at my previous school somewhere in my room. It was a good one and had earned me a rare B minus.<br /><br />Was I going to rewrite it and hand it back in again in a few weeks? Hell yes!<br /><br />Stay Gold Miss Lattrex.<br /><br />Fourth period was social studies. To my complete lack of surprise and interest, I found out that we would be studying American History from Plymouth Rock to the Election of Ronald Reagan. Covering all that in two semesters may sound ambitious, but back in the 1980s, we really streamlined things by just focusing on white guys. Don't get me wrong, we would cover topics like women's suffrage and slavery, but just in the context of how they impacted white guys. <br /><br />And wouldn't you know it? This teacher assigned us homework, complete with chapters to read and questions to answer. For God's sake, it was the first day. Was nothing sacred?<br /><br />After that, it was lunch, and lunch that day was a square slice of pseudo-French Bread coated with sickly sweet tomato sauce and covered with a thick layer of processed cheese. Each serving of this treat they brazenly referred to as pizza was cooked to a state of being mouth-burningly hot on the outside yet slightly frosty on the inside.<br /><br />Carrying my tray, I navigated from the bustling kitchen to the cafeteria, desperately scanning the room for a safe haven. It was too early in the year for any of the factions to have staked out any territories. All I could do was make a wild guess and sit near the most average-looking kids I could. It was the social equivalent of playing Russian roulette but there with five bullets instead of one.<br /><br />I took a seat, offering polite nods to the guys on my right and the girls on my left. I didn't actually speak, I didn't dare, a Doctor Who reference or pun might fall out of my mouth and ruin everything.<br /><br />Yeah, maybe I would become known as a student of few words, the suave, silent type. Was this my chance to reinvent myself? Maybe I could become known as 'the Quiet Guy.' Maybe all the girls would become enamored with my aura of mystery. Maybe the yearbook would end up voting me Most Likely To Stare Meaningfully Into The Distance. Maybe-<br /><br />"Hey Kid!" The guys sitting across from me shouted, "Are you a VIRGIN?"<br /><br />Suddenly, everyone was looking at me. Suddenly, a hot blush was working its way across my face. And for the record, yes, I was a virgin at the time, but I don't believe that the guy who asked wasn't either.<br /><br />And that is what I should have said back. Why didn't I? Why didn't I bring his mother into it? Why didn't I insult his stupid face? Or his lousy Up With People t-shirt? Why in the name of God's green earth did the brain that had been getting me into trouble with snarky comebacks for over a decade suddenly choose that one moment to fail me?<br /><br />Guess what I actually said after a long and uncomfortable silence?<br /><br />"That's for me to know and you to find out."<br /><br />ARGH! Even now, four decades later, it still makes me cringe.<br /><br />Okay, enough. Let's go to fifth-period science class before this memory renders me catatonic. The curriculum was named Earth Sciences, and it covered every aspect of our natural environment, highlighting how profoundly our species had screwed it up. Sometimes, I would read through the materials given to us and lose myself in wonder at all the things that might kill me. Pesticides? Radiation? Biohazards? Truly, I say to you, my doomsday chalice runneth over. It was scary and sobering stuff, and I think it is a big reason why so many members of my generation abandoned the cold, unreasoning world of science for the gentle comfort of Internet conspiracy theories.<br /><br />For sixth period, I left the world of science behind and entered the one class I had been looking forward to: Drama Class! If my parents had realized I was going to waste a precious hour of my day prancing around on a stage, they would not have been happy. They had spent most of the summer trying to beg, order, and bribe me into promising to be 'more normal' this year.<br /><br />And as you folks can see, I tried to be normal all damn day. I tried! And what did it get me? Minor head injuries and major humiliations.<br /><br />Drama class was led by Mr. Ainley, who primarily taught twelfth-grade English, so I guess this was his elective too. Despite his calm demeanor, there was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. I think he recognized a kindred spirit in me, which meant he knew he was in for a rough ride.<br /><br />The thing about high school drama class is that there are two kinds of students there, attention seekers like yours truly and kids looking for an easy grade. Mr. Ainley understood that the best way to distinguish between the two groups was to invite each of us to share something about ourselves at the front of the class. And after a brief discussion of our syllabus (there wasn't one), that is just what he did.<br /><br />We went up in alphabetical order, and as my last name is the second letter of the alphabet, I got to go first. I didn't do an introduction; I did a stand-up routine. For over a minute, I rambled like Rodney Dangerfield on acid. I said things like I was born in a log cabin I built myself, and I had once tried to start a chicken farm, but I accidentally planted the chickens too close together.<br />My performance wasn't a complete disaster—some of the students laughed—but as my parents and so many teachers would ask, 'Were they laughing at me or with me?'<br /><br />My answer would always be, "Does it really matter?"<br /><br />The more they laughed, the more I continued; one minute became two. It was really obnoxious, but Fortunately, Mr. Ainley was among those laughing. He was even laughing as he shouted for me to stop talking and sit the Hell down.<br /><br />Next came the other students. First, there were the two girls who had been gossiping throughout the entire class. Then, there was the boy who apparently never washed his hair, followed by the wannabe jock. Finally, the band nerd who believed Western culture had died with Benny Goodman.<br /><br />Then SHE stepped to the front of the class.<br /><br />There are moments in everyone's life when their world changes utterly and completely, and that's what happened the moment I saw her bright blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair. Everything changed forever.<br /><br />Her name was Lilly Sunshine. Well, not really, but since I'm changing everyone else's name, I might as well change hers, too. I don't remember what she said that day, but I know I was hanging on every word. I watched her intently, my whole body tingling.<br /><br />When she was done, she went back to her seat. She took the long way so she could say to me, "I thought you were funny."<br /><br />And my brain exploded at a million miles an hour. I stared numbly at her and said something like, "Wasavusa vasa?"<br /><br />Smooth Ab3, really smooth.<br /><br />The final period was study hall, but I was in too much of a daze to study anything more than the clock. I spent the whole bus ride home thinking about her and also wondering why this girl had me so bedazzled. I mean, I always liked girls, even when I was at the age when boys were supposed to think girls were gross.<br /><br />On that note, here's an amusing story. Back in fourth grade, I used to tell the girls all about Harry Houdini and the amazing things he did. I claimed to know some of his escape artist tricks. Of course, they didn't believe me. So, during recess, I would dare them to get some jump ropes and tie me to the jungle gym. I know that's some pretty advanced perving for a ten-year-old. I guess I enjoyed those comics where Catwoman tied up Batman a little too much. Anyway, the teachers saw. I went to the office. My parents were called and I got a good talking to.<br /><br />Trust me, you haven't lived until you've been kink-shamed in the principal's office.<br /><br />Now, where was I? Ah yes, love at first sight. That's what it was, love at first sight. No, it was more than that. It was recognition, not a recognition in the sense that I knew her. It was a primal thing, mystical, spiritual, and fundamentally life-changing.<br /><br />Also, she turned me on. I mean, holy cow, fifteen-year-old boys are horny in general, but I was so riled up that I think I was abusing the privilege.<br /><br />About halfway through the bus ride home, a half-eaten apple came flying at my head. I ducked instinctively, but it bounced off the window and hit me on the side of the head. The bus erupted in laughter and jeering. My heart sank, my swelling went down, and suddenly, I remembered who I was. I was a loser and a dweeb, and guys like me never get the girl.<br /><br />Especially not a girl like her.<br /><br />The bus dropped me off right in front of my house. It was easier than dropping me off at the regular bus stop a block away with the other kids. When that happened, I would end up getting wedged and chased home. I had gone through a lot of waistbands back in 1979.<br /><br />My Mom was home taking care of my brother Monty and sister Mable; he was 11, and she was 10, so they got home an hour before I did. Because of that, they already had control of the TV. I didn't complain, I already had homework, and my parents were damned if I was going to fail another grade.<br /><br />I suppose I could have lied and said I didn't have any, I suppose I could have goofed off, but I was damned if I was going to fail another grade again, either.<br /><br />That was my intention anyway, but for an hour, I sat in my room pondering this humiliating day and shuddering at the thought of the next ten months.<br /><br />Then my thoughts turned to Lilly, and they stayed there. I couldn't stop thinking about her, even while staring intently at the opening chapter of my social studies textbook for over an hour. Maybe I didn't think girls were gross, but damn if they didn't think I was. In fact, ever since the Valentine's Day Incident of the third grade, I had resigned myself to the idea that, unless that one cute cousin of mine moved back to town, I would never have a girlfriend.<br /><br />But there I sat, considering how I might be able to get a date with a girl I had just met when, only a few nights before, I had been trying to decide from which country my inevitable mail-order bride would come.<br /><br />Obviously, I couldn't just come into school the next day and ask her out to the movies. I had to be patient, and I had to have a plan.<br /><br />I didn't hear it when my Mom called me for dinner, and she had to send my brother to get me. I didn't react to Monty's voice or presence either, and it must have worried him a little. He knew how much stress I was feeling because he didn't slap the back of my head nearly as hard as he would on a regular day.<br /><br />One fistfight later, I was at the dinner table. My stepfather immediately turned the conversation to our first day of school. Mable was very excited that her fifth-grade classroom had a hamster in it; she couldn't remember the teacher's name, but she knew everything about the hamster. Monty was excited that he had ended up in a classroom with all his friends from last year. He wasn't excited about having to write a short essay about his summer vacation. I can totally understand; how can you stretch out 'tormented my older brother' to three paragraphs?<br /><br />Then, all attention at the dinner table turned to me. My stepfather wanted to know if I was going to buckle down and fly right this year, which led to me questioning how I could buckle down and fly at the same time.<br /><br />My Mom brushed that little bit of sarcasm aside and cut right to the heart of the matter. "What did you learn in school today?"<br /><br />I paused thoughtfully, considering that it was just the first day, and the teachers typically didn't start real teaching until the second day. However, I had learned a lot. I had learned about the combat tactics of the Vietcong, I had learned that SE Hinton's full name was Susan Eloise Hinton, and I had learned what the AV Club was.<br /><br />All good stuff; however, I had learned something so much more valuable than that and couldn't wait to share it.<br /><br />"I met the girl I'm going to marry," I explained.<br /><br />"Her name is Lilly."<br /><br />The four other people sitting at the table, with ages ranging from thirty-two to ten, all groaned. My siblings mocked me; my mother told me I was far too young to worry about girls, and my stepfather scowled and said it didn't sound like I was buckled down at all.<br /><br />Well, the joke is on them. In the end, I did marry Lilly. It only took forty years for it to happen.<br /><br />I admit it took a little longer than expected, but then again, so did high school.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div>albruno3http://www.blogger.com/profile/01410254757982165309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8913009842235805193.post-78156160189219915102024-02-16T16:16:00.008-05:002024-02-16T18:21:35.235-05:00FRESH OFF THE BUS FROM CREEPYTOWN: Neighborhood Trash<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5pvbhoqOp8C7RZMYED35sY9YsFxFXjIx5D03iHh_QdfQGZuH5tVSPWPExIqobzYN2vdCtXQI0npsvvYMj26Y0YKaTl04nVtJhBTCOt5BG2HF6b_CR-Nbco25zlyAw24gKBdVS4Lv95oksLfmxSBxNj4Ome8wBHhgL3-WGLWJjENnVvo9gntj9PsE68tcs/s1080/NT.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5pvbhoqOp8C7RZMYED35sY9YsFxFXjIx5D03iHh_QdfQGZuH5tVSPWPExIqobzYN2vdCtXQI0npsvvYMj26Y0YKaTl04nVtJhBTCOt5BG2HF6b_CR-Nbco25zlyAw24gKBdVS4Lv95oksLfmxSBxNj4Ome8wBHhgL3-WGLWJjENnVvo9gntj9PsE68tcs/w640-h640/NT.png" width="640" /></a></div> <br /></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b>By</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b>Al Bruno III <br /></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b> </b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b> </b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b>Week One<br /></b></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> </span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> </span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">He woke to the sound of engines and the flashing of lights. Was it the police again? It seemed they got called to this godforsaken neighborhood every night. Rolling out of bed, Gabe walked to the front window and shifted the curtain aside just enough for him to peer outside.</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">The first thing he saw was the moving van pulled right up onto the sidewalk; its motor coughed and belched, and its hazard lights blinked mindlessly.</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">New neighbors</span></i><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">, he realized. Of course, he didn't remember the previous residents moving out, but that was a pretty common occurrence in this neighborhood, too, along with drunken arguments, drug deals, and missing children. The trash that had lived above Gabe had skipped out on their lease the day before Christmas. The speed and skill they'd employed to empty their belongings into the back of a pickup truck was almost dizzying.</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">The digital readout on the VCR told him it was a little after five in the morning. </span><i style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Who moves in at this hour on a Sunday?</span></i><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> Gabe wondered as he tried to see what the new arrivals looked like. The van's back doors were almost flush with the house across the street, so all he saw were shadows stepping from the back of the truck onto the darkened front porch.</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><b>Week Two</b></span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Tomorrow was garbage day, so Gabe dutifully dragged his two well-worn aluminum cans out to the curb. He hated those two dented husks of rusted metal, but he knew better than to purchase new ones. They tended to disappear on him. It was just that kind of neighborhood. Gabe looked up and down the block, at the dirty children screaming and running from yard to yard, at the washed-out-looking adults that sat out on their front steps smoking and drinking with their music turned up too loud. At the lawns that were either un-mowed or had half -junked cars parked on them.</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">It hadn't always been this way; he'd had a house in the suburbs, a wife, and kids, but they were long gone now, and he was trapped here. Trapped here by child support and payments on a house he was no longer allowed to live in. All he could afford for himself now was this, the bottom floor of a run-down two-story tenement.</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Gabe shook his head, trying to clear away the unpleasant thoughts; he knew where this would lead, where it always led- to him half-drunk at his kitchen table, glaring at the sheaf of divorce papers and restraining orders. He looked up at the house across the street; his new neighbors were bringing out their trash, including a ratty-looking old couch, a bureau, and a few armfuls of clothes.</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">They were a good-looking couple with white-blond hair and striking features. They looked like movie stars; Gabe wondered what had landed them here on this dead-end street. Had the Husband's drinking gotten him fired? Was the Wife spending cash as fast as the family made it?</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> Maybe,</span></i><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> he thought as he watched them maneuver a stained mattress out onto the curb. </span><i style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Maybe they just want to renovate the place. Maybe they think they can turn this neighborhood around. Good luck.</span></i></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">The Husband spied him watching them and offered a genial wave, "Afternoon."</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"Afternoon," Gabe called from across the street.</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">The Wife came out carrying a pair of dripping garbage bags. Her smile was dazzling. "We're remodeling," she said.</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"Good for you," Gabe said with a wave. He headed back into the house. They seemed like nice people but a little too chipper for his tastes.</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><b>Week Three</b></span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">It was raining and miserable, and Gabe had left his umbrella back at the office. Shivering and cold, he walked the four blocks from the bus stop to his apartment. The sidewalks here were as run down as everything else. The cracked pavement fostered wide puddles. With every step, his shoes and socks were more and more soaked; with every clammy, he tried to calculate how long it would be before he could afford another car.</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> Two years for a junker, longer if I want something nice.</span></i></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">The bags and cans at the end of every walkway reminded him that it was garbage day. He groaned at the thought of dragging the two cans out from the back.</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">As if I'm not soaked enough.</span></i></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">The pounding noise told him that the morons that were into rap music had cranked up their stereo. Of course, that meant that the half-wit that lived next door to those morons would soon be blasting the screeching speed metal they loved so dearly.</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">His pace slowed as he approached his house; the couple across the street had their garbage out already. It looked like they were cleaning out their basement; an old washing machine, a love seat, a waist-high pile of books, a few broken chairs, a chest of drawers, and a birdcage were on the curb.</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">He stood there contemplating the washer for a moment, wondering if it still worked. If it did, it would sure as hell save him his weekly trip to the laundromat.</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Why would they throw it away if it wasn't broken?</span></i><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> He chided himself and headed inside. The trash could wait till morning.</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><b>Week Four</b></span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> Another couch. Gabe stood there marveling at it, Another goddamn couch.</span></i></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">But it wasn't just a couch; there was also a cabinet, a lone snow tire, and a box of melted-looking action figures. Gabe glanced at their mailbox; it was still blank except for the dull metal numbers. He wondered what their family name was; it must have been Rockefeller, considering the amount of furniture they went through.</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">It wasn't that he cared what they did, but still, it was a little odd. So much stuff. </span><i style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Well, at least they picked a good neighborhood for it.</span></i><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> He thought. Back in the suburbs, there had only been one or two days a year set aside for heavy trash pickup, but here, the garbage men seemed willing to take away anything at all. </span><i style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Maybe,</span></i><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> Gabe thought. </span><i style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Maybe they do it because they know that if they don't, this crummy little town will start looking like the full-fledged junkyard it really is.</span></i></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">The front door swung open, and Gabe quickly pretended to be adjusting his cans. It was the Wife. She was wearing a clingy top and a pair of white shorts. She bounded down the front steps, got into her minivan, and drove away.</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Damn, but her husband's a lucky guy.</span></i><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> Gabe thought.</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"Whatchoo lookinat?" his boozy next-door neighbor called at him.</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"N-nothing," Gabe said. Blushing furiously, he retreated back inside. When the door was safely barred and bolted behind him, he allowed himself to whisper, "Nothing, you scumbag."</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><b>Week Five</b></span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">From the first moment, the blind date had been an unmitigated disaster. From Gabe's first look at the woman, he'd known it would go badly. What had Homer been thinking?</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Gabe sat in the back of the taxicab, fuming. He was almost mad enough to call Homer right now. When he'd described her as having a wonderful personality, that should have been warning enough, but Gabe decided to try his luck anyway. He'd been away from the dating scene for too long.</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">The cab slowed before his house. Gabe paid the fare and strolled up the walk. He wanted to kick something. He couldn't believe the bitch turned him down. How could she afford to be discriminating? Of course, she waited until after he'd picked up the tab from dinner before she dropped that little bombshell.</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Speaking of bombshells.</span></i><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> Gabe thought as he paused on his front porch. His eyes strayed across the street. He wasn't sure what they did, but every light in the house was on till all hours of the night. Whenever Gabe peeked out the curtains, he saw silhouettes flitting across the Venetian blinds. It was almost like they were dancing. Sometimes watching them, he imagined he was up there with the Wife and the Husband living down here in this crappy tenement.</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Embarrassed at the thoughts filling his head, he turned to enter his front. His keys fumbling in the lock, he took one last longing glance at the house next door and did a double take.</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Was that another couch he saw sitting on the curb?</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Gabe couldn't help himself; he crossed the street and gazed at the cigarette-burned Davenport sitting there; one of its cushions was missing; in its place sat a record player that looked to Gabe like an antique. A bureau with wobbly legs rounded out this week's pile.</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">He paused a moment, thinking to himself, </span><i style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">This is nuts. What if someone else sees?</span></i><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> But the impulse was too crazy, too strong for him to deny it. He walked up to the bureau and pulled out one of the drawers.</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">It still had clothes in it, all neatly folded. Panties and socks, were they hers? How could that be? How could he not know she was tossing out all her undergarments? This was too weird. Gabe glanced up at their house, wondering if they had seen him out here. Wondering if they'd care the man from across the street was going through their garbage.</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">It was just their garbage, after all; if they had really cared, they wouldn't have put it out on the curb, would they?</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">He pulled out the second drawer, more clothes, sweaters and ties, expensive looking by the feel of them. The kind he used to be able to afford.</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Not certain what he was looking for, he pulled the third drawer out. A gagging scream caught in his throat. He shoved the drawer closed again and stumbled back across the street, tripping on the curb. Sobbing with fear, he scrambled to his feet and ran into his house, where he slumped to the floor and tried not to be sick.</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"It was just a toy, just a toy…" He whispered to himself, "It was a trick of the light. It didn't move."</span></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">There was a knock at the door, and a neighborly voice was calling Gabe's name.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></span></span><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxaH9LGEtv4LGTbrYkrLQSJ62wVXsfpBebUiY8udPZoBVpsoxesmAzvramtxtctrVQCrnrdTwCA3rEnjGopNXm5zY5bY6eRus9h38TGcE8HkqDUGsAH8LeUIS4ARRxbtfwXckYLVjL8hP1j41y0QlbK9dab910kSMq86CvHyvZZDAcSY82mpLOBnmXZBDM/s2000/BLOGCOL.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="2000" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxaH9LGEtv4LGTbrYkrLQSJ62wVXsfpBebUiY8udPZoBVpsoxesmAzvramtxtctrVQCrnrdTwCA3rEnjGopNXm5zY5bY6eRus9h38TGcE8HkqDUGsAH8LeUIS4ARRxbtfwXckYLVjL8hP1j41y0QlbK9dab910kSMq86CvHyvZZDAcSY82mpLOBnmXZBDM/w640-h512/BLOGCOL.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div></div>albruno3http://www.blogger.com/profile/01410254757982165309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8913009842235805193.post-17243189863540372182024-02-16T14:09:00.006-05:002024-02-16T14:09:56.406-05:00THIS IS CHANNEL AB3<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0hyphenhyphenHQ3gtJvkO39TzvS0VSi44L6EoIbNgYFlGaPL9yPeyW46uhXTmII49BbE1zF637VkPx3es5nQun8Pgf_v7Jv7N56yBAI95a6Q6ZPHN9RqEVCtkceStnM2hlazbgG5lVAvTU0RKD_Gj6i3-lVaxZ4UrEO8n1GJ9vgrSCj6vVrQPmXH0dgleakoIW3dFP/s6912/TEMPLATE.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="6912" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0hyphenhyphenHQ3gtJvkO39TzvS0VSi44L6EoIbNgYFlGaPL9yPeyW46uhXTmII49BbE1zF637VkPx3es5nQun8Pgf_v7Jv7N56yBAI95a6Q6ZPHN9RqEVCtkceStnM2hlazbgG5lVAvTU0RKD_Gj6i3-lVaxZ4UrEO8n1GJ9vgrSCj6vVrQPmXH0dgleakoIW3dFP/w640-h320/TEMPLATE.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u>EPISODE ONE<br /></u></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u><iframe allowfullscreen="" height="192" mozallowfullscreen="true" msallowfullscreen="true" oallowfullscreen="true" scrolling="no" src="https://play.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/26706102/height/192/theme/modern/size/large/thumbnail/yes/custom-color/000000/time-start/00:00:00/playlist-height/200/direction/backward/download/yes/font-color/FFFFFF" style="border: medium;" title="Embed Player" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="100%"></iframe></u><br /></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u><br /></u></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u>EPISODE TWO<br /></u></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u><iframe allowfullscreen="" height="192" mozallowfullscreen="true" msallowfullscreen="true" oallowfullscreen="true" scrolling="no" src="https://play.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/26706264/height/192/theme/modern/size/large/thumbnail/yes/custom-color/000000/time-start/00:00:00/playlist-height/200/direction/backward/download/yes/font-color/FFFFFF" style="border: medium;" title="Embed Player" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="100%"></iframe></u></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u><br /></u></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u>EPISODE THREE</u></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u><iframe allowfullscreen="" height="192" mozallowfullscreen="true" msallowfullscreen="true" oallowfullscreen="true" scrolling="no" src="https://play.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/26706375/height/192/theme/modern/size/large/thumbnail/yes/custom-color/000000/time-start/00:00:00/playlist-height/200/direction/backward/download/yes/font-color/FFFFFF" style="border: medium;" title="Embed Player" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="100%"></iframe></u></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u><br /></u></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u>EPISODE FOUR<br /></u></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u><iframe allowfullscreen="" height="192" mozallowfullscreen="true" msallowfullscreen="true" oallowfullscreen="true" scrolling="no" src="https://play.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/26706642/height/192/theme/modern/size/large/thumbnail/yes/custom-color/000000/time-start/00:00:00/playlist-height/200/direction/backward/download/yes/font-color/FFFFFF" style="border: medium;" title="Embed Player" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="100%"></iframe></u></h3><h3 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u>EPISODE FIVE<br /></u></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u><iframe allowfullscreen="" height="192" mozallowfullscreen="true" msallowfullscreen="true" oallowfullscreen="true" scrolling="no" src="https://play.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/26708685/height/192/theme/modern/size/large/thumbnail/yes/custom-color/000000/time-start/00:00:00/playlist-height/200/direction/backward/download/yes/font-color/FFFFFF" style="border: medium;" title="Embed Player" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="100%"></iframe></u></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><br /></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u>EPISODE SIX<br /></u></h3><p><u><iframe allowfullscreen="" height="192" mozallowfullscreen="true" msallowfullscreen="true" oallowfullscreen="true" scrolling="no" src="https://play.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/26792829/height/192/theme/modern/size/large/thumbnail/yes/custom-color/000000/time-start/00:00:00/playlist-height/200/direction/backward/download/yes/font-color/FFFFFF" style="border: medium;" title="Embed Player" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="100%"></iframe></u><br /></p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u>EPISODE SEVEN<br /></u></h3><p><u><iframe allowfullscreen="" height="192" mozallowfullscreen="true" msallowfullscreen="true" oallowfullscreen="true" scrolling="no" src="https://play.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/26793147/height/192/theme/modern/size/large/thumbnail/yes/custom-color/000000/time-start/00:00:00/playlist-height/200/direction/backward/download/yes/font-color/FFFFFF" style="border: medium;" title="Embed Player" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="100%"></iframe></u><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span><br /></p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><u>EPISODE EIGHT<br /></u></h3><u><iframe allowfullscreen="" height="192" mozallowfullscreen="true" msallowfullscreen="true" oallowfullscreen="true" scrolling="no" src="https://play.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/26793291/height/192/theme/modern/size/large/thumbnail/yes/custom-color/000000/time-start/00:00:00/playlist-height/200/direction/backward/download/yes/font-color/FFFFFF" style="border: medium;" title="Embed Player" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="100%"></iframe></u><br /><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span><h3 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a 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/></p>albruno3http://www.blogger.com/profile/01410254757982165309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8913009842235805193.post-48150528446494907282024-02-15T06:00:00.017-05:002024-02-15T06:00:00.146-05:00FRESH OFF THE BUS FROM CREEPYTOWN: Grave Robbers From Outer Space<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI3KC9kFWArLZWh2ryxL5Z4lGoX2ynzwXWh_RUByXLwn0T2XW9oDYpkaWxrf6NXJnIFBXSzdqfNJNX4yb9BR1s8WpGOHlhDvkFpcEkSFLCV7IljcX26CSl7ni4GQAQzlwbFvMJJB3mT6tnsVYBGCIBlNPkMh4aO_F2y9Nse1lTRNlWbQyU1bIfWIgGQJgr/s3000/Grave%20Robbers%20From%20Outer%20Space.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="3000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI3KC9kFWArLZWh2ryxL5Z4lGoX2ynzwXWh_RUByXLwn0T2XW9oDYpkaWxrf6NXJnIFBXSzdqfNJNX4yb9BR1s8WpGOHlhDvkFpcEkSFLCV7IljcX26CSl7ni4GQAQzlwbFvMJJB3mT6tnsVYBGCIBlNPkMh4aO_F2y9Nse1lTRNlWbQyU1bIfWIgGQJgr/w640-h640/Grave%20Robbers%20From%20Outer%20Space.png" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b>By</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b> Al Bruno III</b></span></p></div><div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Five
figures stood around the cold metal table. Everyone else in the morgue
of Bodie Village General Hospital had been ordered away. Dr. Gerald
Becker, consultant for the Center for Disease Control leaned over the
body on the table watching as its mottled gray flesh puckered around the
tip of the scalpel and slowly gave way. Blood, long gone cold welled up
half-heartedly around the edges of the wound. With practiced ease he
made an incision from sternum to pubis. Returning the scalpel to the
tray-table he grabbed the rib spreader. This, he thought, this is where
one of these Department Of Defense bastards faints.<br /><br />But, as the
bony cage snapped and yawned open, not a one of the four men observing
the process fainted or even so much as stifled a gag.<br /><br />With the
ribs spread wide, Gerald lifted the lungs from the within the chest,
letting them hang over the edges of the cavity, then he removed the
heart, liver, and stomach. There was a scale beside the ray table, he
piled the organs there and stepped back. “There’s your evidence
gentlemen.”<br /> <br />The government men stepped forward in unison and
peered thoughtfully into the chest cavity. The four of them could pass
for brothers, each of them tall and broad-shouldered, with pasty
complexions and stark expressions on their nondescript faces. They each
wore charcoal-colored suits and sunglasses. Only the leader of the four,
Special Agent Douglas stood out, and that was because he wore a dark
brown fedora that didn’t really go with his ensemble. Gerald wondered if
the man was trying to look like some kind of old movie detective or if
he was going bald.<br /><br />After about five minutes of staring intently at the body Agent Douglas asked, “How did you find out about this?”<br /> <br />“As
you know,” Gerald couldn’t believe how calm they were acting but then
again maybe this wasn’t their first autposy, “I was dispatched here to
investigate an outbreak of what appeared to be a new strain of Cholera.
At the time my superiors weren’t sure if this event needed a full team.
After all, Bodie Village is a small town and the infection only seemed
to be impacting the elderly.”<br /><br />Agent Douglas adjusted his hat and commented “I’ve read your report on the subject.”<br /><br />Gerald
looked back to the other three Department Of Defense agents, they were
watching him- No, not watching, studying him. It was like college all
over again, a team of professionals waiting for him to say or do
something dumb.<br /><br />“Please continue Doctor Becker.”<br /><br />“When I
arrived here I got right to work, I didn’t notice anything odd at first I
was too busy trying to explain and deal with this new strain of
Cholera. It wasn’t until my third night here that I realized what was
happening…”<br /><br />Agent Douglas stared into one of the refrigerated
cabinets used for storing bodies. Its door had been torn off and there
were bloody fingertrails all along the inside of the cubicle.<br />“Please go on."<br /><br />Gerald
continued speaking, “Twelve people had died by then, and I was
exhausted. My motel was in walking distance so I decided to try and wake
myself up with a brisk walk back. I was tired and I wasn’t really
paying attention to my surroundings. Someone was walking down the middle
of the sidewalk and I never even saw them. They knocked me on my ass
and kept going. I would have said something but I recognized them. How
couldn’t I? It was an old fart I’d performed a postmortem on a day ago!”<br /><br />“Did you tell this to anyone? The local police or the hospital staff?” Agent Douglas asked.<br /><br />Gerald shot him a glare, “Tell them what? That the dead were coming back to life?”<br /><br />“What did you do next?”<br /><br />The
other Department Of Defense agents were wandering about, one was
flipping through Gerald’s papers, another was using the phone and the
third was looking at the other samples that Gerald had floating in
formaldehyde. <br /><br />“I don’t remember inviting you to go though my notes.”<br /> <br />Agent Douglas walked into Gerald’s field of vision, “Did you contact the local authorities?”<br /><br />Gerald
shook his head, “Didn’t have to. They contacted me. After what I saw I
turned around and headed back to the hospital. The Sheriff was there.
The power had gone out in the critical care wing. For some reason the
back-up generators had never come on line and eight more patients had
died. The Sheriff was there and he told me that he was dealing with a
rash of home invasion style robberies. The mayor’s family and several
other prominent townsfolk were missing.”<br /><br />“Had there been any ransom demands?”<br /><br />“No, and at this point we weren’t expecting any.”<br /><br />Special Agent Douglas regarded the doctor oddly as he itched under the brim of his fedora, “Why?” <br /><br />“It
made no sense, why kidnap the citizens of a tiny little Oregon town?
Certainly not for money. The Sheriff and I both suspected something far
worse.”<br /> <br />“And when were those suspicions confirmed?”<br /> <br />“The next morning. At the cemetery.”<br /> <br />“The grave robbings.”<br /><br />“Desecrations,”
Gerald spat, “Every grave less than a decade old had been dug up, the
coffins destroyed the bodies removed. I knew it was all connected
somehow.”<br /><br />“Intuition?”<br /> “Exactly.”<br /><br />Agent Douglas frowned, “I don’t believe in intuition.”<br /><br />“Good
for you,” Gerald peeled off the stained surgical gloves, “Why are you
so damn calm? What’s our next course of action? The dead are coming back
to life and attacking anything with a pulse!”<br /><br />“I understand you helped the locals find a way to kill these beings?”<br /><br />Gerald
growled with frustration. Was this guy even listening? “It all started
when I was talking to one of the Sheriff’s deputies. We were all milling
around the hospital conference room. Then I noticed that the pinky
finger on his right hand was bent at a weird angle. There was a nub of
bone protruding from the skin. He was just standing there casually
talking to the receptionist girl. She had just brought us some snacks.”<br /><br />“That must have looked odd.”<br /><br />“Very
odd. When I confronted him about it he tried to put his hand behind his
back but I grabbed it and got a better look. The fingertips were blue
and his lips were a pale color. He was dead. Dead and talking about the
weather. I shouted for something to restrain him. That’s when he went
crazy.”<br /><br />Agent Douglas nodded thoughtfully, “And that is when Jessica Zelman was killed?”<br /><br />“Yeah,
the receptionist. The dead deputy hit her with so much force it broke
her neck. She wasn’t even blocking his way, he just did it. The Sheriff
didn’t even think, he just drew his revolver and opened fire, The first
shot blew a hole right though the dead deputy’s head. It should have
killed him but instead he started running. The Sheriff fired twice more,
hitting the son of a bitch in both legs. He went down but he still kept
moving, crawling away. The Sheriff and the other deputies caught up to
him. They emptied their revolvers into the dead deputy. That stopped
him. One of the bullets blew a hole into the small of his back and out
the stomach. That’s when we saw the foreign matter. There wasn’t much
but I preserved it as best I could.” Gerald nudged the body on the
table, “You can get a better look at the creature in here.”<br /><br />Agent
Douglas looked again into the body, staring dispassionately at the ugly
shape wrapped around its spinal cord. The creature was like a cross
between a centipede and a lobster. He said nothing.<br /><br />“You’ve…” Gerald felt his intuition kicking in again, “You’ve seen this sort of… this sort of corpse-thing before haven’t you?”<br /><br />“I can’t comment on that.” Agent Douglas almost smiled, “But please continue with your story.”<br /><br />“After
that the Sheriff deputized a bunch of good old boys and got to work.
They set fire to the funeral home and captured or killed as many of the
corpse-things as they could. I kept cutting them up as fast as the
deputies could get them to me. It didn’t take me long to realize that
these bug parasite things were enough like insects that they might be
vulnerable to chemical attack.” Gerald Becker gave the agents a
self-satisfied smile, “We got a volunteer to get up close to some of the
corpse-things and spray them with a mixture of DDT and other dangerous
chemicals. They collapsed within ten seconds of exposure. We
commandeered one of the trucks they used for the annual mosquito
spraying and got to fumigating.”<br /><br />Agent Douglas frowned, “Weren’t you worried about the after effects on the population?”<br /><br />“Look
what we were up against!” Gerald stood next to him and pointed at the
thing entwined around the corpse’s lower spinal cord. It didn’t look
dead as much as it looked coiled, prepared to leap out at them in
retaliation for being disturbed. “We had to act quickly before they
spread. Think about it, we could be fighting an enemy that would never
need to eat or sleep and could replenish its ranks by simply by raiding
the local cemetery or murdering anyone they came across!”<br /><br />“Do you or the Sheriff or anyone else have any idea where the things are coming from?”<br /> <br />“No,”
Gerald waved his hand dismissively, “That’s why I called my superiors
but all I got is you… And I gotta say so far I’m not impressed.”<br /><br />One
of the other agents spoke, it was the first time Gerald had heard his
voice, it sounded like a wet cough, “Then the queen is safe.”<br /> <br />“Queen?”
Gerald eyes flared with rage. That rage faded once he realized the
other agents were began closing in on him, “You do know what’s going on
here!”<br /><br />Special Agent Douglas removed his hat revealing that the
front third of his skull had been torn away. The exposed ridges of his
skull were yellowish-gray. His brain had become a writhing nest of
maggots. They boiled out of the wound to crawl down over his pasty
features. He said, “Bodie Village was merely a test to see if our
invasion plan was feasible for a species like yours. It is obvious that
despite our growing control of your civil authorities the capacity for
your species to combat us is going to make our invasion a considerable
challenge.”<br /> <br />There was a crash as Gerald brushed past over the
tray table in his attempt to run. The four corpse-things caught him
easily and pulled him down to the floor. They held him fast. Their cold
hands tore at his clothes stripping him to the waist. The corpse-thing
that called itself Special Agent Douglas retrieved the dirty scalpel
from the floor. “I do this out of respect for your intelligence.” He
said as he loomed over Gerald raining grubs onto the struggling man’s
bare chest. “We release you from the burden of having to see your
woefully limited species conquered and enslaved. You may rest in peace.”<br /> <br />The quivering pink flesh of Gerald Becker’s neck puckered around the tip of the scalpel and slowly gave way.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinm_FddPR3wVQE1-00fQBxqsb4R30Aqb7h8TnPwDfBlW4Uo1dRb4HhRXONdWngW3bqRJ9-M_jrHzYMK4npVyx0njph1FabfxpPBTLHw9YQ-bPhWGWolDrWqEJy1SDsTYV5Y9VtNjAYpid_pmTYEfK3pFrZPU6Yi5gEKyUnhjN5VkMsc2tEQbKV-jJu_Q/s2000/0000BLOGCOL.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="2000" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinm_FddPR3wVQE1-00fQBxqsb4R30Aqb7h8TnPwDfBlW4Uo1dRb4HhRXONdWngW3bqRJ9-M_jrHzYMK4npVyx0njph1FabfxpPBTLHw9YQ-bPhWGWolDrWqEJy1SDsTYV5Y9VtNjAYpid_pmTYEfK3pFrZPU6Yi5gEKyUnhjN5VkMsc2tEQbKV-jJu_Q/w640-h512/0000BLOGCOL.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><iframe title="Embed Player" style="border: medium;" src="https://play.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/26793291/height/192/theme/modern/size/large/thumbnail/yes/custom-color/000000/time-start/00:00:00/playlist-height/200/direction/backward/download/yes/font-color/FFFFFF" height="192" width="100%" scrolling="no" allowfullscreen="" webkitallowfullscreen="true" mozallowfullscreen="true" oallowfullscreen="true" msallowfullscreen="true"></iframe></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>albruno3http://www.blogger.com/profile/01410254757982165309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8913009842235805193.post-31345556070579418032024-02-15T04:03:00.001-05:002024-02-15T04:03:54.026-05:00This is Channel Ab3 Episode Eight: Grave Robbers From Outer Space<iframe title="Libsyn Player" style="border: none" src="//html5-player.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/26793291/height/90/theme/custom/thumbnail/no/direction/forward/tdest_id/3973509/render-playlist/no/custom-color/87A93A/" height="90" width="100%" scrolling="no" allowfullscreen webkitallowfullscreen mozallowfullscreen oallowfullscreen msallowfullscreen></iframe><br /><p><span style= "font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><em>"...now, for the first time, we are bringing to you the full story of what happened on that fateful day. We are giving you all the evidence, based only on the secret testimonies of the miserable souls who survived this terrifying ordeal: the incidents, the places. My friends, we cannot keep this a secret any longer. Let us punish the guilty. Let us reward the innocent. My friend, can your heart stand the shocking facts about grave robbers from outer space?"</em><br /></span></p> <p><img src= "//assets.libsyn.com/show/465843/Grave_Robbers_From_Outer_Space.png" alt="" width="300" height="300" /></p> <p><a href= "http://albruno3.blogspot.com/2023/03/my-fiction-grave-robbers-from-outer.html"> 'Grave Robbers From Outer Space' was written by Al Bruno III</a></p> <p><a href= "https://www.fiverr.com/auravoice/voice-your-scary-halloween-themed-youtube-video?source=order_page_summary_gig_link_title&funnel=f242c659b547a131526a3414e83e9446"> It was read and produced by Auravoice</a></p> <p><a href= "https://www.amazon.com/stores/Adam-J-Thaxton/author/B004PIKAXU?ref=ap_rdr&store_ref=ap_rdr&isDramIntegrated=true&shoppingPortalEnabled=true"> Our unpaid scientific advisor is Adam J Thaxton</a></p> <p><a href="https://www.fiverr.com/rachelfwilliams">The Channel Ab3 theme was written and performed by Rachel F Williams</a></p> <p><a href= "https://www.fiverr.com/kitsunekei1?source=gig_page">Channel Ab3 logo was designed by Antonio G </a></p> <p>Are you enjoying the show?</p> <p><a href="https://www.patreon.com/ChannelAb3">Become a recurring subscriber.</a></p> <p><a href= "https://www.paypal.com/donate/?business=SD7FDSV24SU48&no_recurring=0&currency_code=USD"> Or make a one-time donation!</a></p> <p>Are you in the market to sell your home, find a new home, or just explore real estate investment opportunities? <a href= "https://albertbruno.kw.com/">Don't hesitate to get in touch with me!</a></p> <p>This is Channel Ab3 is distributed and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Share Alike 4.0 International License</p> <p> </p> <br /><p><a target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" href="https://directory.libsyn.com/episode/index/id/26793291/tdest_id/3973509">Check out this episode!</a></p>albruno3http://www.blogger.com/profile/01410254757982165309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8913009842235805193.post-46005743707058892742024-02-09T17:16:00.003-05:002024-02-10T14:53:27.391-05:00THE BINDER OF SHAME STORIES<!-- Google tag (gtag.js) --> <script async src="https://www.googletagmanager.com/gtag/js?id=G-RGBF7EGNN7"></script> <script> window.dataLayer = window.dataLayer || []; function gtag(){dataLayer.push(arguments);} gtag('js', new Date()); gtag('config', 'G-RGBF7EGNN7'); </script>
<div> <div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; text-align: center;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh5eXDen3eXpzan5QuzWJvo5Oo7TmBd-iMTk5ShYzBcQB4AY4jxPCFKjHLEkFhI5tK0ek-DNxwI-w5boe-S6-zCQMNI2UhStiHLk3e_xlqOfmpTdDe6UdcJf2w3hzOFskMiCkki_Uxw-Hpt6DstKusbXF4iBtuvH6SJyK1madOw32PrE8jCTnIJlsVT2vA/s1640/BINDER%20OF%20SHAME.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="924" data-original-width="1640" height="361" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh5eXDen3eXpzan5QuzWJvo5Oo7TmBd-iMTk5ShYzBcQB4AY4jxPCFKjHLEkFhI5tK0ek-DNxwI-w5boe-S6-zCQMNI2UhStiHLk3e_xlqOfmpTdDe6UdcJf2w3hzOFskMiCkki_Uxw-Hpt6DstKusbXF4iBtuvH6SJyK1madOw32PrE8jCTnIJlsVT2vA/w640-h361/BINDER%20OF%20SHAME.png" width="640" /></a></div><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; text-align: center;"><b><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">The RPG.net Rants</span></b></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Uncensored, Unforgettable and Uncorrected</span></i></b></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; min-height: 16px;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><b><i></i></b><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">2002
was the year I first started to post stories for the amusement of
others. (Aside from that shameful X-FILES fan fiction of course.) I
began with these gaming anecdotes that I shared on the forums of
RPG.net, a relatively safe haven for me at the time. They were strange
little tales told in a kind of screenplay format that I used when I
sketched out story dialogue.</span></i></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; min-height: 15px;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">The
first one was pretty simple but as they went on they became more and
more grandiose but they were raw and fun little bits of humor. I never
bothered to proofread the things or set up any real kind of coherence or
internal continuity- although snippets of these tales do show up in
PRICE BEAKS AND HEARTACHES.</span></i></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; min-height: 16px;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><i></i><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">I'm
posting them to the blog so I can add them to version of THE BINDER OF
SHAME I keep here. I will do the first two today and then set up one a
week until they're all there.</span></i></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; min-height: 16px;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><i></i><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">I've
moved on a lot since I first created them but many of the folks that
first came to know me through them are still reading my work now and
they still keep finding new readers all the time.</span></i></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; min-height: 16px;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><i></i><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">If you have no idea what I am talking about prepare to be amazed, amused and offended.</span></i></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; min-height: 16px;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><i></i><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">And
be warned these stories appear exactly as I did when I posted them on
the forums. I haven't tried to edit them for fear of diluting their raw
power.</span></i></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; min-height: 16px;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><i></i><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Also I'm pretty damn lazy...</span></i></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; min-height: 19px;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; min-height: 19px; text-align: center;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://albruno3.blogspot.com/2024/02/rpgnet-rant-1-team-that-couldnt-shoot.html">1.) The Team That Couldn't Shoot Straight</a></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://albruno3.blogspot.com/2010/06/rpgnet-rant-2-day-i-killed-entire-party.html">2.) The day I killed the entire party before the first combat encounter</a></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://albruno3.blogspot.com/2010/06/rpgnet-rant-3-night-at-inn-day-at.html">3.) A Night At The Inn, A Day At The Racists</a></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://albruno3.blogspot.com/2010/06/rpgnet-rant-4-god-trip.html">4.) The God Trip</a></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://albruno3.blogspot.com/2010/06/rpgnet-rant-5-achy-breaky-mythos.html">5.) Achy Breaky Mythos</a></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://albruno3.blogspot.com/2010/06/rpgnet-rant-6-monty-python-mishaps-in.html">6.) Monty Python Mishaps In The Deepest Pit Of Homebrew Hell</a></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://albruno3.blogspot.com/2010/06/rpgnet-rant-7-kobayashi-maru-with.html">7.) Kobayashi Maru With Random Violence and Supermodels</a></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://albruno3.blogspot.com/2010/06/rpgnet-rant-8-what-do-you-mean-you-lost.html">8.) What Do You Mean You Lost My Wife's Kidney?</a></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://albruno3.blogspot.com/2010/06/rpgnet-rant-9-never-leave-your-nads.html">9.) Never Leave Your Nads Behind</a></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: large;"><a href="http://albruno3.blogspot.com/2010/06/rpgnet-rant-10-death-by-thumbs.html">10.) Death By Thumbs</a></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://albruno3.blogspot.com/2010/06/rpgnet-rant-11-night-of-caped-cadavers.html">11) Night Of The Caped Cadavers</a></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://albruno3.blogspot.com/2010/06/rpgnet-rant-12-cannibals-rednecks-and.html">12.) Cannibals, Rednecks And Transgendered Astronauts</a></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://albruno3.blogspot.com/2010/06/rpgnet-rant-13-trapped-in-jedi-academy.html">13.) Trapped In Jedi Academy</a></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://albruno3.blogspot.com/2010/06/rpgnet-rant-14-reservoir-torgs.html">14.) Reservoir Torgs</a></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://albruno3.blogspot.com/2010/06/rpgnet-rant-15-wrong-room-in-ryleh.html">15.) The Wrong Room In Ryleh</a></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://albruno3.blogspot.com/2010/06/rpgnet-rant-16-great-gamma-world-death.html">16.) The Great Gamma World Death March</a></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://albruno3.blogspot.com/2010/06/rpgnet-rant-17-bad-rifts-project.html">17.) The Bad Rifts Project</a></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(2, 2, 2); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #020202;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://albruno3.blogspot.com/2010/06/rpgnet-rant18-d-session-that-mostly.html">18.) The D&D Session That Mostly Wasn't</a></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://albruno3.blogspot.com/2010/06/rpgnet-rant-20-prequel-trilogy-i-creep.html">19.) The Prequel Trilogy I: The Creep On The Boarderlands</a></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://albruno3.blogspot.com/2010/06/rpgnet-rant-20-prequel-trilogy-ii-dead.html">20.) The Prequel Trilogy II: The Dead Guy Gets The Pizzas</a></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://albruno3.blogspot.com/2010/06/rpgnet-rant-21-prequel-trilogy-iii-all.html">21.) The Prequel Trilogy III: All Hands On Dec</a></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://albruno3.blogspot.com/2010/06/rpgnet-rant22-last-straw-trilogy-part.html">22.) The Last Straw Trilogy Part One: Warhammer The Spoilers Generation</a></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://albruno3.blogspot.com/2010/06/rpgnet-rant23-last-straw-trilogy-part.html">23.) The Last Straw Trilogy Part Two: Talisman- This Time Its Personal</a></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://albruno3.blogspot.com/2010/06/rpgnet-rant24-last-straw-trilogy-part_27.html">24.) The Last Straw Trilogy Part Three: Once More With Filking</a></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
</div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://albruno3.blogspot.com/2024/02/25-vampire-mass-kid-raid-postscript.html">25.) Vampire The Mass Kid Raid: A postscript</a></span></div>
<div>
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">
</div>
</div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div style="line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">
<b><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">The Binder of Shame </span></b></div>
<div style="line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">
<b><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">The Second Edition</span></b><br />
<b><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="line-height: 21px;">
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://albruno3.blogspot.com/2014/10/the-binder-of-shame-second-edition-1.html">1.) The Dammed Treasure of Lord deGreasy</a></span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;"><a href="http://albruno3.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-binder-of-shame-second-edition-2.html">2.) Crisis On Infinite Jerks</a></span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;"><a href="http://albruno3.blogspot.com/2015/10/the-binder-of-shame-second-edition-3.html">3.) With A Pinch Of Assault</a></span><br />
<a href="http://albruno3.blogspot.com/2015/11/the-binder-of-shame-second-edition-4.html"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">4.) The Good, The Bad And The Feces</span></a></div><div style="line-height: 21px;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"> </span><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">
<i><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div style="line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">
<b><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">The Binder of Shame </span></b></div>
<div style="line-height: 21px; text-align: center;"> <b><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Unfinished Campaigns</span></b><br />
</div></div><div style="line-height: 21px; text-align: left;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div style="line-height: 21px; text-align: left;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://albruno3.blogspot.com/2022/01/the-binder-of-shame-second-edition.html">Where The Hell Is Harry </a></span></div><div style="line-height: 21px; text-align: left;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://albruno3.blogspot.com/2023/12/the-binder-of-shame-maimed.html">Maimed </a></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13px;">
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background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; left: 217px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; top: 1860px; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/create/extension/?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.blogger.com%2Fblogger.g%3FblogID%3D8913009842235805193%23editor%2Ftarget%3Dpage%3BpageID%3D8785330263562768548%3BonPublishedMenu%3Dallpages%3BonClosedMenu%3Dallpages%3BpostNum%3D0%3Bsrc%3Dlink&media=https%3A%2F%2F3.bp.blogspot.com%2F_a5Zael4RnDE%2FTJ7SjKcJMgI%2FAAAAAAAAAmo%2FZtvCn6FHoOY%2Fs400%2FBinderOfShame.gif&xm=h&xv=sa1.37.01&xuid=8Sy6nGVgXKq1&description=" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; left: 217px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; top: 1860px; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/create/extension/?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.blogger.com%2Fblogger.g%3FblogID%3D8913009842235805193%23editor%2Ftarget%3Dpage%3BpageID%3D8785330263562768548%3BonPublishedMenu%3Dallpages%3BonClosedMenu%3Dallpages%3BpostNum%3D0%3Bsrc%3Dlink&media=https%3A%2F%2F3.bp.blogspot.com%2F_a5Zael4RnDE%2FTJ7SjKcJMgI%2FAAAAAAAAAmo%2FZtvCn6FHoOY%2Fs400%2FBinderOfShame.gif&xm=h&xv=sa1.37.01&xuid=8Sy6nGVgXKq1&description=" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; left: 217px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; top: 1860px; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />albruno3http://www.blogger.com/profile/01410254757982165309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8913009842235805193.post-91959291172006274162024-02-08T17:27:00.004-05:002024-02-10T14:51:22.807-05:00STORIES IN THE KEY OF LOVECRAFT: Food, Folks And Fun<!-- Google tag (gtag.js) --> <script async src="https://www.googletagmanager.com/gtag/js?id=G-RGBF7EGNN7"></script> <script> window.dataLayer = window.dataLayer || []; function gtag(){dataLayer.push(arguments);} gtag('js', new Date()); gtag('config', 'G-RGBF7EGNN7'); </script><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzmWXZI4mJKrQNbX0NsU9uIBoZ7RELXJeIAq0uu2-nNYqlb6VtD1yMv-5OEH3y63TpudHP8_5dNEU_Kl3EZ4nJeoo8PKFPZ9YsR7k3N1TUTcEXxt12xzv5AotbbVeIYUJ7wH5wpq8ln_baoq0bmUTch9XMjI8XTqh0uNNaJlGbJJvlZaGUNhxdbkpqjnzS/s1080/fff(2).png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzmWXZI4mJKrQNbX0NsU9uIBoZ7RELXJeIAq0uu2-nNYqlb6VtD1yMv-5OEH3y63TpudHP8_5dNEU_Kl3EZ4nJeoo8PKFPZ9YsR7k3N1TUTcEXxt12xzv5AotbbVeIYUJ7wH5wpq8ln_baoq0bmUTch9XMjI8XTqh0uNNaJlGbJJvlZaGUNhxdbkpqjnzS/w640-h640/fff(2).png" width="640" /></a><b><span> </span></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b><span> </span></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b><span>By</span></b></span></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b><span>Al Bruno III<br /></span></b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">No one saw that damn bus coming, not at a quarter to ten. The staff of Burger Clown had already begun cleaning up for the night. Mark Kravis looked up from his mop bucket and blinked at the sight, "You gotta be kidding me."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"Get on the broiler!" Ken squawked from behind the counter, his voice filling the empty restaurant. "Get on the broiler now!" Ken was the assistant manager, and Mark loathed working with him because his only administrative skills were squawking orders and twitching.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Cursing under his breath, Mark let his mop clatter to the floor and got on the broiler. This was just perfect. His band had practice tonight...</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">They filed off the bus and streamed in, tramping over the freshly cleaned floor. They were all pasty white and wearing their Sunday best, which was odd considering it was a Thursday. The fluorescent lighting made them look like zombies. Mark glanced at the counter, watching Darla take the first order. He could hear her voice over the hiss and the pop of the grill; she was reciting the official Burger Clown customer greeting, but every syllable reeked with loathing. Mark couldn't understand how she could be so hot and so scary all at once. He talked to her when it was slow, but all he'd ever really learned about her was that she had run away from home and dropped out of college. Mark had never really understood what screwed her up more, her parents or her thesis.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Lucy nudged past him on her way to a fresh tray of hamburger buns. Unlike most of the Burger Clown staff, she actually liked this job. She was retired, and this supplemented her fixed income. The way she took pride in her work irritated the Hell out of Mark.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">There was a video screen set against the wall nearest the broiler. When it was working right, it would keep a running tally of the number of beef and chicken patties needed. Watching the line filter down the counter from Darla to Lucy, Mark realized that no orders were flashing on the screen.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"Why aren't you doing anything? Why are you just standing there?" Ken screeched, "We're not paying you just to stand there!"</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Mark willed himself to think only about rent and car payments, not about the number of ways there were to kill a man with a spatula. "No orders yet," He said evenly, "Maybe they're all here to use the bathroom."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"It must be broken." Ken slapped the amber monitor and twiddled the CONTRAST and TINT controls meaningfully. "Go out there and see what we need to make. That doesn't mean hit on Darla. That means find out what we need to make and get back here."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"Whatever..." Mark said, skirting around the fry vats and walking up behind Darla. "Hey-" he began.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"Come to visit us, hah?" Lucy winked at him from the shake machine, "Too hot back there, or is Ken just getting on your nerves?"</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"Yes," Mark answered as he turned back to the girl at the counter.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">A bald man in a clip-on tie was placing his order; a sticker on his shirt announced his name in bright, child-like block letters. He grinned at Darla while he rambled, "…so we were on our way back and we figure we may as well stop off and top off. Get it? Stop off and top off."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"May I take your order, please?" Darla asked.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"That thing through your eyebrow there," he pointed to the elaborate ring, "did that hurt?"</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"May I please take your order?" Darla said again.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Oblivious to the waves of raw hostility washing over him, he said, "I'll have a vanilla shake."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">For some reason that made Darla's composure crack, a tremor crept into her voice, "One dollar nine cents, please."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Ken yelled, "No conversations! Get back here and work! I'll write you up!"</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"All right!" Mark shouted back. He heard Darla slam the cash register door closed. The following customer was already poised to place their order. Mark turned to Darla. "Listen, the computer is screwed up. What have they ordered so far?"</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">She grabbed his arm with bruising force, "They're only ordering vanilla shakes."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"What?"</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">She shook his arm and squeezed harder, her nails digging into his flesh, "They are all ordering vanilla shakes. And they all have exact change. All of them."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"Oh."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">With that, she let go of his arm and turned to her next customer with a sullen resignation. "Welcome to Burger Clown, where smiles are our specialty. May I please take your order?" </span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Mark retreated to the fry vats, trying to get a headcount of how many customers were out there. They couldn't all be vegetarians, could they?</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">There was a sharp pain as Ken grabbed him by the back of the neck, "Don't just stand around! You've got burgers to make!"</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"No, I don't. They're just ordering shakes."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"What?"</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"I'm gonna go get my mop before someone knocks it over." Mark brushed past him.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Ken stared after him, twitching, "What?"</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">There was no way he could avoid having to mop the floor again. The shake fanatics were already spreading through the restaurant like a virus. Mark moved through them, nodding blankly at their pleasant smiles. They were all grinning and talking and slurping on shakes. Everywhere around him, empty conversations droned on and on.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"I can't wait until next year."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"… I still can't believe he had the nerve to show up. A real black sheep."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">His mop and bucket were where he had left them, near the trashcans. He stared into the gray, bubbly water, trying to talk himself out of quitting. He could imagine the expression on Ken's face if he walked out the door.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"This is an out-of-the-way little joint. I'm surprised they do any business at all."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"… better than last year, but still not as good as the old times. It's all so safe now. In the old days, the recruits would get really hurt. "</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">He slowly began wheeling his mop and bucket through the crowd; some of them, he noticed, were back in line for seconds. Mark glanced up to the counter; Lucy was dutifully manning the shake dispenser, Darla was looking more and more distressed by the second, and Ken was just glaring at everything.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"You like this tie? You want it? I've got dozens of 'em!"</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"…you should see how my little ones are just into everything now. They're really a handful."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Mark rolled his eyes as he moved to the back of the restaurant. These people, he realized, must be coming back from some kind of family function. A reunion or a wedding or something it was only a guess, but it felt right. Besides, they all looked alike, with heads that looked too big and eyes that seemed too small.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"I swear the damn thing is stuck. Maybe there are some tools on the bus."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"Of course the meat tastes different, it's the chemicals."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">A short hallway led to the Men's washroom, the Women's washroom, and the utility room. Mark shoved the mop and bucket into the utility room and kicked the door closed. Next, he made his way to the men's room, where there was a handicapped-accessible stall with a toilet, a urinal, and a sink below a cracked mirror. There used to be a trash can, but someone had set that on fire, and Ken refused to buy a new one until Mark confessed to doing it.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Once he was safely locked in the stall, Mark sat down on the toilet seat and ran his fingers through his hair. His pants stayed on, he didn't need to relieve himself- he just needed a break. Mark tried to tell himself that he would look back at all this and laugh when he was a big-time rock star. The problem was that he didn't even believe it anymore. He had been in four bands in five years, and not one of them was able to make back their expenses, much less turn a profit. At moments like this, he wondered if moving back home wasn't such a bad idea after all. He still had college money waiting for him; his parents had refused to let him have it when they realized he was going to try his hand at show business.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Leaning back against the cool porcelain, he propped his feet up on either side of the stall and tried to relax. He had half a mind to take a little catnap; it wouldn't be the first time.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"This is terrible."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"Let me see."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">The bathroom door slammed open, and two of the customers shuffled in. One sounded panicky, and the other was cool and rational.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"I'm stuck." Mr. Panicky said he sounded like a kid who had just found out Christmas was canceled.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Mr. Rational's voice was AM radio smooth, "You're not stuck. I just need an entrenching tool."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Always on the lookout for free entertainment, Mark kept his feet propped up and tried to watch them through the slender gap between the bathroom enclosure's door and the wall. He could only see their backs, but it looked like one of them was undoing his shirt.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">There was a smashing followed by a chorus of empty clinkings. "Will this do?" Mr. Panicky asked.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Now there were scraping noises; it sounded like someone was sifting through glass. "That just might. Open wide."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Watching through the gap, Mark saw the figures move closer, one shifting and fidgeting, the other holding something gleaming in his hand. </span><i style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">What the fuck is this?</span></i><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> Mark thought as he held his breath.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">When the moist, wet, digging sounds started, Mark reached for the switchblade he kept in his boot. He always carried a blade with him, and considering the neighborhood he lived in, he probably should have carried more. The sounds continued.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Occasionally, they would be complimented by a rasping noise. Streaks of bile-like fluid began to ooze across the tile floor, and a foul, acrid smell filled the air. Mark didn't know how much more he could take before he'd have to make a run for it.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">The sounds stopped. Mr. Rational whistled, "Wow. You are stuck."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"Damn." A foot stomped, droplets of orange fluid spattered everywhere.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"Now don't you get upset. This won't have any bearing on your final record."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Mr. Panicky started to sound like Mr. Resignation, "I'm just disappointed."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"You have every right to be, but don't worry, there will be plenty more excursions."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">A scream cut through the air. </span><i style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">That's Darla!</span></i><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> Mark felt his stomach turn cold.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"I need to be out there." Mr. Rational sighed, "Just keep working at it. Maybe it will give."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"Yeah." Mr. Panicky said. One set of footsteps receded. The door swung to a close, and the digging sounds started again. Mark heard more screams and crashing from the bathroom wall bordering the kitchen. It seemed as though the whole late-night crew had gone mad. And then he heard Ken's voice, groveling and sniveling as he offered to open the safe.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Part of him wanted to get the fuck out of dodge. Part of him wanted to rush out there and save the day. No matter what he did, he had to get up and get going. Whoever these people were, they would find him eventually. After a moment to gather his courage, he flicked the switchblade and charged out of the bathroom stall.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">The first thing Mark's eyes found was the bathroom mirror. It was shattered, the smaller pieces lying in the bathroom sink; the man before him held one of the longer shards in his hand. His shirt hung open and loose. The nametag he wore was still visible. It said HI! MY NAME IS BOB. It took several moments for Mark to realize that Bob was slowly and methodically carving grooves into the skin of his chest. The fluid that oozed from those long, symmetrical wounds was orange. Thick tatters of skin lay on the floor or hung from his torso like strips of ruined wallpaper. He regarded Mark with an expression of dull surprise. "I didn't know you were here," he said, "you were hiding. You were spying."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Mark tried to act menacing, but all he managed was to stammer, "Well, what if I was?" He waved the switchblade in shaky circles.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"Oooooo." The thing called Bob grabbed at the knife, leaving the piece of mirror jutting from his chest.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Howling with panic, Mark slashed at Bob, cutting his fingertips and palm. More foul-smelling muck oozed out. "Back off," he cautioned, "I don't want any trouble."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"I need this," Bob grabbed the knife away and shoved Mark backward against the wall with surprising force.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Mark hit his head, and everything went dark. </span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">When he came to, he groaned and reached out for support, grabbing onto the cold porcelain of a sink. He squinted through blurry eyes to find the light switch, wondering how long he had been unconscious.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">He flicked it several times before giving up. He made his way to the door. Things squelched and slid underfoot, he winced with every footstep.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">All the power in the building was out, but at least the streetlights offered a kind of illumination. Mark moved between the booths, wondering why it was so quiet.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Don't wonder.</span></i><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> Mark thought, </span><i style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Just get to your car and get out of here. Move back in with your parents and get a haircut and a real job! Just go!</span></i></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">A thin layer of smoke hung in the air, and with it, a scent he could only equate with meat left too long on the broiler. The exit was just footsteps away.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">But so was the bus.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">It was still out there in the parking lot. The sickos were just sitting there staring straight ahead. Mark dropped to all fours, praying he hadn't been seen.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">What the Frig is going on here?</span></i></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">There was always the back exit. All Mark had to do was make his way out there and run. Oh Lord, would he run.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">He crawled into the kitchen and found himself staring at a battlezone; the glass of the office door was shattered, the broiler and the fry vats were smoldering, and there were buns and condiments everywhere. One of the cash registers was open, the bills and change left untouched. A tiny squeal escaped Mark's lips as he saw the skeleton curled at the base of the counter. The bones had been picked clean.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Oh God. Oh God.</span></i></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Chips of glass bit into his palms as he scrambled over debris. He found two more skeletons near the office, lying side by side like lovers. Frozen in place by the sight, he wondered which of his co-workers he was staring at. The broiler hissed and popped, and the fry vats gurgled. He wondered if they'd been alive when the flaying began.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Whoever did this...</span></i><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> He realized, </span><i style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Whoever did this wouldn't have left me alive out of sheer kindness. Whoever did this must still be waiting.</span></i></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">When Mark heard footsteps he wasn't surprised, not really. He stood up and saw Bob walking towards him, naked to the waist and smiling jovially. Bob's skinless chest now revealed a pale gray carapace marked with grooved in circular patterns.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"You saved me for last," Mark was numbed by the sight.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"They saved you for me," Bob explained, "I was too late to join in here. Defective equipment. It happens sometimes. Thank goodness you had a knife."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Bob's chest began to whisper with motion. It dilated outwards.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Mark felt his knees buckling "Aliens. You're aliens."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"I am no more an alien than you are a chimpanzee," Bob laughed as the hole in the center of their torso widened. "We are immigrants. This is the last part of our orientation, our chance to observe you in your natural environment. Your flesh, your thoughts, your nerve endings- they must be understood before we can continue."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"Is this an invasion?"</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Bob's chest was splayed wide. Something shifted in the aperture, something black and gleaming that writhed in time with the words coming from Bob's mouth. "Invasion?" He chuckled, "There's no invasion here. This world is occupied territory."</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"What are you going to do to me?"</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">"Sadly, all you have to look forward to now is madness and death. But you can choose which you experience first," a tendril snaked out of the lifeless automaton. At its touch, Mark's flesh bubbled and melted away. Dozens more latched onto him, dragging him closer, burning through him, searing him to the bone, "You can have it your way." <br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxaH9LGEtv4LGTbrYkrLQSJ62wVXsfpBebUiY8udPZoBVpsoxesmAzvramtxtctrVQCrnrdTwCA3rEnjGopNXm5zY5bY6eRus9h38TGcE8HkqDUGsAH8LeUIS4ARRxbtfwXckYLVjL8hP1j41y0QlbK9dab910kSMq86CvHyvZZDAcSY82mpLOBnmXZBDM/s2000/BLOGCOL.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="2000" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxaH9LGEtv4LGTbrYkrLQSJ62wVXsfpBebUiY8udPZoBVpsoxesmAzvramtxtctrVQCrnrdTwCA3rEnjGopNXm5zY5bY6eRus9h38TGcE8HkqDUGsAH8LeUIS4ARRxbtfwXckYLVjL8hP1j41y0QlbK9dab910kSMq86CvHyvZZDAcSY82mpLOBnmXZBDM/w640-h512/BLOGCOL.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p>albruno3http://www.blogger.com/profile/01410254757982165309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8913009842235805193.post-80144231404494614712024-02-06T08:12:00.003-05:002024-02-06T08:13:32.159-05:00Professor Pasta adapts ISLAND FURY<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/@professorpastatruehorror5977">From Professor Pasta's Library Of Horror</a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Ytfun2LBpzg?si=Ci4riQB-oT_uolZ2" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe><br /></div>albruno3http://www.blogger.com/profile/01410254757982165309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8913009842235805193.post-61425135423819159142024-02-06T06:46:00.008-05:002024-02-06T08:12:49.413-05:00Bun Is Fum has adapted PANTY WRAITH!<p><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/@bunisfum"> From her YouTube Channel</a></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/6ezuzgpNJTY?si=5RQ6i1hrYfWuO3Yn" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></span><br /></div>albruno3http://www.blogger.com/profile/01410254757982165309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8913009842235805193.post-77149233239504679672024-02-06T06:12:00.003-05:002024-02-10T14:51:49.073-05:00FRESH OFF THE BUS FROM CREEPYTOWN: Boggs And Croad Are Friends<!-- Google tag (gtag.js) --> <script async src="https://www.googletagmanager.com/gtag/js?id=G-RGBF7EGNN7"></script> <script> window.dataLayer = window.dataLayer || []; function gtag(){dataLayer.push(arguments);} gtag('js', new Date()); gtag('config', 'G-RGBF7EGNN7'); </script>
<p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjj9rgoALMtp040BLtMVf__7DIkQop6LKKGbQUenvtBtALuNlcOYblOoXj5AzrGbFH_tDu34FZpDe91Jo2cQforvA34TDHY_OwqWmBQUXEYamrySV3xIEePN9RPQTECTX_tiwONBL_KCskuxTvhH861YIrl2sRwy12R9ujkAJz0d11RYjhnAw1T6YWPz5c/s1080/imageedit_4_5010347385.png" style="font-family: verdana; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjj9rgoALMtp040BLtMVf__7DIkQop6LKKGbQUenvtBtALuNlcOYblOoXj5AzrGbFH_tDu34FZpDe91Jo2cQforvA34TDHY_OwqWmBQUXEYamrySV3xIEePN9RPQTECTX_tiwONBL_KCskuxTvhH861YIrl2sRwy12R9ujkAJz0d11RYjhnAw1T6YWPz5c/w640-h640/imageedit_4_5010347385.png" width="640" /> </a></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="font-family: verdana;"> by</span></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">Al Bruno III</span></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Now, that was an excellent meal. These guys treat you right. They earn every one of their five stars.<br /><br />No. No. Don't worry about the check. You are a guest of Boggs International, and we don't spare any expense when taking care of a guest. Would you like a cigar? Some more wine? Food always tastes better when someone else is paying for it.<br /><br />Am I right, or am I right?<br /><br />Wait, wait, we can talk business later. We want this much, the stockholders want that much, and maybe you don't want to sell at all. The night is young, and we've barely put a dent in the old expense account. I just hope I can convince you to make your company part of the Boggs family. There is a reason they sent me to you. We are exactly the same, self-made. We both started out at a podunk company in the middle of nowhere and made our way into the Fortune 500. We are innovators and forward-thinkers; we are exactly the kind of people who make this country great.<br /><br />Besides, you have one up on me, been married what is it? Twenty years? Congratulations! I'm not the marrying type myself, married to the company, you might say. Soldiers and married folks are the people I admire most, and they say both experience periods of intense fear and intense boredom. <br /><br />Am I right, or am I right?<br /><br />And kids! How many? Two? One in the crib and one going to college. My Auntie Kate would have loved you. She was all about the Bible. 'Be fruitful and multiply' and all that. They tell me your oldest boy is starting college, gonna be an Ivy League man. If he wants into a fraternity, let me know. You can't swing a dead cat around the office and not hit an alumni from one of the big ones.<br /><br />But enough of that, I know what you really want to talk about. The old stump here. You've been stealing glances at it the whole night, wondering to yourself what happened. I bet you thought I didn't notice, did you?<br /><br />Awww, ain't no big thing. It is what it is, and hey, I'm 50% better off than someone with no hands at all!<br /><br />How did it happen? Let me tell you a story, but first, let's get the waiter over here and get us some martinis!<br /><br />It starts in the '80s. Yeah, the crazy '80s back when I was still in diapers. See, there was this guy- Mr. Croad. I still don't know if that was his real name or whatever, but who cares? That's not what this story is about.<br /><br />Now Mr. Croad works for a company selling bonds. He's not a good-looking guy, short and fat, but he's a hard worker, a family man, an honest man. One day, his bosses start pushing him to sell these high-yield bonds, junk bonds you'd call them. It's the old pump and dump, a little scheme where everyone makes money but the client.<br /><br />And Mr. Croad, straight dealing, churchgoing man that he is, is having none of it. He warns the three members of senior management- Brown, Ryan, and Mitchell- that if this company he's devoted ten years to doesn't put a stop to the shenanigans, he's gonna go to the authorities. That was his mistake. Mr. Croad was a little naive, if you get my drift.<br /><br />It doesn't take long for his bosses to take him down. The company had some bad guys on the payroll, guys with fake names and dangerous reputations. Most companies have at least one of those bad guys somewhere, silently drawing a paycheck until he's needed. Brown, Ryan, and Mitchell don't have those guys kill Mr. Croad- that might raise too many red flags in all the wrong places. Instead, they frame him for possession of child pornography.<br /><br />Next thing you know, Mr. Croad was going up the river, and if there's one thing you don't want to be in prison for, it's being a pedophile. He was only in for seven years, but those were hard years. How hard? When he finally got out, he had a limp and a dead left eye that stared at nothing. He came out of prison mean- mean and a little bit crazy. He was alone, too; none of his friends or family wanted anything to do with him. <br /><br />When a man finds himself in a place like that, there are only two things they can go looking for: redemption or revenge, and let's face it, revenge is always easier to find.<br /><br />Am I right, or am I right?<br /><br />Ryan died first. They found him stuffed in a mini-fridge that would have been cramped for a child. Mr. Croad had bent and broken him in all kinds of ways to make him fit. And don't doubt for a second that guy was alive when he went in. He probably lived two or three days before he kicked the bucket. I know it sounds like a bad way to die, but the way I see it, he got off easy.<br /><br />Mr. Croad hogtied Brown's wife and all four of his kids and made them watch. He warned them if they looked away, he would do terrible things. So, the whole family watched Brown's lips being sewn shut with nylon wire, they watched his eyelids being cut off with a pair of nail clippers, and they watched the saucepan Mr. Croad had placed on the stovetop slowly boil.<br /><br />How long does it take a block of tin to melt? I don't know, but I do know that when it was good and bubbly, Mr. Croad poured the boiling metal first into one, then the other, of Brown's orbital cavities.<br /><br />I understgand that the poor bastard's dying scream was loud and long. There was no holding it back; he tore through the thread holding his mouth together turning his lips into flaps of torn ribbon. Mr. Croad knew there was no way the neighbors couldn't have heard, so he needed to get the Hell out of Dodge. But he'd had one last thing to do, you see, in the last moment, Brown's family had looked away, and it seemed like a shame to let all that extra tin go to waste. <br /><br />Lastly was Mitchell; he had no kids, but he did have a trophy wife. She was a former skin flick actress, you know, the kind I mean. The ones they made for late-night cable for old men and teenage boys to jerk off to. Mr.Croad, never being one to repeat himself, let her be; she was off shopping when he kidnapped her sugar Daddy. <br /><br />It was hours later when Mitchell woke up; he was buck-ass naked and tied down on the floor of an old train station. I don't know <br />how exactly Mr. Croad got ahold of those twelve pigs, but they were huge, at least six hundred pounds each. Now, they were farm-fed, used to the easy life, but Mr. Croad had been starving them for a while, so all pretense of domestication was pretty much gone by the time Mr. Croad ushered them into the room. Mr. Croad stared down at Mitchell and let him beg and snivel. Then he left Mitchell with the pigs, but not before dousing the man's balls in pork gravy.<br /><br />Gruesome stuff, eh? Makes me want some more martinis. And yes, it is all true. Every word of it.<br /><br />What? No, Mr. Croad didn't take my hand. I lost this in a car accident when I was twelve. It was too messed up for the doctors to save it.<br /><br />Then why the story? To kill time, of course. It's 9:30 now, more than enough time for Mr. Croad to get in your house. As I said before, every company has at least one bad man on the payroll, and when you can afford a man like Mr. Croad, who else do you need? <br /><br />The important thing is that he is in your house and if he gets a call from me, he'll go to work. He's had a long time to refine his technique since those early days and he's always itching to try new things.<br /><br />You want proof? Do you really want me to call him and say that? Do you really want to know what proof like that would be?<br /><br />Now to business, at long last business. I bet you're more than willing to sell to us now, and I bet your asking price is gonna be pretty reasonable.<br /><br />Am I right, or am I right?</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiib-jUtxaL8-lBBPx0gba2_2t9CFIFQ6kwCQA5nEBESVy_Pv4sxac3Fh5yvQ7eVDsXdR5D8g7dqS0vz9w-UuOCGEhLn7tWx9_I0kW7W0YvEBbZsVy3TV6Z-lueY-eEaHZ3SATtiIQ1KCZ8ktrlEHThPe0ulMkCZmaO8eponTCewHMyDraAMkbNFFpluA/s2000/BLOGCOL.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="2000" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiib-jUtxaL8-lBBPx0gba2_2t9CFIFQ6kwCQA5nEBESVy_Pv4sxac3Fh5yvQ7eVDsXdR5D8g7dqS0vz9w-UuOCGEhLn7tWx9_I0kW7W0YvEBbZsVy3TV6Z-lueY-eEaHZ3SATtiIQ1KCZ8ktrlEHThPe0ulMkCZmaO8eponTCewHMyDraAMkbNFFpluA/w640-h512/BLOGCOL.jpg" width="640" /></a></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><b><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></b></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></b></span><p></p>albruno3http://www.blogger.com/profile/01410254757982165309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8913009842235805193.post-28673266069655900702024-02-03T13:12:00.006-05:002024-02-10T14:45:03.397-05:00Vampire The Mass Kid Raid - a postscript <!-- Google tag (gtag.js) --> <script async src="https://www.googletagmanager.com/gtag/js?id=G-RGBF7EGNN7"></script> <script> window.dataLayer = window.dataLayer || []; function gtag(){dataLayer.push(arguments);} gtag('js', new Date()); gtag('config', 'G-RGBF7EGNN7'); </script>
<p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxFS9LTWYz77lZPuVrqsJFDmU0e8HtIZCh4ZxV8atm_P-bukBtLgQQNOR57etg3zORGCaDSA10e-hdaU88iknx99eSFSbvsjjiG8axLRjwrnjLPA0vfbgCfxKckV1N8nuigr47qxtXp3iB37JlQ_aVELtJOs4hw5aRJELCATZbCEfKWwp1No74ONg0IGhb/s4093/D_D-cover(MASTER)%20copy.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4093" data-original-width="2894" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxFS9LTWYz77lZPuVrqsJFDmU0e8HtIZCh4ZxV8atm_P-bukBtLgQQNOR57etg3zORGCaDSA10e-hdaU88iknx99eSFSbvsjjiG8axLRjwrnjLPA0vfbgCfxKckV1N8nuigr47qxtXp3iB37JlQ_aVELtJOs4hw5aRJELCATZbCEfKWwp1No74ONg0IGhb/w452-h640/D_D-cover(MASTER)%20copy.png" width="452" /></a></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">VAMPIRE THE MASS KID RAID </span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">A Postscript</span></b></div><div class="post-header">
</div>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Me: “You burst into the chamber just in time to see the Minions of Set pulling the blood fried pregnant woman out of the oven.”<br /><br /></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">A gasp went up from my players- for all their planning and use of the Celerity discipline they were too late.<br /><br />Now
you may well be wondering what the Hell is going on here so let me
bring you up to speed. It was still the early 1990’s; post Clinton
inauguration, pre Contract with America. Two great life changing events
had happened to me since my last game with my old group- first and most
importantly I had gotten married secondly I had started running White
Wolf’s WORLD OF DARKNESS games.<br /><br />Of course at the time of this
story only one game in the projected 5 game series had come out; VAMPIRE
THE MASQUERADE, but with a year of supplements to work from I had a
pretty good campaign going even if it seemed like the creatures in the
World of Darkness were in some kind of an Arms Race when it came to
superpowers.<br /><br />In my current campaign everyone was playing a vampire of one form or another</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br /><br />Me: “Ok let’s roll for Initiative.”<br /><br />Yetch: “Oh I’m gonna be sick. That is so disgusting Al.”<br /><br /></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Yetch
was one of my regular players he was a nice guy and a good, well
behaved player (aside from occasional moments of EXTEREME THESPIANISM).
The only trouble was that I don’t necessarily think a man that got dizzy
at the description of the sight of blood had the right mindset for
horror gaming.</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br /><br />Francesca: “Honey did you take your Tums?”<br /><br /></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">I
think Francesca was the one who was really into the idea of playing
VAMPIRE. There were three things you noticed about her, first she was a
Goth, second she had a chest you could roll an EXALTED die pool and not
lose a single d10 and third she was Yetch’s girlfriend. That last part
was the one that confused us the most, most girls go out with guys they
know their parents will hate so I can only assume her parents were Anton
LeVey and Wendy O Williams.<br /><br />The funny thing was that this was
when the trend of hot nerdy girls really began and it is a trend that
continues today. Sadly I came of age in the 1980’s, an era when
apparently all the geek hotties had been shipped to Canada. Which
explains why we spent most of our Saturday nights desperately trying to
watch scrambled porn.<br /><br />But perhaps I have shared too much.</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br /><br />Me: “As you all watch with increasing horror the light braised flesh of her stomach begins to shudder and split apart.<br /><br />Slacker X: “That is SO wrong, yet SO cool.”<br /><br /></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Now
Slacker X is and has been (at least until he reads this) one of my
longtime players and friends. I will always admire the fact he was
always indifferent to worries about things like employment and women.
Somehow as a result that meant he always had a fresh supply of both.<br /><br />Seriously folks, its like he’s a Jedi or something.</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br />Hentai Wrangler: “My character Lady Bishonen draws her katana and spends a blood point to activate her katana.”<br /><br />Me: “And then?”<br /><br />Hentai Wrangler: “And then she waits to see what happens.”<br /><br />Slacker X: “You always do that.”<br /><br /></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Hentai
Wrangler was actually in his twenties but he had a very young face and
he was another one of that rare species of gaming friend that I wasn’t
worried about hanging out with in social situations. He was a big fan of
Japanese media, in fact one the reasons I gave him the nickname he has
is because if not for him I might never have seen LEGEND OF THE
OVERFIEND, this is something I will never forgive him for.</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br /><br />Lando Molari: “I shout at the Setite elder, </span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">‘We had a deal Madden!’</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">”<br /><br /></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Have
you ever seen the TV series LOST IN SPACE? Remember the character of
Dr. Zachary Smith? Well Lando Molari was that character- in every game,
every time. He was always trying to go behind the other player’s backs
for one reason or another it didn’t matter if we were playing in THE
WORLD OF DARKNESS , DUNGEONS & DRAGONS or BUNNIES AND BURROWS. </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">The
players didn’t mind much partially because Lando was an all around nice
guy in real life and also because watching his characters get
dismembered from their own actions was good entertainment.</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br /><br />Me:
“The undead babies tear free from their fleshy prisons and begin
crawling towards the party, their eyes alight with inhuman hunger.”<br /><br /><br />Yetch: “Oooooh…”<br /><br />Francesca: “Ab3 where is the Goth in this? When are you gonna bring the Goth?”<br /><br />Slacker X: “I pull out my twin chrome plated .45s and leap sideways while firing at them.”<br /><br />Me: “Ok roll for it.”<br /><br />Slacker X: “Ok.”<br /><br />Me: “Wow that is a lot of ones…”<br /><br />Slacker X: “Why me?”<br /><br />Me: “The clips fall out of both your guns in mid leap and you crash to the floor well within crawling range.”<br /><br />Hentai Wrangler: “Lady Bishonen attacks her blade and panties flashing in the night.”<br /><br />Francesca: “My gangrel pops her claws and attacks.”<br /><br />Me: “Well, unlike some people you make your die rolls.”<br /><br />Slacker X: “Hey!”<br /><br />Me: “The two of you cut a swathe through the slightly baked undead babies.”<br /><br />Yetch: “My character looks around the room and says </span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">’Who is responsible? WHO HAS CAUSED THIS MADNESS?’</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">”<br /><br />Me: “Uh was that shout in or out of character?”<br /><br />Lando Molari: “I stay behind the rest of my party with my weapon drawn.”<br /><br />Slacker X: “And how does that help?”<br /><br />Lando Molari: “Cover fire.”<br /><br /></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Once
combat was resolved the player characters searched the building for any
sign of their longtime adversary Sid Madden Settite Elder- and yes his
business cards did say just that. As you can see I had the Vampire side
of the game pretty well nailed down but I rarely seemed to have any
Masquerade going on; swordfights on high rise window washing scaffolds,
exploding gas trucks and midgets in armored vans were the regular sort
of occurrences in my game. There was very little brooding upon the
vampiric condition, I can’t really say things were very ‘Gothic Punk’ at
all, maybe they were ‘Gothic Pulp’<br /><br />But on the other hand my game
had been a very long running affair and there were always players
joining in for a session or two… some even stayed for years. Some
wouldn’t leave the game even when I begged.<br /><br />And yes I did name an elder vampire of the Followers of Set ‘Sid Madden’- names were always my weak point.</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br /><br />Me: “You hear the sounds of sirens approaching.”<br /><br />Yetch: “We better get out of here.”<br /><br />Slacker X: “Yeah, the last thing we need is another run in with Detective Peter Gabriel.”<br /><br /></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">See what I mean? I suck at names.</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br /><br />Lando Molari: “Before we leave I search for anything of value.”<br /><br />Me: “Your wits and investigation reveals a bloodstained business card.”<br /><br />Lando Molari: “What the Hell is that about? I mean money or valuables. Maybe a vial of elder blood lying around.”<br /><br />Me: “Uhm…”<br /><br />Hentai Wrangler: “Do I notice Count Orlock being an idiot?”<br /><br />Me: “Yes, you see him bungle finding next week’s MaGuffin like Slacker X bungle a driving roll.”<br /><br />Slacker X: “Hey!”<br /><br /></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">With
that done I doled out the experience points and we cleared the room for
the old school D&D group. I was running my game in the back room of
a game store run by my friend Guido Jones- of course it wasn’t just a
game store he also sold comic books and pornographic trading cards. I
never got the whole pornographic trading card thing. What was the
appeal? Let’s be honest here, even if masturbation isn’t bad for your
eyesight it can’t be healthy to be staring that intently at a 3x5 card
for any prolonged period of time.<br /><br />Just my opinion folks.<br /><br />My
game ran on a Saturday afternoon and the notice board let it be known I
was open to any and all players- so long as they brought premade
characters and didn’t antagonize the main group too badly. It wasn’t
easy trying to organize up to ten players at once but it was usually a
lot of fun. I still can’t believe how patient my wife was through all
this, most weekends I was off running a game on Saturdays and then
Sunday going over my notes for the next week.<br /><br />The woman is a saint I tells ya.<br /><br />As I got ready to leave a very pretty college aged girl waylaid me in the doorway of Guido’s Geek Emporium.</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br /><br />Hottie: “Are you the guy that runs the VAMPIRE game?”<br /><br />Me: “That’s what is says on my monogrammed stationary.”<br /><br />Hottie: “Huh?”<br /><br />Me: “What I mean is yes. Yes I am that guy.”<br /><br />Hottie: “Would you have room for another three players next week?”<br /><br />Me: “It’s an open game. We are always looking for fresh blood. Ha ha get it?”<br /><br />Hottie: “Uh sure. So next week then?”<br /><br />Me: “Looking forward to it.”<br /><br /></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Once she was gone Slacker X approached me.</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br /><br />Slacker X: “Who was that?”<br /><br />Me: “New player.”<br /><br />Slacker X: “Awesome.”<br /><br />Me: “And she’s bringing friends.”<br /><br />Slacker X: “Even more awesome.”<br /><br />Guido Jones: “She could be bringing her boyfriend.”<br /><br />Me: “She said there would be three new players not her and a significant other.”<br /><br />Slacker X: “Yeah if she had a boyfriend she would have wanted to establish it right away, this is a game store after all.”<br /><br />Guido Jones: “Isn’t that going to be too many players for you Ab3? Let’s not forget what happened on Halloween.”<br /><br />Me: “If you don’t bring up Halloween I won’t bring up Project Omega.”<br /><br /></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">I
suppose it would be cruel of me to let that scene end without telling
you about Halloween and Project Omega so let’s start with the debacle
that was my Halloween marathon VAMPIRE Session. Many would say later it
was a great game, others would say it was the worst thing they had ever
played in; it was a story that featured a Vampire rock band, human
sacrifices and murder by duct tape. The thing is I remember nothing of
it. The morning of the game I started feeling queasy and by the time the
evening rolled around I was suffering from chills and room clearing
bouts of flatulence. I pumped myself full of aspirin and Pepto Bismol
but as the night wore on I became paler and paler and my game mastering
became more and more incoherent- at least that is what I was told. I
still don’t know how much of the stories I should believe. Why would I
have a long drawn out scene take place at a gaming convention where
people where playing Live Action VAMPIRE THE MASQUERADE? Why would I try
to convince the players that TV actor Burt Ward was Caine? Why the Hell
would I have the players menaced by an Invisible Zeppelin? All I know
is that by midnight Slacker X and Hentai Wrangler called my wife to take
me home and I slept for two days.<br /><br />In comparison Guido’s Project
Omega wasn’t that big a disaster at all, you see his master plan to
increase revenue by teaching lingerie models how to play Dungeons &
Dragons. The exact specifics of the plan were never really explained to
me but it involved a lot of time at Victoria's Secret.<br /><br />The week
went by quickly enough with work, spending quality time with the missus
and trying to keep our crappy apartment from falling apart around us. I
was working for a place called Paper Shredder- the same outfit I had
worked for when I was in college; my wife and I were still learning how
to be a married couple and mushrooms kept growing out of the bedroom
ceiling. There’s a story in all this somewhere but this isn’t the place.<br /><br />Game
night rolled around and somehow I was ready. I planned for the
bloodstained business card to lead the players to a den of inbred Nazi
cannibal white slavers. I made sure there were plenty of evil NPCs for
everyone to fight, including the new players. I got to Guido’s Game
Emporium an hour early, and started setting up. My regular players
started to filter in, Yetch and Francesca got there first, as always and
Francesca spent about ten minutes talking to me about her gangrel’s
long term plans and inner landscape. I always had a hard time paying
attention to exactly what she was saying because during the whole
discussion my mind was warring between wanting to look at her chest yet
not wanting to be caught looking at her chest.<br /><br />By the time she
had finished keeping me abreast of her character’s plans the rest of the
gang had shown up. Slacker X and Lando Molari were pawing at my
rulebooks trying to figure out how to spend their hard earned experience
points.</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br /><br />Slacker X: “And a fourth dot of firearms…”<br /><br />Hentai Wrangler: “Like it’ll matter.”<br /><br />Slacker X: “Oh come on!”<br /><br />Lando Molari: “You know what skill I need? The skill that can help my character become an expert in the art of deception.”<br /><br />Slacker X: “You mean subterfuge?”<br /><br />Lando Molari: “No, it’s the one that makes you better at hiding your true objectives.”<br /><br />Slacker X: “That’s subterfuge.”<br /><br />Lando Molari: “No I want him to lie better.”<br /><br />Slacker X: “SUB-TER-FUGE!”<br /><br />Hottie: “You guys haven’t started yet have you?”<br /><br />Hentai Wrangler: “We’re starting now.”<br /><br />Lando Molari: “Who is this vision of lovliness?”<br /><br />Yetch: “More players?”<br /><br />Slacker X: “Have a seat, and if you need to borrow any dice…”<br /><br />Lando Molari: “No! Those dice are cursed! Don’t even touch them.”<br /><br />Slacker X: “Man…”<br /><br />Francesca: “Uh, who are those three kids behind her?”<br /><br />Hottie: “These are my nephews, they always wanted to play VAMPIRE.”<br /><br />Slacker X: “But you’re playing too right?”<br /><br />Hottie: “Sorry, Guido is teaching me how to play D&D. Bye.”<br /><br />Lando Molari: “As a great man once said, what a revoltin’ development this is.”<br /><br />Slacker X: “Do you think Guido has any openings in his game?”<br /><br />Me: “I think Guido has all the openings he needs tonight.”<br /><br /></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Our
new arrivals stared at us expectantly. They looked to be between 11 and
13 years old. Their eyes were full of that special brand of
prepubescent menace I had learned to fear in Junior High.</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br /><br />Kid #1: “Is this chair taken?”<br /><br />Francesca: “No.”<br /><br />Kid #1: “Cool. Hey you’re pretty sexy. My name’s Mike.”<br /><br />Francesca: “I’m Frannie.”<br /><br />Kid #1: “What grade are you in?”<br /><br />Francesca: “I’m a graduate student.”<br /><br />Kid #1: “A senior? Wicked.”<br /><br />Kid #2: “Hi I’m Greg. Is that your character?”<br /><br />Hentai Wrangler: “”Yeah, a battle hardened survivor or two of Ab3’s campaigns.”<br /><br />Kid #2: “What’s a bishonen?”<br /><br />Hentai Wrangler: “Er, it’s a man with a little something extra.”<br /><br />Kid #2: “Are you gay?”<br /><br />Kid #3: “Check out my character. He’s a Brujah.”<br /><br />Kid #1: “We’re all Brujahs.”<br /><br />Kid #3: “Well you better watch yourselves of my character will totally kick the ass of everyone in the room.”<br /><br />Slacker X: “What was your name again?”<br /><br />Kid #3: “Brian.”<br /><br />Slacker X: “Well Brian, would you like to borrow some of my dice.”<br /><br /></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">I
checked over the new arrivals character sheets and finding no obvious
problems we got started. I wasted no time trying to integrate the new
players into the party.</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br /><br />Me:
“The Coterie is at their usual hangout when they spot the three Brujahs
the vampire Prince of Utica asked you to meet with. That’s you guys.”<br /><br />Kid #1: “Wait… where are we?”<br /><br />Me: “You’re in Utica.”<br /><br />Kid #1: “No I mean where in Utica are we?”<br /><br />Yetch: “It’s a bar all the local vampires hang out in called </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"> The Leather Nun</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">. It’s –”<br /><br />Me: “-it’s a place for quiet contemplation and hand crafted goods.”<br /><br />Kid #2: “Sounds lame.”<br /><br />Yetch: “What are you talking about? This is a total- OW!”<br /><br /></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">I
didn’t want to throw a d10 at Yetch, especially not one of the
prismatic ones, but I had to shut him up. I wasn’t about to let my
violent perverted little role playing game corrupt the minds of
America’s youth. That was the Internet’s job. At least some of my
players caught on.</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br /><br />Slacker X: “I walk past the women …selling oven mitts and approach the new arrivals. I say </span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"> ‘The Prince wanted me to let you know that you are welcome in his city as long as you don’t cause any trouble.’</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">”<br /><br />Kid #3: “You hear that guys? Some other vampire thinks he can tell us what to do!”<br /><br />Kid #2: “I spend some blood, pull the hatchet from my overcoat and start whacking people at random.”<br /><br />Kid #3: “Radical!”<br /><br />Me: “A hatchet?”<br /><br />Kid #2: “You Oked it. See right there? Small axe.”<br /><br />Francesca: “What the Hell Ab3?”<br /><br />Me: “Uhm, I thought he meant that deodorant body spray stuff.”<br /><br />Francesca: “What?”<br /><br />Me: “Well it was capitalized!”<br /><br />Yetch: “Why the Hell brings an Axe to a- OW!”<br /><br />Hentai Wrangler: “-craft fair?”<br /><br />Me: “Good save.”<br /><br />Yetch: “None of this makes any sense.”<br /><br />Me: “You’re playing a Malkavian get used to it.”<br /><br />Kid #2: “Do I hit anyone in the face?”<br /><br />Me: “Let’s roll some dice.”<br /><br />Kid #1: “I pee on the bar!”<br /><br />Lando Molari: “Vampires don’t pee.”<br /><br />Kid #1: “What if I spend a blood point?”<br /><br /></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">It
didn’t take long for things to spiral into chaos, with the Masquerade
in tatters the three Brujah wandered out into the streets in search of
more trouble; perhaps spurred on by relative easy and bloodless kills.</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br /><br />Hentai
Wrangler: “Lady Bishonen has had enough of this! She draws her blade
and orders them to surrender to the Prince’s justice.”<br /><br /><br />Kid #2: “I throw a knife at her.”<br /><br />Me: “Roll your dice.”<br /><br />Hentai Wrangler: “I catch it in kid air.”<br /><br />Me: “Very nice, lotsa tens there.”<br /><br />Kid #3: “And while she’s catching the knife I shoot her with my Desert Eagle.”<br /><br />Me: “Oh God.”<br /><br />Hentai Wrangler: “So this is torpor…”<br /><br />Kid #1: “I run off and steal a car.”<br /><br />Me: “Fine…”<br /><br />Kid #2: “I use my Potence to pick a manhole cover and throw it as hard as I can at someone.”<br /><br />Kid #3: “Dude you totally said manhole.”<br /><br />Lando Molari: “I use the Presence discipline to cow the other two.”<br /><br />Me: “Sorry guys you’re cowed by Lando Molari’s vampiric awesomeness.”<br /><br />Kid #1: “And I run him over with the car!”<br /><br />Me: “What?”<br /><br />Kid #1: “You said I could steal a car.”<br /><br />Me: “But I didn’t –”<br /><br />Kid #1: “You saying a car couldn’t reach him yet?”<br /><br />Me: “Sigh. Sorry Lando.”<br /><br />Kid #2: “Now where’s that Gangrel chick?”<br /><br />Francesca: “Watching in horrified disbelief.”<br /><br />Yetch: “There’s never an invisible zeppelin around when you need one.”<br /><br />Kid #2: “I spend some blood and flex for the Gangrel chick.”<br /><br />Francesca: “Not interested.”<br /><br />Kid #2: “Fine I use Presence to call her over.”<br /><br />Francesca: “Ab3!”<br /><br />Me: “Well, lets make some rolls and see what happens.”<br /><br />Francesca: “Oh great. I guess I flounce over to him.”<br /><br />Kid #3: “No way. I Presence her over to me instead.”<br /><br /></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">They
pretty much played a kind of vampire ping pong with her for a few turns
while the remaining two members of the party tried to peel Lando Molari
off the grill of the Monte Carlo. </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br /><br />Yetch: “My character says </span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"> 'Will I allow you to continue to violate the peace of my domain. I SAY THEE NAY!!!!'</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"> Then I get some Tremere spells ready.”<br /><br />Slacker X: “I just open fire and kill them, I kill them a lot.”<br /><br />Me: “All right lets get some combat rolls.”<br /><br /></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">And
one botch later the party’s last stand ended what Slacker X’s charcter
accidentally shot Yetch’s character in the back. I could hear Guido and
the Hottie giggling in the next room which meant someone was getting
treasure. I decided to call it a night.</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br /><br />Me: “Sorry about tonight guys.”<br /><br />Slacker X: “I never thought anything could be worse than having to watch MANOS THE HANDS OF FATE. I was wrong.”<br /><br />Hentai Wrangler: “To think I missed a night of fandubbing for this.”<br /><br />Me: “I’m really sorry.”<br /><br />Lando Molari: “As soon as I wake up I’m selling my soul to the devil for more disciplines.”<br /><br />Me: “You did that already.”<br /><br />Francesca: “Ab3, if Mark Rein Hagen were here he would slap your face. I can’t belive you let- Hey! My eyes are up here!”<br /><br />Me: “I was hanging my head in shame, really.”<br /><br />Yetch: “Thanks for everything buddy.”<br /><br />Me: “Oh great sarcasm from you too.”<br /><br />Yetch: “No. No. Really. Thanks. Whenever you run a bad game she wants to have angry sex. I mean really angry. You’re the best.”<br /><br />Me: “Oh… well enjoy.”<br /><br />Kid# 1: “That game was awesome. What time do we start next week?”<br /><br /></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">So that’s why I started running games at my apartment, but that’s a whole other story.</span></span></i></span></div>albruno3http://www.blogger.com/profile/01410254757982165309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8913009842235805193.post-92230676476283120332024-02-03T12:21:00.004-05:002024-02-03T12:26:44.273-05:00RPG.NET rant #1 The Team That Couldn't Shoot Straight<div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxFS9LTWYz77lZPuVrqsJFDmU0e8HtIZCh4ZxV8atm_P-bukBtLgQQNOR57etg3zORGCaDSA10e-hdaU88iknx99eSFSbvsjjiG8axLRjwrnjLPA0vfbgCfxKckV1N8nuigr47qxtXp3iB37JlQ_aVELtJOs4hw5aRJELCATZbCEfKWwp1No74ONg0IGhb/s4093/D_D-cover(MASTER)%20copy.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4093" data-original-width="2894" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxFS9LTWYz77lZPuVrqsJFDmU0e8HtIZCh4ZxV8atm_P-bukBtLgQQNOR57etg3zORGCaDSA10e-hdaU88iknx99eSFSbvsjjiG8axLRjwrnjLPA0vfbgCfxKckV1N8nuigr47qxtXp3iB37JlQ_aVELtJOs4hw5aRJELCATZbCEfKWwp1No74ONg0IGhb/w452-h640/D_D-cover(MASTER)%20copy.png" width="452" /></a></div> </span></div><div class="paragraph_style_1" style="color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 21.85px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0pt; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>RPG.NET rant #2</b></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="paragraph_style_1" style="color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 21.85px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin: 0px; opacity: 1; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>The day I killed the entire party before the first combat encounter</b></span></span></span></span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I have been in a super hero frame of mind lately. Maybe it's the fact
that I have Godlike and Freedom Force on order but it has set me in a
nostalgic mood for the Champions campaigns I used to play in. Then as I
remembered I realized those long lost games I began to shudder with the
memory of THE TEAM THAT COULDN'T SHOOT STRAIGHT. <br /></span>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br />
Never before or since has there ever been a super hero team so
dysfunctional. We had no base, we met at a Burger King and then headed
out in our flying Monte Carlo from there. <br /></span>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br />
Let me tell you about the core roster of characters. Please share my Hell. <br /></span>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">(The stories are real only the names have been changed) <br /></span>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">MY CHARACTER: Take some BATMAN YEAR ONE, throw in Don Quixote and
marinate with some pulp and you had my character. Out in the cold cruel
superhero world with only his fedora, trenchcoat and one gadget he had
his hands full dealing with characters like panda and Raccoon. I really
enjoyed playing a beginner hero but he never really go the chance to
develop as I would have liked. <br /></span>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">THE INFECTIOUS GUY: His power? That he has ALL known diseases. He had to
wear a containment suit at all times and he blasted villains with a
gout of toxins and pus that equaled a ranged killing attack. The really
fun part about this guy was that it turned out that his containment suit
wasn't strong enough and my character was nearly taken out by a case of
jaundice! <br /></span>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">THE INSANE KILLING MACHINE: How insane? The player lobbied for a ranged
hand to hand killing attack to properly simulate his character's
deadliness. This crazy cyborg would just show up, fight (and mostly
kill) the baddies then speed away. Who was he? Was he really on the team
at all? I was never sure. <br /></span>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">THE SUPEHERO INSPIRED BY THE WORKS OF AYN RAND: I admit I know little of
Rand's work mainly because of the nightmare of this character- a
mentalist named Atlas in honor of the book ATLAS SHRUGGED. When a fight
broke out he would hide and fire off mental bolts while extolling the
virtues of objectivism. <br /></span>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">THE GUY WITH A JETPACK AND A HIGH POWERED RIFLE: When combat broke out
he would zoom up into the air and start sniping. He had a kind of code
against killing, he only killed villains if they fought back, or sassed
him. <br /></span>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">THE DINOSAUR IN THE CLIP ON TIE: I don't want to talk about this one, I just don't. <br /></span>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">THE ONE MAN ROTATING GUEST STAR: Every week the player had a new
character; every damn week. There wasn't an original one in the bunch,
let me name a few and give you their defining moment. THE ONE BASED ON
THE MAIN CHARACTER FROM AIRWOLF: Spent the combat trying to cross the
map to his helicopter. THE ONE BASED ON THE MAIN CHARACTER FROM
STREETHAWK: Spent the entire combat zipping around the map on his
super-powered motorcycle. THE ONE BASED ON LSH's ULTRA-BOY: Died because
he forgot that he couldn't use super strength and flight at the same
time and he tried to catch a crashing spacecraft. THE ONE BASED ON LEE
VAN CLEEF's CHARACTER FROM THE TV SHOW THE MASTER: Since most of the
character points were spent juicing his character's defensive combat
value through the roof he had no attacks that could hurt anything. he
bounced around like a sterile flea hitting one villain after another
until he was killed by a ranged attack. THE ONE BASED ON JULIAN SANDS
CHARACTER FROM THE FILM WARLOCK: Skulked in the background and drained
endurance points from any player character that wandered to close to
him. THE ONE BASED ON ALPHA FLIGHT'S LEADER GUARDIAN: I never knew why
he was there since our team was based in New York. His whole thing is
that he would kidnap unconscious super villains to Canada for
'rehabilitation'. Since all the villains were sexy female villains my
opinion was dubious. <br /></span>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">THE BLUE-SKINNED RED-EYED FALLEN ANGEL: An ok character but the player
insisted on making the character's secret identity himself. <br /></span>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">THE LITTLE OLD LADY WITH AWSOME MIND CONROL ABILITIES: Another character
that seemed to want to do nothing more than pound on my character
because he 'looked sinister' <br /></span>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">And lastly.... <br /></span>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">THE DESTROYER OF CAMPAIGNS: With his combination of rules lawyering and
outright cheating he could unmake an Amber diceless game. His character
was supposed to be just a guy in powered armor but his merciless
point-whoreing created an unstoppable juggernaut. How unstoppable? How
about knockback that sent NPCs off the map? How about combats that
lasted a number of rounds equal to the number of adversaries facing him?
How about the high-end Dr. Destroyer had to run for his life? Finally
the GM tried to kill him with a nuclear explosion- this knocked the
character unconscious for ONE ROUND then he recovered... <br /></span>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br />
Shortly after the arrival of the last character the campaign died, all I
have left now are the memories but with therapy and drugs I hope to
supress them.</span></div>albruno3http://www.blogger.com/profile/01410254757982165309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8913009842235805193.post-68235256190626956122024-02-03T10:52:00.008-05:002024-02-10T14:47:13.195-05:00STORIES IN THE KEY OF LOVECRAFT: Marcie Did You Know<!-- Google tag (gtag.js) --> <script async src="https://www.googletagmanager.com/gtag/js?id=G-RGBF7EGNN7"></script> <script> window.dataLayer = window.dataLayer || []; function gtag(){dataLayer.push(arguments);} gtag('js', new Date()); gtag('config', 'G-RGBF7EGNN7'); </script>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMgaQqFlquH6A31yfG3GiG6AIvps4kqCaU139D8qArhjB2_lsbHf_T0aNxLaU0w0GR33qBakpTxo1uHivGSsddwha_wlyMO6KYzfnuteyr_f21oWRLq0SwpTEkUH8cpy4-B3p-cix9UrpzngQ5aaix4ImS3z8-AcO-vb_zdr9wDetRMhthTLtePlY1h2kd/s3000/SMM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="3000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMgaQqFlquH6A31yfG3GiG6AIvps4kqCaU139D8qArhjB2_lsbHf_T0aNxLaU0w0GR33qBakpTxo1uHivGSsddwha_wlyMO6KYzfnuteyr_f21oWRLq0SwpTEkUH8cpy4-B3p-cix9UrpzngQ5aaix4ImS3z8-AcO-vb_zdr9wDetRMhthTLtePlY1h2kd/w640-h640/SMM.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">By</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Al Bruno III</span></b><br /><br /></div><br /></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Every night, she waited out in a clearing with her camera and binoculars to catch sight of something from beyond; she didn't care what it was- a UFO, a shimmering wisp of ghost, or even a forest spirit. Just so long as it could prove there was more than her job, her apartment, and her emptiness.<br /><br />This night was cool with the early days of fall, and the winter stars were beginning to shine; she was wearing her windbreaker and stocking cap, and there was a thermos of soup between her feet should she need it. It had all the makings of a perfect night.<br /><br />"Marcie, where do you go at night?" her roommate would ask, "You should come out with us, come out and meet someone."<br /><br />Both women knew the invitation was a lie, Julie would have been humiliated to be seen clubbing with her scrawny, virginal roommate, and Marcie had no interest in wasting a night by going out whoring. After all, even if it wasn't a clear night, she still had things to keep her occupied; there were books of urban and ancient legends to read through, websites to be visited, and notes to be taken. The invisible and the impossible were old friends to her- she knew them all by Bigfoot, Aliens, the Jersey Devil, Chupacabra, the Loch Ness monster, and all the rest.<br /><br />She would read eyewitness accounts with the same kind of envy Julie expressed when flipping through fashion magazines and bridal catalogs; it was the same kind of longing that Marcie's mother had used when speaking about the bible and the afterlife. Neither of them understood Marcie's obsession, and if they had asked, she would have told them that this was what she believed in, her faith, her religion.<br /><br />Something flickered at the edge of Marcie's vision. She put the binoculars to her eyes with almost bruising force, but it was nothing more than a meteor, a bit of rock falling from nowhere to the Earth. But just in case, Marcie kept watching that part of the sky for almost ten minutes in case some great mystery had sent the shooting star ahead of itself.<br /><br />But there was nothing but cold dark sky.<br /><br />Sighing, she let the binoculars hang down around her neck again and returned to searching the horizon for a while. She had come here to Horne's quarry after almost a year of traipsing around Brown Mountain trying to catch a glimpse of the legendary lights; all she had ever seen were fireflies. A search of her online resources had led her here to this abandoned quarry. The official story was that it would no longer be abandoned once a number of inheritance and tax problems were resolved, but there were other stories as well, stories about strange lights, half-seen shapes, and missing persons.<br /><br />Marcie shivered a little at the thought of becoming a missing person herself, but it was worth the risk; it was worth anything.<br /><br />Because once she saw, once she knew, she could rub it in the nose of everyone who had laughed at her. She would go on the news, be interviewed, and praised because She was the girl who knew.<br /><br />She was the girl that had always known.<br /><br />A little while later, Marcie treated herself to a swig from her thermos; the soup was warm but tasted like it had been hastily made from a can. Which, of course, it had.<br /><br />Once she had closed the lid again, she set the thermos back down and began scanning the sky again.<br /><br />And suddenly, there it was, a bloated gossamer form swirling down out of the darkness like a skydiver with a damaged chute.<br /><br />But this was no parachute, no weather balloon or other illusion. Camera and binoculars forgotten, Marcie watched it undulate and twist. Despite the dark, she could see every detail clearly; the translucent flesh, the three clumsy wings that somehow kept the shapeless body aloft, and the cluster of insect-like eyes. She thought it was the most terrible and beautiful thing she had ever seen.<br /><br />It touched down with a wet smack. Marcie could hear its rasping breaths; it reminded her of her mother's death rattle, only thicker, meatier.<br /><br />Using the three wings as legs, the creature from the sky began to drag itself across the stony ground. Suddenly, Marcie began to wonder if it was somehow hurt or if the gravity of Earth was too much for it. She drew closer, wondering what she should say and do.<br /><br />"Hello?" She said. Her voice was almost a whisper, "Are you… are you all right?"<br /><br />Its head swiveled bonelessly. Its eyes were the color of moonlight, shifting this way and that, studying her.<br /><br />"Can you speak?" She asked, "I'm Marcie… Mar-cie."<br /><br />It spoke with a mouth that puffed open and out like a fish yanked from the water, <i><b>"</b></i><b>OiD eC"</b><br /><br />"Is that your name?” It drew closer, half dragging, half rolling.<br /><br /><b>"OiD eC nOrOvAf”</b><br /><br /><i>I was right!</i> Tears welled up in her eyes. <i>I knew I was.</i><br /><i><br /></i><b>“OiD eC nOrOvAf SiVoRt Iv RaC uMiT eN"</b><br /><br />And it could talk! What secrets would it have to tell her? It was close enough now for Marcie to see through the lucid flesh to the twisted organs that made up the creature’s insides. The lower half was a mass of tiny squirming spheres.<br /><br />Marcie was breathless, "I've waited so long for you."<br /><br />Suddenly, it coiled up and sprung at her. She was so surprised she didn't even have time to scream, and the next thing she knew, it was morning. Marcie woke shivering on the hard ground of the abandoned quarry. Her clothes were in tatters, and red welts covered her skin as though she had been lashed.<br /><br />She drew herself up to her knees and was sick, throwing up again and again until nothing was left, and she was clutching her hands over her aching, swollen stomach.<br /><br />Swollen?<br /><br />Yes, her belly was swollen, and when she ran her hands over it, she felt things squirm and kick.<br /><br />But she wasn't afraid; after all, this had been an answer to her prayers.<br /><br />And what religion didn't have a miraculous birth or two to its name?</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiib-jUtxaL8-lBBPx0gba2_2t9CFIFQ6kwCQA5nEBESVy_Pv4sxac3Fh5yvQ7eVDsXdR5D8g7dqS0vz9w-UuOCGEhLn7tWx9_I0kW7W0YvEBbZsVy3TV6Z-lueY-eEaHZ3SATtiIQ1KCZ8ktrlEHThPe0ulMkCZmaO8eponTCewHMyDraAMkbNFFpluA/s2000/BLOGCOL.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="2000" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiib-jUtxaL8-lBBPx0gba2_2t9CFIFQ6kwCQA5nEBESVy_Pv4sxac3Fh5yvQ7eVDsXdR5D8g7dqS0vz9w-UuOCGEhLn7tWx9_I0kW7W0YvEBbZsVy3TV6Z-lueY-eEaHZ3SATtiIQ1KCZ8ktrlEHThPe0ulMkCZmaO8eponTCewHMyDraAMkbNFFpluA/w640-h512/BLOGCOL.jpg" width="640" /> </a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"></span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> </span><br /></div>albruno3http://www.blogger.com/profile/01410254757982165309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8913009842235805193.post-16131007169477229582024-02-01T06:00:00.022-05:002024-02-01T06:00:00.140-05:00TALES OF LOST GODS AND FRAGILE TRANSFORMATIONS: Futterman's Apotheosis<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxEgXqL1a4c0Se5ZzZkqEAF7sdIbJmGbUgy3lGUj9iU4xnE8UVP_o_6gJAcbDggn11a7ReZoLl3Ooc36kGjoEm9_m_cpUFluKsM4h0k4EMVcN9EFUN4jGBw9FZKvbI4J7UeI8MYXImmnxp_21WCmyTmLwR1b2hGIP4Ck9WsRQhQqUsaZo8wpLCYYWAXux8/s1080/futterman(1).png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxEgXqL1a4c0Se5ZzZkqEAF7sdIbJmGbUgy3lGUj9iU4xnE8UVP_o_6gJAcbDggn11a7ReZoLl3Ooc36kGjoEm9_m_cpUFluKsM4h0k4EMVcN9EFUN4jGBw9FZKvbI4J7UeI8MYXImmnxp_21WCmyTmLwR1b2hGIP4Ck9WsRQhQqUsaZo8wpLCYYWAXux8/w640-h640/futterman(1).png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">By</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">Al Bruno III</span></span></div><div style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"> <br /></span></span></div><div class="page" style="text-align: left;" title="Page 1"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>It wasn't until after they got settled in that
someone found the hatch set into the stone floor of
the cabin; a wooden door with a black metal ring
in the center that was cold to the touch.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>“I was thinkin' it might be a wine cellar or
something,” Randy said.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>Edward shook his head, “We're just bedding down
for the night. Don't go screwing around.”
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>Of course it had been Randy snooping around.
While they had been unpacking and unrolling their
sleeping bags, he had been going through the
books stacked in one corner of the room; while
they were struggling with the fireplace, he had
found the weird graffiti scrawled on the inside of
the kitchen cabinet doors. Now he was obsessing
over the hatch, “Maybe there’s bodies down there
or something,” he said with a morbid grin, “Maybe
the people that own this place make snuff films or
worship the Devil...”
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>The air in the cabin was rank and musty but the
four young men couldn't complain. Better this than
</span></span></p>
</div>
</div>
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<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>another hour of trudging around in the snow and
arguing. “Some Spring Break this is turning out to
be,” Dave grumbled. The fire had died again and
he was trying to restart it with some green wood, a
lighter and an issue of MAXIM magazine, “Hike the
Appalachian Trail my ass. I could be doing tequila
body shots off some sorority girl right now.”
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>Futterman laughed as he peered over Dave's
shoulder, “Dream on pal.” Futterman's first name
was Tom but to the students and staff of Loch
Sheldrake Community College he was simply
Futterman.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>“Who knew it would snow?” Edward helped Randy
unpack his sleeping bag, “Snow at this time of
year? It's crazy.”
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>“It's just my luck that's what it is,” Dave watched
the fire eradicate the airbrushed features of a
scantily clad cover girl. The flames licked at his
fingertips, “Ow!”
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>“Careful idiot!” Futterman growled, “Let me.”
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>“You know maybe we should just get some rest,”
Edward said, “I'm sure in the morning we can find
the trail again.”
</span></span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
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<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>Dave sucked his scorched fingers, “Assuming it's
not buried by snow.”
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>“No way is this sticking.” Edward said, “The
Weather Channel would have said something.”
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>Randy asked, “What about the trap door?”
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>“Considering we don't know who lives here, let's
just leave it alone,” Edward felt a little guilty about
breaking and entering but it was either this or
possible hypothermia. The little cabin was a squat
brick and stone structure. It had been dark and
empty, its single window beginning to film over
with ice.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>“And hey... check this out,” Randy went back to the
books, “</span><span style="font-style: italic;">The Fisherman’s Bible, Little Women, The
Anarchist's Cookbook </span><span>and then this.”
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>Futterman was the only one that bothered to look
up, “What is that? Greek?”
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>“It’s not English that’s for sure, but look at the
pictures. What’s wrong with these people? Hey
Eddie, your parents are from Greece. Can you read
this? It's like about circus freaks.”
</span></span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>
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<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>“Circus freaks...” Edward took the book from him
and put it back in the pile, “No thank you, besides
these aren't ours.”
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>Randy shrugged, “This place doesn't look like it's
been used in years. Finders keepers and all that.”
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>Edward frowned “It’s that kind of attitude that got
you banned from the college bookstore.”
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>“We've got... oh wait hang on. There! We've got a
real firenow!” Futterman applauded himself.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>“Is wood supposed to smell like that?” Dave
covered his nose.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>Flashlights off, they settled in for the night, taking
a few moments to snack on some dry rations and
swap stories. There was the story of the night
Randy almost got his tongue pierced; naturally
alcohol and his ex-girlfriend were involved.
Futterman followed up with his tale of working late
in the school photo lab and catching a freshman
girl making out with a professor at almost three
times her age. Dave told them about his last
hunting trip with his father, his Dad had waited
until the ride home to tell his son that he had been
diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Edward told
them he didn’t have any stories to share, that he
was from Albany and nothing ever happened there.
</span></span></p>
</div>
</div>
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<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>The other three guys threw power bar wrappers at
him in disgust.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>Then one by one they dropped off to sleep. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span> </span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>*</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span> </span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>The next few hours passed fitfully for Edward; he
tossed and turned in his sleeping bag. Despite the
fire, despite the layers of clothing, the hard rock
floor of the cabin seemed to leech the warmth
from his skin. He heard his friends talking but
couldn't make out what they were saying.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>When he finally awoke it was dark, the fire had
gone out and nothing could be seen from the
cabin's single ice-encrusted window. Edward sat
up, feverish and groaning. He reached for the
flashlight and clicked it on; the beam of
illumination seemed muted. The other three
sleeping bags were empty.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>“Guys?” Edward hissed. All he needed was to be
sick while those three were getting into mischief.
The flashlight beam found the hatch wide open.
“Randy...” He spoke his friend's name like a curse.
</span></span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
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<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>Edward peered through the open hatchway,
“Guys?”
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: italic;">So much for leaving the place as we found it. </span><span>he
thought.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>In reality the hatchway was nothing more than a
hole dug deep into the dirt and rock. He shone his
flashlight down the shaft and saw no sign of a wine
cellar, a snuff film movie set or his friends.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>But something glittered.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>Edward leaned in closer, what was down there?
Diamonds? Geodes? The air wafting from the hatch
was at least ten degrees below than the air in the
cabin and it tasted strange.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>“Randy?” He called down. What had possessed
them to go spelunking at this hour?<br />
“...Dave? ...Futterman?”
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>Nothing. He didn't even hear an echo.
“Fine,” he said, "Stay down there."
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>He got back into his sleeping bag, curled into a
tight ball and tried to will himself to feel better. For
a few moments he debated rekindling the fire but
</span></span></p>
</div>
</div>
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<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>that seemed like too much work for too little
warmth and too much stench.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>“Just rest,” he told himself, “It will be morning
before you know it.”
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>But he couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t stop thinking
abut the hatch. What could be down there that his
friends found so interesting?
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>It didn't matter to him what they had found down
there. What mattered was that his friends always
seemed ready to ditch him at the drop of a hat.
Edward had found himself on his own at frat
parties and sporting events on a regular basis.
Once they'd even left him at the movies while they
tried to score with the girls working at the snack
counter.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Am I really such a load that they'd rather play in a
hole in the ground than camp out with me?
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: italic;">And how the Hell did they get down there?
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>There didn’t appear to be any steps or ladder of
any kind, and it looked to be a straight drop of
twelve feet or more.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>Edward got out of his sleeping bag and called down
the hatchway again, “Guys! Guys?”
</span></span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>
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<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>All he heard in reply was a dull echo. Unsure of
what to do next Edward brought the flashlight over
to the stack of books hoping to find a Tom Clancy
novel or something to pass the time until the guys
came back. He found himself looking at the book
Randy had showed him. Edward realized it wasn’t
Greek at all but Latin. Frowning he flipped through
the pages, the pictures were pretty freaky all right.
Edward had taken a little Latin in preparation for
his pharmacology degree; he wondered what he
could piece together.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>The title was simple enough, </span><span style="font-style: italic;">Barathrum</span><span>, that
meant Hell or the afterlife or something like that.
The rest of the text was hard to make sense of,
either the person that wrote it was lousy at the
language or patently insane.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: italic;">“Unwitting pilgrims find them in the places
between, where the borders grow uncertain. They
wait there hungry with promises."
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>Edward wondered at that phrase, it was being used
as the caption for a detailed picture of a butterfly
with anthropomorphic breasts.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: italic;">“Every mortal choice they make leads them. Many
hear, so few understand.”
</span></span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></div><div class="page" style="text-align: left;" title="Page 9">
<div class="section" style="background-color: white;">
<div class="layoutArea">
<div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>It read like a religious text, but most of the
religious texts Edward had encountered always
made sure to mention their deity in question at
least once a page. This book read as though even
the author wasn’t certain what he was talking
about.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: italic;">“Many hear but few can listen. To know them is to
know transformation.”
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>A fresh wave of shivers and nausea washed over
him. He retreated back to his sleeping bag, his gut
and his head both felt like they were being twisted
in knots
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span> </span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>*</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span> </span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>Edward didn’t even realize he’d passed out until he
felt himself begin to dream. In his dream he was
somehow outside from himself, watching his
slumbering form with a kind of aching greed. The
details were hard to focus on because in the dream
his vision was splintering ever outwards like a
mirror shattering in slow motion.
</span></span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></div><div class="page" style="text-align: left;" title="Page 10">
<div class="section" style="background-color: white;">
<div class="layoutArea">
<div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>It was still dark when he stirred, it felt like he had
been sleeping for hours and there was still no sign
of his three friends. Disoriented he looked at his
watch and saw it was a Thursday. Edward knew the
digital readout had to be wrong- how could he
have been asleep for three days? Before he could
wonder any further he felt his gorge start to rise.
He managed to make his way to the fireplace
before he spilled the contents of his stomach over
the half-burned wood.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>When it was over he felt raw and exhausted.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>He crawled back to the hatch. The flashlight’s
illumination was refracted back at him as though
the hatchway had been made from polished
mirrors.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>"Guys?" His voice was too weak, he was too weak.
What was wrong with him?
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>The glare of the reflection filled his mind with
strange images; visions of barren vistas crawling
with bloated, malignant shapes, of desires that
clawed their way through the void between worlds
and of songs no human voice could ever intone or
hear.
</span></span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></div><div class="page" style="text-align: left;" title="Page 11">
<div class="section" style="background-color: white;">
<div class="layoutArea">
<div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>With one sweep of the flashlight beam the bottom
of the shaft was empty.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>With the next Futterman was there staring up at
him. Edward choked at the sight.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>"What are you doing down there?" Edward tried to
summon as much anger to his voice as he could.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>Futterman flashed an empty approximation of a
human smile
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>Then he skittered, insect-like up the sheer wall.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>Edward's scream was feeble. He dropped the
flashlight. It tumbled end over end down the shaft.
The flickering light made Futterman's movements
an impossible series of staccato leaps. Edward ran
out the door charging barefoot through the knee
deep snow.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>The forest was silent; it was as though the entire
world had been emptied of life. The only sound
was Futterman’s voice calling out to him, his tone
reasonable and his promises extravagant.
</span></span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></div><div class="page" style="text-align: left;" title="Page 12">
<div class="section" style="background-color: white;">
<div class="layoutArea">
<div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>The snow seemed to grasp greedily at Edward's
feet. He couldn't catch his breath- the air had
become too thin, too corrupt.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>Everywhere the trees were dead, not just bare for
winter but dead. The folds of their bark had grown
soft and misshapen- wizened organic silhouettes
that seemed to claw at the air. Some of the bark
had fallen away to reveal clusters of gray, moist
shapes. There was no sign of the trail that had
brought them here.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: italic;">And the sky! The sky is wrong! </span><span>The sight of it
drove Edward to his knees. The night above him
was sectioned and fragmented; the stars out of
place, their light crowded chaos. Futterman's voice
was getting closer. Edward had to bite his tongue
to goad himself into moving again. He had to lean
against one of the distorted trees to steady
himself, its touch was clammy and damp.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>There was a deadfall blocking the way ahead, for a
moment Edward considered doubling back but he
lacked the courage. Better to climb, better to try
and hide. Slivers of dead wood speared the flesh of
his feet and palms of his hands as he climbed. The
rotten timber swayed with his every movement.
</span></span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></div><div class="page" style="text-align: left;" title="Page 13">
<div class="section" style="background-color: white;">
<div class="layoutArea">
<div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>Things moved inside the wood, brushing against
his fingertips.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>From the top of the deadfall Edward could see the
cabin, crouched in the snow with the front door
hanging open. Futterman sat crouched atop the
roof, his head darting this way and that. The sight
set Edward trying to scramble down the other side
of the deadfall but his grip failed him and he went
tumbling.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>Impact with the snow was jarring, pain jolted
though him. Then the rotten timber of the deadfall
collapsed. Edward tried to scramble free but he
was too slow.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span> </span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>*</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span> </span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">"They were invited," </span><span>Futterman said.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>Edward's broken legs dangled bonelessly as he was
carried back to the cabin. The dark scuttling
shapes that had made their home in the deadfall
had burrowed into his flesh like ticks. The itch of </span></span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>them was more maddening then the agony of his
broken legs.
</span></span>
</p></div></div></div></div><div class="page" style="text-align: left;" title="Page 14"><div class="section" style="background-color: white;"><div class="layoutArea"><div class="column"><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">"They found the Interface," </span><span>the snow was
unmarked by Futterman's passing, </span><span style="font-weight: 700;">"Where we
wait hungry with promises."
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>Edward cursed and begged, trying to pull free of
his captor. It was better to crawl like a dying
animal through the snow than return to that cabin.
He punched and tore at Futterman's skin, the flesh
beneath was gray and moist...
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">"You heard but didn't want to understand,
your mind and body rebelled. The others...
one tore out his own throat in terror, the
other plunged himself headlong into the very
Pit itself. Only this one stayed. He was
eager."
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>As they crossed the threshold to the cabin Edward
grabbed hold of the doorframe and held tight. “Let
me go,” he hissed, “Let. Me. Go.”
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: italic;">This is just a dream. </span><span>Edward prayed for the first
time since Junior High</span><span style="font-style: italic;">, I'm sick and delirious and
this is all just in my mind. If I can just hold on a
</span></span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>
</span></span></div><div class="page" style="text-align: left;" title="Page 15">
<div class="section" style="background-color: white;">
<div class="layoutArea">
<div class="column">
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: italic;">little but longer I'll wake up. Please let me wake
up.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>In his struggles Edward happened to glance
upwards. Slowly, he became aware of a pattern in
the way the night sky had been divided and
subdivided; a pattern as geometric as it was
consistent.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>That final realization reduced Edward's muscles
and sanity to jelly. Somehow the sky he had known
all his life had been torn away and all he saw now
was the world reflected in a single, impossible,
segmented eye.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>Futterman pulled him free of the doorway and
carried him reverently to the hatchway. Edward
was beyond struggling he could only stare.
</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span>Before he skittered back into the darkness with his
prize Futterman spoke, his tone almost kindly, </span><span style="font-weight: 700;">"To
know us is to know transformation." </span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"> </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBziMLsju3NiVHKseAJdXw9Ql8jMfSfvBQT3Y870TltwPMlCR-D2DJOh1tw3PSDEpCpLGkLBAGBRqKrfTvgiFlaIIhp6QslQ70N731FMeDe1yVMpktHVUWQ5yzmLLAXhDMrusWoDTEsnEGu2EZ9TWp0dJqYNMZvqXyaWWAVHd2g2joHC-xFypnFAU-YQ/s2000/0000BLOGCOL.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="2000" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBziMLsju3NiVHKseAJdXw9Ql8jMfSfvBQT3Y870TltwPMlCR-D2DJOh1tw3PSDEpCpLGkLBAGBRqKrfTvgiFlaIIhp6QslQ70N731FMeDe1yVMpktHVUWQ5yzmLLAXhDMrusWoDTEsnEGu2EZ9TWp0dJqYNMZvqXyaWWAVHd2g2joHC-xFypnFAU-YQ/w640-h512/0000BLOGCOL.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="column" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" height="192" mozallowfullscreen="true" msallowfullscreen="true" oallowfullscreen="true" scrolling="no" src="https://play.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/26793147/height/192/theme/modern/size/large/thumbnail/yes/custom-color/000000/time-start/00:00:00/playlist-height/200/direction/backward/download/yes/font-color/FFFFFF" style="border: medium;" title="Embed Player" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="100%"></iframe><br /></span></span></div><div class="column"><p></p>
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albruno3http://www.blogger.com/profile/01410254757982165309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8913009842235805193.post-14220111647149894122024-02-01T04:07:00.001-05:002024-02-01T04:07:02.223-05:00This is Channel Ab3 Episode Seven: Futterman's Apotheosis<iframe title="Libsyn Player" style="border: none" src="//html5-player.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/26793147/height/90/theme/custom/thumbnail/no/direction/forward/tdest_id/3973509/render-playlist/no/custom-color/87A93A/" height="90" width="100%" scrolling="no" allowfullscreen webkitallowfullscreen mozallowfullscreen oallowfullscreen msallowfullscreen></iframe><br /><p><em><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">When four friends find a mysterious hatch in a cabin in the snow, they soon discover a world full of secrets and transformation.</span></em></p> <p><img src="//assets.libsyn.com/show/465843/futterman1.png" alt="" width="369" height="369" /></p> <p><a href= "https://albruno3.blogspot.com/2022/06/my-fiction-futtermans-apotheosis.html"> 'Futterman's Apotheosis ' was written by Al Bruno III</a></p> <p><a href= "https://www.fiverr.com/danjohnsonvoice/deep-commanding-yet-gentle-voice-for-your-project?source=order_page_summary_gig_link_title&funnel=a9441c2cecf0ac8bfacc09ec80047a98"> It was read and produced by Daniel C. Johnson</a></p> <p><a href= "https://www.purple-planet.com/tracks/harbinger-of-doom">This episode’s music was Harbinger of Doom by Purple Planet</a></p> <p><a href= "https://www.amazon.com/stores/Adam-J-Thaxton/author/B004PIKAXU?ref=ap_rdr&store_ref=ap_rdr&isDramIntegrated=true&shoppingPortalEnabled=true"> Our unpaid scientific advisor is Adam J Thaxton</a></p> <p><a href="https://www.fiverr.com/rachelfwilliams">The Channel Ab3 theme was written and performed by Rachel F Williams</a></p> <p><a href= "https://www.fiverr.com/kitsunekei1?source=gig_page">Channel Ab3 logo was designed by Antonio G </a></p> <p>Are you enjoying the show?</p> <p><a href="https://www.patreon.com/ChannelAb3">Become a recurring subscriber.</a></p> <p><a href= "https://www.paypal.com/donate/?business=SD7FDSV24SU48&no_recurring=0&currency_code=USD"> Or make a one-time donation!</a></p> <p>Are you in the market to sell your home, find a new home, or just explore real estate investment opportunities? <a href= "https://albertbruno.kw.com/">Don't hesitate to get in touch with me!</a></p> <p>This is Channel Ab3 is distributed and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Share Alike 4.0 International License</p> <p> </p> <br /><p><a target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" href="https://directory.libsyn.com/episode/index/id/26793147/tdest_id/3973509">Check out this episode!</a></p>albruno3http://www.blogger.com/profile/01410254757982165309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8913009842235805193.post-5578363709847619912024-01-29T16:51:00.003-05:002024-01-29T16:52:46.400-05:00THE LOCAL HEROES<p> </p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif"> </span></span></span></i></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuqZuUabblC-Lmrunn1BPgsPV75WkJU_yC2hDTgoxrUcXYMRIJn17cfIoMn-oJ5Cn7MVSQcCa5zEzZQytdKv5Dg2IQtbQsSewGoIonkpDyDD8v8XOHD0WvYbMuoYLWfEvVL4ZiwdCUKnOCOlGakPwoSQyKAHGIda-9L0oCd8lZbyp_lQIpb7TFeFVFcCmX/s1640/local%20heroes.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="924" data-original-width="1640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuqZuUabblC-Lmrunn1BPgsPV75WkJU_yC2hDTgoxrUcXYMRIJn17cfIoMn-oJ5Cn7MVSQcCa5zEzZQytdKv5Dg2IQtbQsSewGoIonkpDyDD8v8XOHD0WvYbMuoYLWfEvVL4ZiwdCUKnOCOlGakPwoSQyKAHGIda-9L0oCd8lZbyp_lQIpb7TFeFVFcCmX/w640-h360/local%20heroes.png" width="640" /></a></span></span></span></i></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif"><br /></span></span></span></i></span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif"> </span></span></span></i></span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><b><span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif"><a href="https://albruno3.blogspot.com/2023/12/high-adventure-and-low-humor-infant.html">INFANT TERRIBLE</a></span></span></span></b></span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b><span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif"> <br /></span></span></span></b></span></p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i><span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">When
the Mad Chef of Schenectady takes the mayor, police chief, and a
visiting celebrity hostage, it's up to the Maven to foil her plans and
save the day.</span></span></span></i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i><span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif"> </span></span></span></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><b><span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif"><a href="https://albruno3.blogspot.com/2022/04/my-fiction-local-heroes-con.html">CON!</a></span></span></span></b></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">ThrillCon 2011: When a crazed fan threatens to ruin the event, it's up to a real superhero and a dedicated fan to save the day!</span></span></span></i></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif"> </span></span></span></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><b><span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif"><a href="https://albruno3.blogspot.com/2022/02/my-fiction-way-of-ninja.html">THE WAY OF THE NINJA</a></span></span></span></b></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Join
the thrilling battle between ninja crimefighter the Psychotic Kid and
the notorious Johnny Crawdad in a high-stakes battle for justice and
control of River City.</span></span></span></span></i></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif"></span></span></span></i></span><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif"> </span></span></span></i></span></p></div>albruno3http://www.blogger.com/profile/01410254757982165309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8913009842235805193.post-32919513385691378482024-01-27T14:42:00.002-05:002024-02-08T17:31:46.466-05:00FRESH OFF THE BUS FROM CREEPYTOWN: Foolproof<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjEqX4Oxmaygk_NpCiGjH_UdDD_pQlBzvdZS6zp9lTzqEAaO4GG50N2bAKbR5TN6mfWzHAozYKqgLJZnUIFqV_KzDxbvpxjtd8B-izq0E_Ke0TCco8G-ghTDrJtyBlN3N4JPRo-NPgRppxHKuWT7GbarMTp8SeNTqq26Tf1AvzUCFLlQHNFDdIe33xxJ2M/s1080/2.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjEqX4Oxmaygk_NpCiGjH_UdDD_pQlBzvdZS6zp9lTzqEAaO4GG50N2bAKbR5TN6mfWzHAozYKqgLJZnUIFqV_KzDxbvpxjtd8B-izq0E_Ke0TCco8G-ghTDrJtyBlN3N4JPRo-NPgRppxHKuWT7GbarMTp8SeNTqq26Tf1AvzUCFLlQHNFDdIe33xxJ2M/w640-h640/2.png" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">By</span></span></b></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Al Bruno III <br /></span></span></b></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> </span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">By the time anyone sees this, it will be too late, and I will be at peace.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">I am not the first person to find themselves tired of life, and I won't be the first person to put an end to it all. Some people commit suicide via handfuls of pills or with warm baths and cut wrists. That isn't for me. That's too gentle, too clean. It doesn't show enough contempt for what this world makes of you. I'm going to cut my own throat, left to right, ear to ear, and I'm doing it in the morning. I would have liked for there to have been a sunrise for my final moments, but the forecasts are cloudy with a chance of rain.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">One more disappointment.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">The blade is in my hand, a well-used boning knife with a serrated edge. I've been preparing for almost half a year, studying medical journals and tracing the path the knife must take. This isn't the kind of thing you can practice easily, but I think I've developed a foolproof technique. One clean cut will sever both my carotid arteries- just so long as I don't lose my nerve or fumble the job. The last thing I want to do is survive and have to explain what I have done.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">I've decided to do it in my home while wearing my best suit. I will be standing in front of the window with my favorite album playing, </span><i style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Abbey Road</span></i><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">, and I will make the cut in the pause between '</span><i style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">The End'</span></i><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> and '</span><i style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Her Majesty.'</span></i></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">A gravesite has already been purchased, and a closed casket and a quiet burial have been requested. My will specifies that my estate will be liquidated and dispersed to whatever charities might be interested.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Don't think I've chosen this path because of some kind of mental illness; this may be the sanest decision I have ever made. Life has its joys, but I think that if you really keep track, the tragedies always outweigh the triumphs. We all try so hard, but in the end, what is it worth? Everything dies, everything rots away; the evening news gets bleaker, and the nights grow longer. The old sayings like "Better to have loved and lost" or "If you first you don't succeed try, try again." are cruel platitudes created by one generation to pass their misery on to the next. </span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Some philosopher said it was better to have never been born and I can't say I disagree with him. Better never to have been born at all but in absence of that better to die.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">I'm sure you're shaking your head at this, wishing you could have told me how wrong I was. You probably think life is sweet, and you might wonder why I didn't reach out to my friends and family. To someone that might profess to care about me.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">But that would be impossible because they're all dead already. </span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">I had to practice my foolproof technique somehow.</span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> </span></span></p><p style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: transparent; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim9uHC2LZhwW5OzjSrlZBXAX1f2ojOR6L__Orw38eC9RODMiQUhUzS70EKuh0lebeDFATxHrp5l36ejM-FvPVki7ew_rztnmtWf2f_czL-uaGVZm2Yz3trXmi3KDVs299yY8lBcM7CrlVHH3cQUug-gqQyf44dUOaL2LMneJMlS9_bPUPQTlhigsKl3zO9/s2000/BLOGCOL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="2000" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim9uHC2LZhwW5OzjSrlZBXAX1f2ojOR6L__Orw38eC9RODMiQUhUzS70EKuh0lebeDFATxHrp5l36ejM-FvPVki7ew_rztnmtWf2f_czL-uaGVZm2Yz3trXmi3KDVs299yY8lBcM7CrlVHH3cQUug-gqQyf44dUOaL2LMneJMlS9_bPUPQTlhigsKl3zO9/w640-h512/BLOGCOL.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p>albruno3http://www.blogger.com/profile/01410254757982165309noreply@blogger.com0