The Seven
As I stumbled over the reeking metal trashcan a thought came to my head. The metal bin clanged on the damp brick alley with a shrieking crash as I flew ass-over-tincup. But still I had one coherent thought.
I'm going to die tonight.
I knew they were still behind me. Hell, they'd been back there since I stepped off the subway. I couldn't see them then, but I knew they were there. It was more of a gut feeling...the kind that crawls into your stomach on ice-cold hands and knees.
And as my body, tired and bruised, made its final descent into the mountain of oily-black garbage bags I knew that I wasn't going to see morning. I lay in the huge pile of trash that cushioned my fall and stared up blankly. I was giving up.
I'm done, I thought as I stared up between the buildings. The sweet sickly smell of garbage found my nose and for some odd reason it comforted me. Soon I'd be in a box smelling much like the odors currently taking up space in my nostrils. I simply lay there waiting for them to find me. They couldn't be that far behind, could they?
But as my eyes touched the night sky and the stars seemed to shudder in their black blanket my thoughts turned to her. The girl with the ice-blue eyes. The girl who stopped them in their tracks...if only for a moment. But as time can be, the moment was enough to put some distance between them and I.
Them.
The stars reminded me of her and that feeling that ran up my spine when I recalled her face. She was the answer to this. She could stop them from coming. She could make them go away.
The first time I'd seen her was up on the corner of 5th Avenue. Before any of this began...or maybe that was the start of it. Its all a blur now. I would've passed right by her only something odd caught my attention. She was standing by a newsstand. Another person browsing for a read between jobs or commutes or wherever those faceless people went. She had a magazine in her hand. The act was convincing except for two things. She was reading a Penthouse, and she was reading it upside down. Second, of course, was her eyes. Those piercing radiant blue eyes that reminded me of a glacier. So cold and yet so hot at the same time. She stared at me as if she were trying to will something to me. Trying to burn a thought into my head.
It was all I could do to keep my jaw from gaping open. I couldn't avoid eye contact and when our eyes met the metropolitan noise faded away. No buses or horns honking or screeching tires. No jackhammers or sirens or even footsteps. It all faded and I heard her voice.
They are coming.
The seven are coming.
My head felt light and my stomach did that little flip-flop thing that only happens on roller coasters.
The seven are coming.
Then the world did a flip-flop thing and the city rushed back into my ears. She stood nearly twelve feet from me but I felt as if she had me in a bear hug. I didn't mind. It felt safe. I could drown in her eyes and not complain. But before I could sink into that nothingness I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was like someone yanking me up out of the deep end of the pool. And there she was, right infront of me.
I threw a quick glance back over my shoulder as if I'd see two of her, one here beside me and one across the street. I turned back to her smiling, ready to introduce myself like a goon at a singles bar.
"I've been looking for you", she said. Her voice was barely a whisper yet I could hear it over the street noise. I tried to reply, confused. But my words would not form.
"You're lucky I found you before they did," she said.
"Who?" I managed to croak through uncooperative lips.
"The Seven are coming and you must not let them catch you. You have something of theirs. They won't stop until they get it back."
Suddenly my head was spinning. This was a practical joke, right? My brother was getting me back for the time I shaved half his head. He always sucked at practical jokes. I mean, if this was the best he could then...
My thoughts where shattered by the shrieking of metal. A lady across the street screamed and somewhere a man shouted something...Get the fuck out of the way...or Fucking get out of the way...I cant remember anymore. But I do remember the bus as it veered across traffic headed directly for us. The huge vehicle slammed into a taxi in the opposite lane and glass exploded in a rain of twinkling shrapnel. The bus driver spun the wheel in back and forth trying to get control of the vehicle. His face was a mask of surprised terror as the city bus plowed over a pedestrian who was too stunned to move.
"They've found you," she said as he grabbed the front of my jacket.
"Buhhh..." That's all that I could muster. Stunned by the violence. Stunned by her beauty. By her eyes.
"YOU HAVE TO RUN," She shouted, tugging ruggedly at my jacket. The volume of her voice snapped me back into some level of consciousness. What she did next brought me back one-hundred percent.
She turned on her heal and raised up her hands, palms toward the bus that was bearing down on both of us. For a moment I was sure she was going to try and stop the moving behemoth with her own tiny frame. But then a noise rose from her throat and she spoke. Only this time her voice was nowhere near the wispy tones I'd heard. Even now I can't recall what she had said, only the sound of it. Like a low rumble of a tiger's growl. And as she spoke I could feel her voice. The vibrations clattered my teeth together and made the litter in the gutters stir. The bus took another hop, bouncing off a parked car with a loud crash.
The girl thrust her hands forward with a guttural cry. What I saw could only be explained as an air wave. The wave shot from shoulders, down her arms, and out her hands. It rocketed across the thirty or so feet between her and the bus and enveloped itself around the vehicle.
The bus stopped dead.
I could see the passengers onboard lunge forward at the sudden stop. One man lost his footing from the forward momentum and collided with the huge windshield of the bus. As his head struck the glass and crimson blossomed where the two connected.
"YOU HAVE TO RUN!" She cried, straining to hold the bus back, its back wheels smoking and screeching on the pavement as it tried to regain its forward motion. I could hear the engine of the bus wailing as the RPMs rose towards redline. She didn't stop the bus, she merely delayed it.
"RUN," she screamed, her voice was complete pain.
I may be a slow learner but I decided it was time to take her advice.
Okay, so anyone who knows me, knows that I live in a house with roughly 227 animals. Yep...snakes, fish, dogs, cats, lizard (only one), a possum (he's an outdoor pet cause he can't mind his manners). Its insane. My wife is literally running an animal orphanerium (I like Futurama).
When I come home from work at night, i'm usually first home so its my "responsibility" to let the dogs out. I had to create a law:
Rule #1. All dogs must be caged up in the basement when we go to work.
If you're one of those animal-loving nutjobs who are going to give me shit about doing this...fire away, froggy. If you've ever come home to find your couch devoured or a four-foot hole in the carpet, you'd change your tune pretty quick....plus I love the look on their faces when I slam the door shut. Its that look of "jesus, i hope that big meat bag comes back..." and it brings me great joy.
So when I come home, I trudge down to the dungeon and release my four-legged prisoners. They bark with glee and jump up on me, hailing me like the evil oppressor that I am. Then they stampede up the steps and to the back door. This is the point where the animal bottleneck starts. Because not only do I have the imprisoned dog rule...i have the exiled cat rule.
Rule#2: All cats must be exiled from the house when humans are not home.
To my hippy-tree-hugging-animal-bleeding-hearts: Ever smell cat piss? I rest my case.
Anyway...the bottleneck...three dogs rushing outside, four cats rushing inside, one me standing there holding the door and laughing maniacally as cats and dogs wedge themselves into the door frame. I had this dream where Richard Simmons, Star Jones, and Chris Farley were all racing to get into a Dunkin Doughnuts...that's what it reminds me of. All I see jammed in the door frame are dog asses and bulgy-eyed cat heads all squeezing. You want to tell them "Hey cats...hey dogs...just wait your turn!" But animals are much more selfish than people in that respect and I have a feeling that they're ignoring me most of the time anyway....that is until food is near.
If I have a sandwich or a piece of pizza or anything remotely edible in my hands, suddenly eating becomes a spectator sport. All the free-grazing animals in my house suddenly crowd around me as if I were getting ready to read them a story. And they've gotten really REALLY good at putting on that needy face. Which leads me to my third and greatly ignored rule:
Rule #3: Don't feed the animals table food.
Ladies and Gentlemen...the main reason I don't want the dogs having table food is actually a 2-part answer. First, my dogs already have it better than me...if I can reduce them a little by making them eat hard brown kibble then I have that right! Second...i dont know about your dogs, but I SWEAR mine have farting contests. Yeah yeah, i'm nuts...NO...they lay at my feet and crack off horribly toxic stinkers that hit me so unexpectedly I almost start crying. I have to admit, I am a little impressed at their gastric abilities...in a sick kinda way only a man could be.
We will finish the animal rules in the next blog....stay tuned!
Its that time of year folks. Time for the event that ensures rabid watercooler banter for at least the next 2 or 3 months. The Office Christmas Party. Now, if you work for one of those cheap-ass companies that has their party during work hours...where folks bring in bowls of potato salad and sliced ham and 2 liter bottles of RC Cola (cause their too goddamned cheap to buy the real thing aka Coke), then you cant relate to what i'm about to spew on you.
But for everyone else, you know what i'm talking about. Once a year you and your co-workers get dressed up in your finest slacks, ties, and dresses, and converge upon a focal point. Sometimes its a nice hotel or a firehall or your big bosses house...but either way you get dressed up and comb your hair and wash stuff you haven't washed in a while. This is the first puzzling part to me. These are folks you work with all the time. Day in and day out. So why should you get even MORE dressed up than you do for work. I recommend a Christmas Pajama Party...or better yet a Christmas theme party where we all dress up like NBA players and have a huge punch up around the dessert table.
I am a huge supporter of this form of company Christmas party. Keep in mind, if my boss came to me and said we were having one of those lame inter-office christmas parties, I'd pull a McGuyver and make a bomb out of white-out and the secretaries potato salad and blow everyone to Oregon.
Why am I a huge supporter of the extra-curricular Christmas party? It's like this. For one night of the year everyone is on the same level. Picture, if you will, all the employees of your company standing in a line. Everyone...your company president down to the girl who empties the trash cans at night. Everyone is standing at that line at the beginning of the night and they're all in that Olympic Track Sprinter stance like they're getting ready to haul ass down the track. Only instead of a gun shot to get them off the block they hear this:
"The Bar is Open...and its Free."
KA-POW....AND THEY'RE OFF!
And you can pretty much judge who is going to be ruling the party by the time the night draws to a close. If you're ten minutes into open bar and you have more empty glasses in front of you than the dishwasher at Denny's, you know you're at the right table.
And I'm being serious about everyone being at the same level. You don't believe me? Go up to that staunch VP or CEO of your company at the beginning of the night and say hello. Yeah, you'll get the formal "Hello...glad you could make it..."
But go up to him after you've just had a tequila shooting contest with him and suddenly you start to get the feeling that you could take over his job through a decision-making process as simple as arm-wrestling or break dancing. Cause lets face it...when we're drunk, we're all super dancers and nobody can tell us different.
The greatest/worst thing (depending on the time you're recalling) about the party is there is always one guy who is determined to make this party a hit. And we will call him the bootlegger. Because he will be the guy slamming booze down everyone's throats in an endless supply. Good thing about Bootlegger is that he usually cover's the tips for the bartender as well....this is the man who, during the party, is virtually wearing a huge red S on his chest. Of course, the next day you'd put a fork in his eye if you knew where he lived....
I'm telling you, these parties rock. You get to see asses shaking that you normally wouldn't witness. People you barely know will tell you they love you. Food will be eaten, beverage will be consumed (and returned in various forms). It gives you that mental image to work with. Take it one step further...take a pointer from your ole' Uncle Wit....bring a camera. Or one better...one of those sneaky cellphones with the camera built in. Because sooner or later, someone's ass is coming out and you need that picture...you need it!
So in April when your boss is riding your ass over some stupid report you screwed up cause you were too busy pulling the lint out from under your toe nails, you can whip out the photo of him and the lunch lady doing the cha-cha with christmas hats on.
And then of course, the drive home is followed by some creative barfing or in my case, late-night phone calls to friends in different time zones. And i can truly say, no matter how big the hang-over is, it was worth it to watch your CEO singe Neil Diamond karaoke and end the song with an emphasizing burp.
The world is going straight to hell in a giant hand-basket. Theres been all this emphasis on Homeland Security but my question is "who is going to protect us from the nut cases on the inside???" I'm less afraid of a foreign terrorist today than I am of a crazy kid with a gun.
The World is off its nut
Speaking of...Two days ago we had a fruit-loop get up on stage at a concert and shoot the guitarist of the performing band. Not one shot...not two shots...but FIVE shots. And he still had time to turn his gun on security and the shocked crowd. Why don't they ever shoot the people who need shooting? John Lennon gets shot but Ringo Starr is still galavanting around with that horrible hair cut and even horribler (my word...leave me alone) music. Kurt Cobain gets shot (self-inflicted of course) and Courtney Love OD's on substances once a week and still manages to abuse her daughter. Jam Master Jay is gunned down....Vanilla Ice...STILL ALIVE! Elliot Smith dead...Jason Mraz...STILL ALIVE!!! Dimebag Darrell shot dead....C.C. Deville way too alive...Martin Luther King gunned down....Jessie Jackson...STILL ALIVE...you get my point.
The World is off its nut
I read today that in London there is a group of folks who want to put on a live nativity theme featuring all-gay cast memebers. Okay...whatever floats their boat but it sounds like they're doing this to spark controversy. But whats even more nutty: Protesters in London want to bring these folks up on criminal charges...Okay, that's as bad as hanging a girl for being a witch...lets move into the current century folks. Talk about infringement...
The World is off its nut
Washington is reporting that terrorists may use LASERS to blind pilots during landing procedures. What's next? Terrorist racoons with light sabers? Hey...keep America scared, George...you're doing a great job. Homeland Security once again stabbing in the dark.
Is everyone is getting in the Christmas spirit? Believe it or not I'm putting up my Christmas tree this weekend! Hope you all have a nice weekend. Stay warm. Tootles.
America is carb-crazy...people are going nuts over counting their carbs and dieting. Don't get me wrong, I think taking care of yourself is a good idea. But what is so damn wrong with having a bowl of ice cream from time to time, or eating a baked potato or a slice of pizza or a yorkshire terrier?? Did you hear about Hardee's new burger? Its called the Monster. And I shit you not on this: 1,400 calories, 105 grams of fat. People of the world, unite and rejoice!!! I'm getting mine with double-cheese and some ranch sauce on the side!
But the truth is this: When did America suddenly realize we were all big fat asses? I mean, its not like we all gained 200 lbs over night. But its become a media fad to focus on the human form all of the sudden. Its become such a crusade to make people feel shitty about themselves just so they'll buy the Atkins books and the TrimSpa pills. I mean, we've always know that media has created a false image for young girls growing up. Look at the Barbie...if she were life-size, her waist would be the size of my ankle! So its been something thats been ingrained in our society for a while. Its almost Nazi-ish if you think about it...if you don't fit the mold you're a loser! But now they're taking it across the board...Men, women, boys and girls...you're all fat hogs cause Fox says you are.
And to top it all off, television is taking it one step further with their "Extreme Makeover" and "Swan" television shows. These are shows that take "ugly" folk and make them fit the mold. Lypo-suction, nose-job, titty-tuck...whatever the hell they do. And then they pit them against each other. Look, if you've got a toothless wreck of face due to some horrible accident or defect, then by all means you need to get that repaired. But if you're just one of the many who let yourself slide and you're too ashamed to go out in public or be a social contender then you need two things: The Gym and Therapy!!!!
I know i'm going to get the typical responses "I have a glandular problem..." "I have medical issues that prevent me from going to the gym" "I have explosive gas." All very good excuses but what happens when you get that tummy tuck and that cheek lift....those upgrades won't stay that way unless you do something about it. So basically if you don't change your thinking, you'll bust through those stomach staples like Seabuiscuit at the Preakness finish line.
So here's a guide to tell you if you need surgery:
If you have a mustache and a menstrual cycle = get surgery
If you have a big ass and like to double-fist gallons of ice cream = get to the gym
If you look in the mirror and think that Shrek is staring back = get therapy
If you can swim faster than your friends thanks to your webbed hands and feet = get surgery
If you've been browsing the lypo-suction ads so you can fit in your suit next summer = get to the gym
If you let your husband/wife/neighbor beat you with a shovel cause you think you deserve it = get therapy!
I agree that some people need medical help. Some people are born with four nostrils or a hand growing out of their forehead...yes...go get help. But for God's sake, we're all born different. We are all beautiful in our own way (except for Lyle Lovett...that fool needs an upgrade). But I guess its a little hard to accept yourself in your own skin when its not exactly the skin that TV tells you to be in. I think the first step to feeling better is to get away from the TV and computer...
Okay...i'm not usually one to post toilet humor. I sink waaaaaaaaaay below that...haha. But I had to share this cause it cracked me up. I'm at work today and nature calls (no, i didn't get a phone call from Ranger Rick). So I head to the bathroom. Now before I go further I need to clarify. I have an unspoken rule with bathroom ettiquette. When I'm in the bathroom doing my thing, I dont want to talk to you and I sure don't want you talking to me. I'm not going to the can to have a conversation.
So anyway, I'm in there and i'm just kinda sitting there and its dead quiet (because of the first cardinal rule of potty). So I'm staring at the tiles thinking about going home and I hear it. I cock my head to the side cause i'm just amazed to be hearing this sound. A sound so far removed from the restroom. Lets put it this way, I would've been less suprised to hear a helicopter fly through. But nonetheless, i'm hearing a noise from the next stall.
The person in the next stall is.....SNORING!
So i'm thinking "WHAT IN THE HELL???" So I hush up again just to be sure. And yes sir, that person in the next stall is snoring...the guy is taking a nap in the bathroom stall.
So my first instinct, as stupid as it was, is to be quiet and let the guy sleep. I know how pissed I get when I'm awoke from a nap. And then it hits me...we're at work!!!!!!
Needless to say, repeated flushings, alot of coughing, and stomping ensued. Followed by turning out the lights as I left. AHAHA
Proof that Metallica are a buncha whiny bitches:
WASHINGTON (Reuters) -- Most musicians and artists say the Internet has helped them make more money from their work despite online file-trading services that allow users to copy songs and other material for free, according to a study released Sunday.
Recording labels and movie studios have hired phalanxes of lawyers to pursue "peer to peer" networks like Kazaa, and have sued thousands of individuals who distribute copyrighted material through such networks.
But most of the artists surveyed by the nonprofit Pew Internet and American Life Project said online file sharing did not concern them much.
Artists were split on the merits of peer-to-peer networks, with 47 percent saying that they prevent artists from earning royalties for their work and another 43 percent saying they helped promote and distribute their material.
But two-thirds of those surveyed said file sharing posed little threat to them, and less than one-third of those surveyed said file sharing was a major threat to creative industries.
Only 3 percent said the Internet hurt their ability to protect their creative works.
"What we hear from a wide spectrum of artists is that, despite the real challenges of protecting work online, the Internet has opened new ways for them to exercise their imaginations and sell their creations," said report author Mary Madden, a research specialist at the Pew Internet and American Life Project.
The nonprofit group based its report on a survey of 809 self-identified artists in December 2003. The survey has a margin of error of 4 percentage points.
Let me just hit the friday blog scene here with something a little less feather-ruffling...First off, let me say thanks for everyone's opinions on all the posts so far. Its great to be able to just stop here and leave your opinions without getting your heiney reamed like a thanksgiving turkey. I'm glad that, for the most part, we're all adults and can say what we want to say. Yeah, it gets a little (as jaime says) hot in here but that's what makes it so damn fun!!!
As you know, I am a self-syndicated cartoonist of the comic strip
Union Avenue. Very recently we started selling Union Avenue merchandise. T-shirts and mugs and stuff like that. The only reason I started putting this junk out was to spread the word about Union Avenue (plus I thought it would be cool to see people wearing the gear).
But the more I thought about it, the more I just couldn't justify taking people's money. So heres the deal: All the profits from the sales on the site will go to
The North Shore Animal League. This is an Animal Shelter in New York that is one of the only TRUE No-Kill shelters around. They've been working really hard to make a difference for discarded pets and other homeless creatures so I figured this was a great place to donate to. So
click here to go to the
Union Avenue merchandise page and buy something for you or a friend. Its a great Christmas Gift and it goes to a good cause.
Shameless promotion aside...I hope everyone has a great weekend. Be good to each other and smile a little bit.
Do you know what the world is lacking today? Really? I may be wrong but what the hell ever happened to a little thing like Common Sense?? And no, I'm not the most common sensical (yeah, that's a word...haha) guy in the world. I've done stupid things before (example: riding my bike with a 5 gallon bucket over my head). But there comes a time when you have to stop what you're doing and go "you know...this is really stupid, I should quit before disaster strikes."
I know I rant and rave about some liberal topics from time to time. I believe that everyone should have equal rights and that certain decisions shouldn't be made for me by church or state. But here is a topic that is hot in our area (and I believe it just may be making national headlines by now). There is a Paster from a church in our area...he happens to be a SHE...and SHE happens to be gay. I was listening to the local AM station this morning because they are a super conservative station and they really get me laughing at how ridiculous they are about some things (not all things...don't beat me, rob). But they started talking about this female Preacher and the fact that she's finally come out of the closet and has been living with her "clam-diving" partner for over 6 years and that she's worried she's going to lose her congregation.
Now this is where you insert the soundbite of tires screeching on the sidewalk...
I'm pretty sure that the Bible is pretty clear on their stance of homosexuality. I think the church is pretty clear that being gay is a bad thing. And, of course, you have the old saying "Hate the Sin, not the Sinner" but this is a congregation's head honcho.
I don't look at a church as a public forum. Its more like an exclusive country club...or better yet, a fraternity. And, folks, Christians pretty-much wear their ideals right out on their sleeves so my question is how could she have any tiny inkling that this was okay?
Aww shit...i gotta run...i'll conclude this tomorrow....please leave a comment though
