Ok, I was going to make this thing a four part story but I think in order to get the full effect you need to read it in one sitting... that’s what Edgar Allen Poe said is a key component to a good short story, and since he is the master of the short story, I'll go off of his word. Here it is in its entirety M.I.A… enjoy.
It had been almost three months since he had seen his sister. “I wonder who the baby will look like, Ash or Larry?” His thoughts danced around the idea of being an uncle as he laid stretched out, all six foot one hundred and eighty-five pounds of him, across the last row of seats in the 737 he was riding in. He was on a red eye from Las Vegas to Salt Lake City at the arrival of his sister Ashley’s first baby; a little brown haired, green eyed boy named Crew.
As Jason lay across the seats, his mind drifted from his sister to the briefing he had with the FBI’s Counter Terrorism Unit, Las Vegas branch, earlier in the day. The agent stated they had received reliable information that a few cities in the United States, including Las Vegas, were said to be targets of a forthcoming terrorist attack. The agent didn’t have any information on when the attack was going to be carried out, but he did mention talk of a possible hybrid atom bomb being developed in the UK. The bomb is said to have no toxic after effects-the toxins are converted into energy before the detonation- thus making the bomb two times as powerful. On his way out of the briefing Jason overheard a conversation between two senior agents. One of them was saying to the other, “this bomb represents the most dangerous threat out there, if it’s real. Can you imagine it? You could move right in and take over an area after totally destroying it with no worries about toxins.”
For eight years Jason has been assigned to the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department (LVMPD) Homeland Security team. Now thirty-two, he remembers and cherishes the memories he has of being a regular patrol officer, working a beat on Fremont Street. No work to take home. No thoughts of local sleeper cells. Just go to work, complete your shift and go home.
The landing was not the best he had ever been through, though it certainly wasn’t the worst. The air was cold as he stepped through the doors leading to the passenger pickup and as he exhaled his first breath into the night air he could see it rise like smoke from a burning building.
“How was the flight?” Cindy asked him as he stepped into the car.
“Good enough” Jason replied as he sank into the passenger seat. “The landing was a little rough, but other than that it was ok. There was hardly anyone on the plane so I took the back seats and stretched out.”
Cindy looked over at Jason with an awkward smile, “Brice and The Bear were terrors the entire way up. We had to stop six times to eat and change diapers. If you think I’m ever letting you fly leaving me to drive up alone, you are out of your mind.”
Jason tried to hide a silly grin as his wife elaborated on the trials of driving up to Salt Lake City alone with their two kids; Brice a ten month old boy and Nevaeh a.k.a The Bear a three year old girl. “Well I’m here now” Jason said proudly, “and the drive home will be better with daddy in the car.”
From the day his children were born, Jason’s outlook on life changed. He realized there were a lot of things he wanted to do, but now could not. He desperately wanted to be a musician, and while he had the talent to be a one man band, the time and opportunity had been stolen away from him; he blamed the kids for his lack of career options.
He never intended to be a cop. In fact, before he became one, he hated police with a passion. He hated the better than you attitude so many cops exude. He hated the fact that even if you didn’t do anything wrong, a cop could stop you on the street and harass you. Well, that’s what he thought they did, but after his many years on the department he decided it was not the cops that were bad, it was everyone else; the cops were just trying to find the bad guys and bring about some type of justice.
As Jason entered the maternity ward of the hospital he could hear the familiar laugh of his sister Ashley; in fact, anyone within a half a mile could hear her laugh. She didn’t just laugh; she would wind up, taking in extraordinary amounts of air, and then belt out a sound that could only be described as something of a human fog horn. Jason had a nice visit with his mom, dad, two sisters and their husbands and even held the newest thief of dreams to enter the family; Crew Nicholas Odom.
“It’s getting late” Jason announced to all in the room, particularly his wife Cindy. “Let’s get out of here, I’m exhausted.” Good nights were exchanged and Jason toted along his little family to their car and headed for the Hamilton Inn.
Sleep came quickly to Jason. While he could not remember dreaming, he knew by the renewed energy he had in the morning, he had spent a good portion of the night in R.E.M sleep. Unknown to him; that was to be the last good night’s sleep he would get for a while.
He awoke early, about six forty-five and headed for the Inn’s modest gym. It was not a great gym but it had the basics, some dumbbells, a bench-press machine and a few free weights to do curls with. In one corner of the room, mounted to the wall was a flat screen TV, about forty inches. Jason usually liked to listen to his IPod when he worked out, but had left it at home in Vegas and decided to settle for a little CNN or Fox news; whichever he came to first.
As he began to sweat and feel the burning in his muscles, he unconsciously banished the news broadcast into the background to serve as ambient noise.
Halfway through a bench-press set an oddly familiar sound broke through Jason’s lifting induced trance. He set the bench bar back and grabbed the white hand towel from his pocket, wiping the sweet from his face as he turned toward the TV. The noise he heard was the short piece of music that plays just before the announcement of breaking news. On the screen appeared the familiar blue backdrop sheet with the White House emblem hanging on it, and the dark wood podium with four or five microphones attached. “Breaking news from the White House? The hell’s going on?”
He barely broached the thought in his mind before a man entered the picture and stepped up to the podium. The man pulled out a pair of gold framed reading glasses from the inside pocket of his black suit and put them on. He had salt and pepper hair, more on the pepper side, with deep lines in his face announcing to all that he had been through not a few trials in his life. As the man began to speak the words “Secretary of Defense” appeared at the bottom of the screen and Jason turned up the volume.
Jason sat stunned; he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. With each sentence from the man, Jason’s mouth dropped a little more and his mind pushed all thoughts out his ears. Jumping up, Jason tore out of the room, and as he ran down the hall the flower patterned walls seemed to blur into lines. In his haste Jason forgot his room key and found himself pounding on the door.
“Cindy answer the door, you’re never going to believe this. Something terrible has happened. Cindy open the…”
The door swung open with Cindy standing in her night gown glaring at him. “What’s so important that you had to wake me up at,” glancing at the alarm clock, “seven ten? And why don’t you have your room key?”
“No time for questions” he barked back grabbing the TV remote and turning to the news broadcast he’d been watching.
The man was now gone and pictures from what must have been helicopters were being shown on the screen. A male voice was giving commentary in the back ground. “It is unsure what caused the destruction, and communication into both Las Vegas and Chicago seems to be down. Reports are coming in that the damage in Las Vegas is around ninety-five percent, and eighty percent in Chicago.”
As pictures flashed on the screen, Cindy felt her legs turn from bone and muscle into jelly; thankfully the edge of the bed caught her as she fell. With a trembling hand lightly covering her wide open mouth, she began to cry. The commentary started again. “The death toll is estimated in the hundreds of thousands for both cities right now. Authorities are urging all who have loved ones in Las Vegas or Chicago areas to not call in, as the few lines of communication being found are needed for emergency personnel.”
“What happened?” Cindy whimpered to Jason.
“I don’t know” he replied. But of course that was a lie. Quickly Jason’s thoughts were dragged back to the FBI briefing he had the previous day. His thoughts were disrupted when he heard the buzz of his cell phone, vibrating on the dresser. He looked at the screen and it read “emergency connection.” His heart sank, his knees gave out and he also found himself saved by the edge of the bed.
“Hello?” he asked. The voice on the other line was unfamiliar.
“Officer, I have Sergeant Opey on the line I will connect him.”
“Jason?” The familiar voice of his sergeant sounded strong and gave Jason the strength to stand.
“Yeah man I’m here. What’s going on?”
Cindy could only hear her husband’s responses but she knew by the tone in his voice things were not good. After Jason hung up the phone Cindy didn’t even have to ask, with a single look she knew; he was leaving.
“Why you, you are three hundred miles away. It is going to take you at least five hours to get there, and that’s without traffic.”
“Cindy, you don’t understand. I am the only guy on my squad my sergeant could get a hold of. The other guys could be dead for all we know. It is my duty as a cop to go back. I have to go. You and the rest of the family will stay here at Ashley’s house until things get better, and then I will come back and get you and the kids.”
Cindy looked at him with tears in her eyes and said, “But every one you care about is here. I can’t stand the thought of loosing you.”
“I’m coming back to get you, Ok? I love you” The words seemed almost reckless as they rolled off his lips.
Cindy nodded in duressed approval, and with that began to weep.
The ride back to Las Vegas was quiet and lonesome. As Jason raced down the freeway he couldn’t help thinking of what Cindy had said to him, “every one you care about is here.” The words cycled over and over in his mind as the Utah ever green trees gave way to the Joshua trees that freckled the Utah/ Nevada border.
After what seemed an eternity Jason pulled slowly over the pass into the valley, but all the meetings, training and trial exercises he’d been through could never have prepared him for what he saw.
By now the sun had almost completed its decent behind Mount Charleston which set the twilight sky ablaze. Clouds loomed over the valley in hues of red, orange with fleeting bits of white still visible in the very farthest expanses to the north. The city, or what was left of it, was almost a mirrored image of the heavens burning high above. The outskirts of the valley looked like a sea of brick, wood and concrete with the occasional pillar of wood or brick breaking the surf. Jason could barely see the famous Las Vegas strip through all the smoke and fire that plagued the inner areas of the valley.
Jason’s first order of business was to meet up with his sergeant. Looking at his phone Jason saw he had very poor reception but figured it was worth the effort to call.
“Hello?” The voice sounded vaguely familiar,
“Tim?” Jason asked inquisitively.
“It’s me Jay, where are ya? You make it to Vegas yet?”
Jason’s nerves seemed to be settling a bit at the familiar sound of his sergeant’s scratchy voice.
“Yeah man I’m in Vegas. I think I’m by the Craig and I-15 overpass, out by where your house used to be.” Of course this was just a guess as all remnants of the area seemed to melt together in large piles of debris.
“Ok Jay look I was able to get a hold of Corey and Ian but that’s it, we are all staging at the Cheyenne and I-15 on ramp. Well what’s left of it.”
The journey to meet the others took a little over half an hour to go about three miles due to the vast amounts of debris that riddled the streets, but he finally located his colleagues.
Ian, a short, well built white man gave Jason a stiff handshake followed by a quick pat on the back and said “man it’s good to see you Jay.”
“Good to see you too Ian; what the hell happened here? It looks like a bomb went off.”
“Yeah that’s what we think happened.” Once again the familiar scratchy voice of his sergeant brought a little hope into an otherwise dreadful moment.
“Searg, you think a bomb did this?”
The raised eyebrows and slight frown of his sergeant’s face gave the answer; though he didn’t say anything. Jason knew what his sergeant was thinking and could hear him saying, “The hell could do such damage genius? I’d like to hear your idea if you have the balls to suggest one.”
Jason knew there was no need to fight with the Searg, he was a good man but could be a real prick, especially if you tried telling him he was wrong.
As the guys were talking amongst themselves, Sergeant Opey walked up and stood in the middle of the group. “Ok guys, listen up. I just got a call from Lieutenant Perry; there are about four hundred of us meeting downtown next to where City Hall used to be. We’re going to stage there, then divide up into four units and start searching for survivors. We’ve got two trucks, so leave the cars here and we’ll come back to get’m in a few days.”
Jason was a little hesitant to leave his car unattended even though he knew the probability for theft or vandalism was low. All the same, the thought entered his mind, “what if some asshole comes and tries to take my ride. In times of crisis people these days loose all sense of right and wrong; if they had any before.”
As a result of Jason’s years of service as a Police Officer he became very cenacle. He had the impression that most people-if not all people- were inherently bad and only had a few fleeting moments of righteousness in any given day. He never did anything to change his way of thinking, but in the very farthest, most secluded corners of his soul, Jason’s outlook on people bothered him greatly.
As the men climbed into the trucks and began the trek into town Jason looked back at his car wondering what would happen in the days to come.
Arriving around the center of town, the men could see that the destruction was worse than any of them could have expected. Every casino that once stood as a monument to human ingenuity was now a pile of broken glass, wood and twisted metal. In the center of the town was a large crater about three hundred feet across and a hundred feet deep at the lowest point. There was nothing left of the colossal buildings that once stood in the spot. This was obviously the epicenter of whatever had caused the destruction.
The briefing was quick and precise. There would be four teams consisting of one hundred men each. With each team being assigned to either the A sleeping/eating roster or the B roster; one roster slept and ate while the other searched. The objective was to search out and render aid to all those found alive. Those found dead were to be identified, if possible, and the locations of their bodies were to be recorded. This specific directive proved especially hard to accomplish, as many times during the search one would find parts of people not attached to a body; an arm here, a leg and a foot there, it was a complete mess.
Jason and Ian were partnered up in their team and were assigned to the B roster; the grave yard shift. There were as many search strategies as there were people searching. One team would take sticks and hit the debris listening to see if there was any response from below. Others decided they would pick a spot and just start to move debris in hopes of finding someone. They usually did, only it was parts of people they found. Jason and Ian decided to adopt a logical approach to their searching.
Jason looked at Ian with an irritated look, “The news was just breaking the story at about 6:50 a.m. Utah time which is 5:50 a.m. here, so a lot of people in this area would have been in their homes, let’s look around the debris that resembles a demolished house.” Ian agreed this was the best course of action, so they set out on their search.
The hours passed like minutes and before they knew it they had searched for eight hours locating numerous parts of people and rescuing five; two of which were on the verge of death, suffering from severe burns and open, bleeding head wounds. With each living person they rescued, Jason and Ian found a renewed energy and worked that much harder to locate the next survivor.
The sun cresting over Sunrise Mountain signaled the end of the grave shift and the beginning of shift for A roster. Sleep had come easy to the men who worked B roster, but not to Jason. As he lay on one of the cots the guys from A roster had concocted- mostly ply board stacked on a few bricks with tattered shirts and bits of cloth acting as pillows- Jason could not get the images of little bodiless legs and arms out of his mind.
“What a horrible way to die. Some of those limbs couldn’t have been from children older than two. And some of those guys we pulled out of the debris, what complete waists of skin. I know I’ve arrested two maybe three of them for violent crap. But then, why would they die? God knows only the innocent end up dying when things like this happens. Hey Ian you listening, I’m talkin’ to you; hey Ian?” Getting no response, Jason figured Ian had gone to sleep, so he rolled over, and with thoughts of his family in his mind, succumbed to exhaustion.
No one, not even Jason would know that Ian was awake, in fact, he was wide awake. He had one specific image plaguing his mind. The image was that of a little boy’s head he had discovered about two feet from the body. The boy had scraggily black hair and small, but full, lips. His body a few feet away was still dressed in spider man pajamas, with the spider man hood attached to the neck of the suit. One of his little black hands still clutched a half empty bottle of what must have been milk or formula. When Ian found the head it was face up with the eyes open; the boy was staring right at him. The image played over and over in his mind, and Ian wept silently as his heart broke into a million pieces at the thought of the terror this little boy experienced just before he died. Ian wept silently until exhaustion stole away all pain and sorrow, with sleep inviting a welcomed respite from the reality of the day’s events.
The next two days brought more of the same, finding people and pieces of people in piles of debris. At night, Jason mostly complained internally about the heat he was forced to sleep in and the dirt bags he was rescuing. Occasionally he would take a few minutes to call his wife and kids to let them know he was ok.
A few of the survivors gave helpful insights into what happened. One man said he heard a small plane flying over city hall just before he heard a loud blast and then went blank. Jason recognized him as a man he had arrested a few weeks back for armed robbery. “He must be out on parole” Jason had told Ian as the man walked past them.
The third day started out badly for A roster. A family of ten was found dead underneath the remnants of a single wides’ tin roof; the youngest maybe two, the oldest well into their teens. By the time Jason and the Guys from B roster took over searching, thirty survivors had been located.
Jason looked around and noticed that a few of the survivors had joined in the search efforts. And as the night progressed, he noticed that a good portion of B roster was made up of survivors. Some bandaged and searching with one arm splinted, while others had head dressings and crutches to work around; but all wounded were working with the same fervor as those who were whole. Even Jason’s “waists of skin” survivors were working side by side trying to rescue others.
After his shift, Jayson took a walk by himself. The images he had witnessed during his shift were bothering him greatly. Only these were not images of death and carnage, but rather images of compassion and bravery on the part of the survivors. He recalled scenes of hardened criminals, working alongside the very cops that arrested them. He’d taken particular notice that a few of them did not take as many breaks as the others, they just pushed on with their search.
Jason remembered the amazement he felt when a man he knew to be a robber showed great compassion toward a survivor he’d located. Taking the man into his arms, the felon carried the survivor over the rough terrain to the nurses for treatment of the many cuts and burns that scourged his broken body. Then the man went right back to the spot he located the survivor and continued searching. “What's going on here?” Jason had wondered to himself. “Regular citizens do that type of thing, not hardened criminals. They don’t care about anyone but themselves.”
The sun rose on another B shift, and survivors were being located less and less frequently, while more and more of the located survivors were taking a place on the debris piles, aiding in the search for others. Jason and the others worked hard all through the night. Jason took a break to call his wife and let her know he loved her and hoped that he would be coming back to them soon. After loving words were exchanged Jason hung up the phone.
The sun was just starting to crest over the top of Sunrise Mountain as it had many times before, sending the night sky running from its title wave of light; but this time it was different. Jason surveyed the destruction that lay all around him, the hundreds of men and women working side by side, criminal and cop alike, and all of the sudden he realized something. He realized by our very nature as humans, we can overcome all differences, put aside all prejudice and come together for the greater good of our specious. While he stood there atop a pile of debris that was once a home, Jason realized the world in which he once lived was gone, and the person he once was, had changed. And for the first time in a while Jason smiled as he quickly fell asleep on his ply wood bed.
I hope you enjoyed the story.
CiAo!
Monday, September 29, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
News from Home
Ok, so I forgot to post this morning and for a very good reason…I had to get up and be to school by about 0945 and I woke up at 0857. Sooo, I had to throw on some clothes, get beautiful-which by the way, usually takes upwards of thirty minutes or so…I mean, it does take a while to make a prince out of a toad- I also had to eat, get my laptop ready for school and get out the door; all in less than ten minutes. Needless to say I did not have the brain power to remember that you all would be waking up with an insatiable appetite for part two of M.I.A- News from Home.
Hopefully you have enjoyed the first part of M.I.A and were left clawing at the screen in anticipation for part two. In fact, I am hoping that you have been sitting there since last Monday staring at the screen in hopes that I would decided to pull some shenanigans and post part two early. If you have been, let me know and I will send you a fully bound, signed, numbered and custom addressed copy of M.I.A, because you are a true fan…take that Stephenie Meyer, you and your best seller “dreamed” book series! If you can’t tell there will definitely be a rant coming to a computer near you about the pandemic that is all things Stephenie Meyer. Here is a little teaser for the rant…
“Friends, family and loved ones, did you hear this from those who got you to read the Twilight series?
‘oh, you might hate them at first, but tough it out and they will grow on you, and you’ll be hooked.’
oh, I'm sure most of you heard or said that to someone in one form or another, but I wonder if the same insane logic could work regarding other things.
I know. Here is a question for ya… what else will you hate at first but grows on you??
give up…
A FUNGUS! A fungus you will also hate and it grows on you. So using that same crazy logic, your friends could be asking you…’hey (insert your name here) a few of us are going swimming at the local sewer treatment plant. Sure you will hate it at first, sure the air is almost as acidic as battery acid, and burns like fire as you breath, but tough it out and it will grow on you.’
yep that sounds like a great idea right? Well to those of us with sense, that is how ridiculous the persuasive argument is in support of Twilight.”
Soon that obra maestra de divertido (means "masterpiece of funny" for all those not named Christina) will be unveiled.
And now, the second installment of my epic...
*****NEWS FROM HOME*****
He awoke early, about six forty-five and headed for the Inn’s modest gym. It was not a great gym but it had the basics, some dumbbells, a bench-press machine and a few free weights to do curls with. In one corner of the room, mounted to the wall was a flat screen TV, about forty inches. Jason usually liked to listen to his IPod when he worked out, but had left it at home in Vegas and decided to settle for a little CNN or Fox news; whichever he came to first.
As he began to sweat and feel the burning in his muscles, he unconsciously banished the news broadcast into the background to serve as ambient noise.
Halfway through a bench-press set an oddly familiar sound broke through Jason’s lifting induced trance. He set the bench bar back and grabbed the white hand towel from his pocket, wiping the sweet from his face as he turned toward the TV. The noise he heard was the short piece of music that plays just before the announcement of breaking news. On the screen appeared the familiar blue backdrop sheet with the White House emblem hanging on it, and the dark wood podium with four or five microphones attached. “Breaking news from the White House? The heck’s going on?”
He barely broached the thought in his mind before a man entered the picture and stepped up to the podium. The man pulled out a pair of gold framed reading glasses from the inside pocket of his black suit and put them on. He had salt and pepper hair, more on the pepper side, with deep lines in his face announcing to all that he had been through not a few trials in his life. As the man began to speak the words “Secretary of Defense” appeared at the bottom of the screen and Jason turned up the volume.
Jason sat stunned; he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. With each sentence from the man, Jason’s mouth dropped a little more and his mind pushed all thoughts out his ears. Jumping up, Jason tore out of the room, and as he ran down the hall the flower patterned walls seemed to blur into lines. In his haste Jason forgot his room key and found himself pounding on the door.
“Cindy answer the door, you’re never going to believe this. Something terrible has happened. Cindy open the…”
The door swung open with Cindy standing in her night gown glaring at him. “What’s so important that you had to wake me up at,” glancing at the alarm clock, “seven ten? And why don’t you have your room key?”
“No time for questions” he barked back grabbing the TV remote and turning to the news broadcast he’d been watching.
The man was now gone and pictures from what must have been helicopters were being shown on the screen. A male voice was giving commentary in the back ground. “It is unsure what caused the destruction, and communication into both Las Vegas and Chicago seems to be down. Reports are coming in that the damage in Las Vegas is around ninety-five percent, and eighty percent in Chicago.”
As pictures flashed on the screen, Cindy felt her legs turn from bone and muscle into jelly; thankfully the edge of the bed caught her as she fell. With a trembling hand lightly covering her wide open mouth, she began to cry. The commentary started again. “The death toll is estimated in the hundreds of thousands for both cities right now. Authorities are urging all who have loved ones in Las Vegas or Chicago areas to not call in, as the few lines of communication being found are needed for emergency personnel.”
“What happened?” Cindy whimpered to Jason.
“I don’t know” he replied. But of course that was a lie. Quickly Jason’s thoughts were dragged back to the FBI briefing he had the previous day. His thoughts were disrupted when he heard the buzz of his cell phone, vibrating on the dresser. He looked at the screen and it read “emergency connection.” His heart sank, his knees gave out and he also found himself saved by the edge of the bed.
“Hello?” he asked. The voice on the other line was unfamiliar.
“Officer, I have Sergeant Opey on the line I will connect him.”
“Jason?” The familiar voice of his sergeant sounded strong and gave Jason the strength to stand.
“Yeah man I’m here. What’s going on?”
Cindy could only hear her husband’s responses but she knew by the tone in his voice things were not good. After Jason hung up the phone Cindy didn’t even have to ask, with a single look she knew; he was leaving.
“Why you, you are three hundred miles away. It is going to take you at least five hours to get there, and that’s without traffic.”
“Cindy, you don’t understand. I am the only guy on my squad my sergeant could get a hold of. The other guys could be dead for all we know. It is my duty as a cop to go back. I have to go. You and the rest of the family will stay here at Ashley’s house until things get better, and then I will come back and get you and the kids.”
Cindy looked at him with tears in her eyes and said, “But every one you care about is here. I can’t stand the thought of loosing you.”
“I’m coming back to get you, Ok? I love you” The words seemed almost reckless as they rolled off his lips.
Cindy nodded in duressed approval, and with that began to weep.
Part three "The Journey Back (Worse than expected), will be posted next monday. Until then CiAo!
Hopefully you have enjoyed the first part of M.I.A and were left clawing at the screen in anticipation for part two. In fact, I am hoping that you have been sitting there since last Monday staring at the screen in hopes that I would decided to pull some shenanigans and post part two early. If you have been, let me know and I will send you a fully bound, signed, numbered and custom addressed copy of M.I.A, because you are a true fan…take that Stephenie Meyer, you and your best seller “dreamed” book series! If you can’t tell there will definitely be a rant coming to a computer near you about the pandemic that is all things Stephenie Meyer. Here is a little teaser for the rant…
“Friends, family and loved ones, did you hear this from those who got you to read the Twilight series?
‘oh, you might hate them at first, but tough it out and they will grow on you, and you’ll be hooked.’
oh, I'm sure most of you heard or said that to someone in one form or another, but I wonder if the same insane logic could work regarding other things.
I know. Here is a question for ya… what else will you hate at first but grows on you??
give up…
A FUNGUS! A fungus you will also hate and it grows on you. So using that same crazy logic, your friends could be asking you…’hey (insert your name here) a few of us are going swimming at the local sewer treatment plant. Sure you will hate it at first, sure the air is almost as acidic as battery acid, and burns like fire as you breath, but tough it out and it will grow on you.’
yep that sounds like a great idea right? Well to those of us with sense, that is how ridiculous the persuasive argument is in support of Twilight.”
Soon that obra maestra de divertido (means "masterpiece of funny" for all those not named Christina) will be unveiled.
And now, the second installment of my epic...
*****NEWS FROM HOME*****
He awoke early, about six forty-five and headed for the Inn’s modest gym. It was not a great gym but it had the basics, some dumbbells, a bench-press machine and a few free weights to do curls with. In one corner of the room, mounted to the wall was a flat screen TV, about forty inches. Jason usually liked to listen to his IPod when he worked out, but had left it at home in Vegas and decided to settle for a little CNN or Fox news; whichever he came to first.
As he began to sweat and feel the burning in his muscles, he unconsciously banished the news broadcast into the background to serve as ambient noise.
Halfway through a bench-press set an oddly familiar sound broke through Jason’s lifting induced trance. He set the bench bar back and grabbed the white hand towel from his pocket, wiping the sweet from his face as he turned toward the TV. The noise he heard was the short piece of music that plays just before the announcement of breaking news. On the screen appeared the familiar blue backdrop sheet with the White House emblem hanging on it, and the dark wood podium with four or five microphones attached. “Breaking news from the White House? The heck’s going on?”
He barely broached the thought in his mind before a man entered the picture and stepped up to the podium. The man pulled out a pair of gold framed reading glasses from the inside pocket of his black suit and put them on. He had salt and pepper hair, more on the pepper side, with deep lines in his face announcing to all that he had been through not a few trials in his life. As the man began to speak the words “Secretary of Defense” appeared at the bottom of the screen and Jason turned up the volume.
Jason sat stunned; he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. With each sentence from the man, Jason’s mouth dropped a little more and his mind pushed all thoughts out his ears. Jumping up, Jason tore out of the room, and as he ran down the hall the flower patterned walls seemed to blur into lines. In his haste Jason forgot his room key and found himself pounding on the door.
“Cindy answer the door, you’re never going to believe this. Something terrible has happened. Cindy open the…”
The door swung open with Cindy standing in her night gown glaring at him. “What’s so important that you had to wake me up at,” glancing at the alarm clock, “seven ten? And why don’t you have your room key?”
“No time for questions” he barked back grabbing the TV remote and turning to the news broadcast he’d been watching.
The man was now gone and pictures from what must have been helicopters were being shown on the screen. A male voice was giving commentary in the back ground. “It is unsure what caused the destruction, and communication into both Las Vegas and Chicago seems to be down. Reports are coming in that the damage in Las Vegas is around ninety-five percent, and eighty percent in Chicago.”
As pictures flashed on the screen, Cindy felt her legs turn from bone and muscle into jelly; thankfully the edge of the bed caught her as she fell. With a trembling hand lightly covering her wide open mouth, she began to cry. The commentary started again. “The death toll is estimated in the hundreds of thousands for both cities right now. Authorities are urging all who have loved ones in Las Vegas or Chicago areas to not call in, as the few lines of communication being found are needed for emergency personnel.”
“What happened?” Cindy whimpered to Jason.
“I don’t know” he replied. But of course that was a lie. Quickly Jason’s thoughts were dragged back to the FBI briefing he had the previous day. His thoughts were disrupted when he heard the buzz of his cell phone, vibrating on the dresser. He looked at the screen and it read “emergency connection.” His heart sank, his knees gave out and he also found himself saved by the edge of the bed.
“Hello?” he asked. The voice on the other line was unfamiliar.
“Officer, I have Sergeant Opey on the line I will connect him.”
“Jason?” The familiar voice of his sergeant sounded strong and gave Jason the strength to stand.
“Yeah man I’m here. What’s going on?”
Cindy could only hear her husband’s responses but she knew by the tone in his voice things were not good. After Jason hung up the phone Cindy didn’t even have to ask, with a single look she knew; he was leaving.
“Why you, you are three hundred miles away. It is going to take you at least five hours to get there, and that’s without traffic.”
“Cindy, you don’t understand. I am the only guy on my squad my sergeant could get a hold of. The other guys could be dead for all we know. It is my duty as a cop to go back. I have to go. You and the rest of the family will stay here at Ashley’s house until things get better, and then I will come back and get you and the kids.”
Cindy looked at him with tears in her eyes and said, “But every one you care about is here. I can’t stand the thought of loosing you.”
“I’m coming back to get you, Ok? I love you” The words seemed almost reckless as they rolled off his lips.
Cindy nodded in duressed approval, and with that began to weep.
Part three "The Journey Back (Worse than expected), will be posted next monday. Until then CiAo!
Sunday, September 14, 2008
My First
So here is something a little different for you all. For the next four weeks, every Monday, I will be posting parts of a story that I wrote in anticipation of it being published. However, due to unforeseen lack of taste on the part of the editor of DOOM TOWN (the book I was to be published in) I will not be making my first million via publishing a short story. He stated that the “writing was weak.” Well I and one of my English professors at UNLV don’t think so. In fact, she was the one who told me to submit it for publication to the gentleman. Oooh and did I mention that she is the English professor with the most tenure currently teaching at UNLV??? Well she is, so his loss is now your gain. The story is entitled M.I.A and yes it does stand for Missing In Action… I know what you are thinking…llllaaammmmeee!!! But allow me to illuminate the meaning behind it.
The story, in essence, is a journey surrounded by chaos and disaster. It is told from the vantage point of an omniscient narrator who, at times, explores the inner most thoughts and feelings of the main character. The journey is not only a physical one, but is also introspective. Within the midst of all the chaos, carnage, sadness and misery our hero undergoes a change in the way he views the world and in so doing ends up Missing In Action. However, in what way he is M.I.A I will leave for you to read and interpret.
After I have posted the last part of the story, the post following will give all the particulars regarding the stories conception, style characteristics, detail on the whole concept of M.I.A and address any questions that might have arisen after reading.
I have broken the fifteen page short story up into four sections entitled respectively:
-New Addition
-News from Home
-The Journey back (worse than expected)
-The Search (usual suspects, unusual heros)
I sincerely hope that you find enjoyment in reading this and can take from it something that helps make this world a better place.
Without further adieu…
M.I.A.
Part One:
New Addition
It had been almost three months since he had seen his sister. “I wonder who the baby will look like, Ash or Larry?” His thoughts danced around the idea of being an uncle as he laid stretched out, all six foot one hundred and eighty-five pounds of him, across the last row of seats in the 737 he was riding in. He was on a red eye from Las Vegas to Salt Lake City at the arrival of his sister Ashley’s first baby; a little brown haired, green eyed boy named Crew.
As Jason lay across the seats, his mind drifted from his sister to the briefing he had with the FBI’s Counter Terrorism Unit, Las Vegas branch, earlier in the day. The agent stated they had received reliable information that a few cities in the United States, including Las Vegas, were said to be targets of a forthcoming terrorist attack. The agent didn’t have any information on when the attack was going to be carried out, but he did mention talk of a possible hybrid atom bomb being developed in the UK. The bomb is said to have no toxic after effects-the toxins are converted into energy before the detonation- thus making the bomb two times as powerful. On his way out of the briefing Jason overheard a conversation between two senior agents. One of them was saying to the other, “this bomb represents the most dangerous threat out there, if it’s real. Can you imagine it? You could move right in and take over an area after totally destroying it with no worries about toxins.”
For eight years Jason has been assigned to the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department (LVMPD) Homeland Security team. Now thirty-two, he remembers and cherishes the memories he has of being a regular patrol officer, working a beat on Fremont Street. No work to take home. No thoughts of local sleeper cells. Just go to work, complete your shift and go home.
The landing was not the best he had ever been through, though it certainly wasn’t the worst. The air was cold as he stepped through the doors leading to the passenger pickup and as he exhaled his first breath into the night air he could see it rise like smoke from a burning building.
“How was the flight?” Cindy asked him as he stepped into the car.
“Good enough” Jason replied as he sank into the passenger seat. “The landing was a little rough, but other than that it was ok. There was hardly anyone on the plane so I took the back seats and stretched out.”
Cindy looked over at Jason with an awkward smile, “Brice and The Bear were terrors the entire way up. We had to stop six times to eat and change diapers. If you think I’m ever letting you fly leaving me to drive up alone, you are out of your mind.”
Jason tried to hide a silly grin as his wife elaborated on the trials of driving up to Salt Lake City alone with their two kids; Brice a ten month old boy and Nevaeh a.k.a The Bear, a three year old girl. “Well I’m here now” Jason said proudly, “and the drive home will be better with daddy in the car.”
From the day his children were born, Jason’s outlook on life changed. He realized there were a lot of things he wanted to do, but now could not. He desperately wanted to be a musician, and while he had the talent to be a one man band, the time and opportunity had been stolen away from him; he blamed the kids for his lack of career options.
He never intended to be a cop. In fact, before he became one, he hated police with a passion. He hated the better than you attitude so many cops exude. He hated the fact that even if you didn’t do anything wrong, a cop could stop you on the street and harass you. Well, that’s what he thought they did, but after his many years on the department he decided it was not the cops that were bad, it was everyone else; the cops were just trying to find the bad guys and bring about some type of justice.
As Jason entered the maternity ward of the hospital he could hear the familiar laugh of his sister Ashley; in fact, anyone within a half a mile could hear her laugh. She didn’t just laugh; she would wind up, taking in extraordinary amounts of air, and then belt out a sound that could only be described as something of a human fog horn. Jason had a nice visit with his mom, dad, two sisters and their husbands and even held the newest thief of dreams to enter the family; Crew Nicholas Odom.
“It’s getting late” Jason announced to all in the room, particularly his wife Cindy. “Let’s get out of here, I’m exhausted.” Good nights were exchanged and Jason toted along his little family to their car and headed for the Hamilton Inn.
Sleep came quickly to Jason. While he could not remember dreaming, he knew by the renewed energy he had in the morning, he had spent a good portion of the night in R.E.M sleep. Unknown to him; that was to be the last good night’s rest he would get for a while.
The story, in essence, is a journey surrounded by chaos and disaster. It is told from the vantage point of an omniscient narrator who, at times, explores the inner most thoughts and feelings of the main character. The journey is not only a physical one, but is also introspective. Within the midst of all the chaos, carnage, sadness and misery our hero undergoes a change in the way he views the world and in so doing ends up Missing In Action. However, in what way he is M.I.A I will leave for you to read and interpret.
After I have posted the last part of the story, the post following will give all the particulars regarding the stories conception, style characteristics, detail on the whole concept of M.I.A and address any questions that might have arisen after reading.
I have broken the fifteen page short story up into four sections entitled respectively:
-New Addition
-News from Home
-The Journey back (worse than expected)
-The Search (usual suspects, unusual heros)
I sincerely hope that you find enjoyment in reading this and can take from it something that helps make this world a better place.
Without further adieu…
M.I.A.
Part One:
New Addition
It had been almost three months since he had seen his sister. “I wonder who the baby will look like, Ash or Larry?” His thoughts danced around the idea of being an uncle as he laid stretched out, all six foot one hundred and eighty-five pounds of him, across the last row of seats in the 737 he was riding in. He was on a red eye from Las Vegas to Salt Lake City at the arrival of his sister Ashley’s first baby; a little brown haired, green eyed boy named Crew.
As Jason lay across the seats, his mind drifted from his sister to the briefing he had with the FBI’s Counter Terrorism Unit, Las Vegas branch, earlier in the day. The agent stated they had received reliable information that a few cities in the United States, including Las Vegas, were said to be targets of a forthcoming terrorist attack. The agent didn’t have any information on when the attack was going to be carried out, but he did mention talk of a possible hybrid atom bomb being developed in the UK. The bomb is said to have no toxic after effects-the toxins are converted into energy before the detonation- thus making the bomb two times as powerful. On his way out of the briefing Jason overheard a conversation between two senior agents. One of them was saying to the other, “this bomb represents the most dangerous threat out there, if it’s real. Can you imagine it? You could move right in and take over an area after totally destroying it with no worries about toxins.”
For eight years Jason has been assigned to the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department (LVMPD) Homeland Security team. Now thirty-two, he remembers and cherishes the memories he has of being a regular patrol officer, working a beat on Fremont Street. No work to take home. No thoughts of local sleeper cells. Just go to work, complete your shift and go home.
The landing was not the best he had ever been through, though it certainly wasn’t the worst. The air was cold as he stepped through the doors leading to the passenger pickup and as he exhaled his first breath into the night air he could see it rise like smoke from a burning building.
“How was the flight?” Cindy asked him as he stepped into the car.
“Good enough” Jason replied as he sank into the passenger seat. “The landing was a little rough, but other than that it was ok. There was hardly anyone on the plane so I took the back seats and stretched out.”
Cindy looked over at Jason with an awkward smile, “Brice and The Bear were terrors the entire way up. We had to stop six times to eat and change diapers. If you think I’m ever letting you fly leaving me to drive up alone, you are out of your mind.”
Jason tried to hide a silly grin as his wife elaborated on the trials of driving up to Salt Lake City alone with their two kids; Brice a ten month old boy and Nevaeh a.k.a The Bear, a three year old girl. “Well I’m here now” Jason said proudly, “and the drive home will be better with daddy in the car.”
From the day his children were born, Jason’s outlook on life changed. He realized there were a lot of things he wanted to do, but now could not. He desperately wanted to be a musician, and while he had the talent to be a one man band, the time and opportunity had been stolen away from him; he blamed the kids for his lack of career options.
He never intended to be a cop. In fact, before he became one, he hated police with a passion. He hated the better than you attitude so many cops exude. He hated the fact that even if you didn’t do anything wrong, a cop could stop you on the street and harass you. Well, that’s what he thought they did, but after his many years on the department he decided it was not the cops that were bad, it was everyone else; the cops were just trying to find the bad guys and bring about some type of justice.
As Jason entered the maternity ward of the hospital he could hear the familiar laugh of his sister Ashley; in fact, anyone within a half a mile could hear her laugh. She didn’t just laugh; she would wind up, taking in extraordinary amounts of air, and then belt out a sound that could only be described as something of a human fog horn. Jason had a nice visit with his mom, dad, two sisters and their husbands and even held the newest thief of dreams to enter the family; Crew Nicholas Odom.
“It’s getting late” Jason announced to all in the room, particularly his wife Cindy. “Let’s get out of here, I’m exhausted.” Good nights were exchanged and Jason toted along his little family to their car and headed for the Hamilton Inn.
Sleep came quickly to Jason. While he could not remember dreaming, he knew by the renewed energy he had in the morning, he had spent a good portion of the night in R.E.M sleep. Unknown to him; that was to be the last good night’s rest he would get for a while.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Fashion Fopa
So there I was minding my own business, sitting in terminal D on what the airline said were “padded seats” but, as I was becoming despondently more aware, could be better compared to, or described as, “rock-hard-leather-thrones-of-death.” I was waiting to board my plane headed for Texas with a final destination of San Juan, when I saw a few things that sent my ranting juices flowing like a tsunami…
I looked a down the row of death thrones I was sitting on and saw this woman that had on a pink shirt. She was a very lovely woman; not ugly but not the hottest thing out of the oven. Now she was facing me so I didn’t give her a second thought… at first that is. But then she turned around and I saw her fatal flaw…she had on a hideous salmon colored bra that had one of the clasps unclasped.
“But T-man” you might ask, “how on earth did you manage a sneak peak of her bra? And for the love of all things Victoria’s Secret, Fredericks of Hollywood, and the Kathy Ireland Collection (exclusively at Wal-Mart), how did you know this woman’s bra was unclasped????” Ooohhhh my friends… had my eyes their own mouth with which to retell the horrific sights they be held in that instant, they would surely enlighten you of things too forbidding for the faint of heart and small children to hear, but had you been present, surely you would now share in the same infirmity that ales me…a mind sickened with images of the vilest of perversions against all things fashionable.
See this pink shirt had on the back, one button at the neck and one button on the bottom hem, and was open to reveal her most inner, or outer, back area and thus the bra was exposed to the world.
Allow me to digress for a moment and explain something to you all…I am definitely not a normal guy, and I am absolutely of the “anti-machismo” attitude. I have two great loves in this world next to my family. Most of you that know me won’t find this shocking but my first great love is my art in all its forms (i.e. my writing, music, paintings and sketches) the other is fashion. I can’t speak as to this woman’s artistic choices but I have a mouthful to say about her taste in fashion and esthetic visions.
Funny enough I can sum it up in one sentence..so here it is…uuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! <-- me taking in a big breath. You have absolutely no concept of what looks good, just because some half twitted retard decides that they have a few extra pieces of fabric lying around the doublewide and steal two buttons, then they put it all together creating an utter fashion atrocity they call a shirt, does not mean you need to supply them with the funds for their next keg of Steel Reserve(ridiculously cheap beer), you should be ashamed for spending money on that shirt, you should be ashamed for even having that shirt, no, you should be punished and thrown in jail for assault, assault on my good fashion senses and assault on every eye whose gaze was sucked into the vortex that is your hideous open backed shirt that by the way, WAS PINK and you had the audacity to wear a salmon colored bra, which given what I have deduced of your fashion sense thus far, should not have come as much of a surprise to me, but I do have just one question before I banish the thought of you and your fashion fiasco to the nether regions of all things lost in time (you know the place they should send things like halter tops, ankle socks with the puffy ball on back of them, slap-n’-wrap bracelets, lawn darts, Speedos, bikinis for ages 10 and under or weights of 200+, any car manufactured in the 1980’s, the guy that produced Harry and the Henderson’s, the guy that took ALF off the air, whoever came up with the show Sex in the City, the creator and manufacturers of oversized necklace charms studded with fake diamonds and Paris Hilton…by the way Paris I HATE YOU!!!) WHAT WERE YOU THINKING WHEN YOU PUT THAT THING ON?????
I would bet, if I were a betting man, that you were thinking, “yeah! This shirt makes me look gooooood.”
Ooopppee, wait, breaking news…this just in… to the woman in the hideous pink getup, this is your brain, I am sorry I left without telling you a month ago, but it was just exhausting being in your head everyday so while you were sleeping I hopped out and filled your head with cheese. I’m back from holiday and we can start the long road to recovery now…
Oh wow lady…good luck. Really, I hope you can get things straight with that brain of yours and get that cheese out of your head.
I would be remiss if I did not also mention a few other “fashion disasters” that I have encountered in my short life. Join me on this ride through time as we give a shout out, or just a dishonorable mention, to the best of the worst things in fashion for the past twenty five years….
And we begin:
The base ball cap promoting a beer company that has a bottle opener built into the brim of the cap, glasses being hung from the top button on a button up shirt, sunglasses being worn on the back of the head (yeah, it’s a good idea to shade the area that would encompass the entirety of the surface area that your brain must occupy within your skull, good job!), those who wear socks with flip flops (all who do this are committing an especially egregious act as your foot looks like that of a turtle and turtles are stupid so exo-facto…well you do the math, the “ I’m with stupid” t-shirts, the “I (heart) (–PLACE NAME OF CITY HERE)” shirts, big scrunchy socks, anything spandex, tube socks rolled down, any and all things FUBU-Baby Phat and Racca Wear, oversized headbands, low rise jeans that allow the tops of your underwear straps to show, any neon colored bra that is allowed to be seen, MC Hammer “parachute pants”, the Vanilla Ice haircut (flat top with three lines of increasing length shaved in just above the ears), the “pocket pooch” you know the ones people carry around in their purses, the mullet as rocked by the one and only Billy Ray Cyrus, anything worn by Chaka Khan, the “side of the head pony tail” the one that is set about the middle of the skull, any shirt with a short stupid tag phrase like “-(Place exploitive here)- happens”, any shirt that says “I survived (name of random experience)”, people who wore a band t-shirt to that same bands concert (buying one at the concert and wearing it for the duration is ok though), portable Boom boxes carried on one shoulder so as to place one speaker next to the carriers ear and playing the music at decibels inciting the deaf to complain about the volume, Kriss-Cross and EVERYTHING regarding the wearing of one’s cloths backwards, the infamous one piece jumpsuit underwear, and the always disgusting fanny pack. Just to name a few.
I think it could suffice to say that the years of 1988-1999 could be considered the “Dark Ages” of fashion.
If you find that you have anything before mentioned in your closet do yourself a favor…RUN!!! Run like your life depends on it!! Run fast and hard like you are running an imaginary marathon. Run like you are being chased by some crazed lunatic trying to get you… because you are... you are being chased by the stigmata that is bad fashion sense. Run to your closet and grab every item you have that violates all areas of sensibility and good fashion and then sprint to the nearest incinerator and toss it all in…then you have an excuse to go buy things that can only be described as stunningly awesome.
CiAo!
P.S. My holiday to the Caribbean was great, but it’s good to be back and ranting again.
I looked a down the row of death thrones I was sitting on and saw this woman that had on a pink shirt. She was a very lovely woman; not ugly but not the hottest thing out of the oven. Now she was facing me so I didn’t give her a second thought… at first that is. But then she turned around and I saw her fatal flaw…she had on a hideous salmon colored bra that had one of the clasps unclasped.
“But T-man” you might ask, “how on earth did you manage a sneak peak of her bra? And for the love of all things Victoria’s Secret, Fredericks of Hollywood, and the Kathy Ireland Collection (exclusively at Wal-Mart), how did you know this woman’s bra was unclasped????” Ooohhhh my friends… had my eyes their own mouth with which to retell the horrific sights they be held in that instant, they would surely enlighten you of things too forbidding for the faint of heart and small children to hear, but had you been present, surely you would now share in the same infirmity that ales me…a mind sickened with images of the vilest of perversions against all things fashionable.
See this pink shirt had on the back, one button at the neck and one button on the bottom hem, and was open to reveal her most inner, or outer, back area and thus the bra was exposed to the world.
Allow me to digress for a moment and explain something to you all…I am definitely not a normal guy, and I am absolutely of the “anti-machismo” attitude. I have two great loves in this world next to my family. Most of you that know me won’t find this shocking but my first great love is my art in all its forms (i.e. my writing, music, paintings and sketches) the other is fashion. I can’t speak as to this woman’s artistic choices but I have a mouthful to say about her taste in fashion and esthetic visions.
Funny enough I can sum it up in one sentence..so here it is…uuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! <-- me taking in a big breath. You have absolutely no concept of what looks good, just because some half twitted retard decides that they have a few extra pieces of fabric lying around the doublewide and steal two buttons, then they put it all together creating an utter fashion atrocity they call a shirt, does not mean you need to supply them with the funds for their next keg of Steel Reserve(ridiculously cheap beer), you should be ashamed for spending money on that shirt, you should be ashamed for even having that shirt, no, you should be punished and thrown in jail for assault, assault on my good fashion senses and assault on every eye whose gaze was sucked into the vortex that is your hideous open backed shirt that by the way, WAS PINK and you had the audacity to wear a salmon colored bra, which given what I have deduced of your fashion sense thus far, should not have come as much of a surprise to me, but I do have just one question before I banish the thought of you and your fashion fiasco to the nether regions of all things lost in time (you know the place they should send things like halter tops, ankle socks with the puffy ball on back of them, slap-n’-wrap bracelets, lawn darts, Speedos, bikinis for ages 10 and under or weights of 200+, any car manufactured in the 1980’s, the guy that produced Harry and the Henderson’s, the guy that took ALF off the air, whoever came up with the show Sex in the City, the creator and manufacturers of oversized necklace charms studded with fake diamonds and Paris Hilton…by the way Paris I HATE YOU!!!) WHAT WERE YOU THINKING WHEN YOU PUT THAT THING ON?????
I would bet, if I were a betting man, that you were thinking, “yeah! This shirt makes me look gooooood.”
Ooopppee, wait, breaking news…this just in… to the woman in the hideous pink getup, this is your brain, I am sorry I left without telling you a month ago, but it was just exhausting being in your head everyday so while you were sleeping I hopped out and filled your head with cheese. I’m back from holiday and we can start the long road to recovery now…
Oh wow lady…good luck. Really, I hope you can get things straight with that brain of yours and get that cheese out of your head.
I would be remiss if I did not also mention a few other “fashion disasters” that I have encountered in my short life. Join me on this ride through time as we give a shout out, or just a dishonorable mention, to the best of the worst things in fashion for the past twenty five years….
And we begin:
The base ball cap promoting a beer company that has a bottle opener built into the brim of the cap, glasses being hung from the top button on a button up shirt, sunglasses being worn on the back of the head (yeah, it’s a good idea to shade the area that would encompass the entirety of the surface area that your brain must occupy within your skull, good job!), those who wear socks with flip flops (all who do this are committing an especially egregious act as your foot looks like that of a turtle and turtles are stupid so exo-facto…well you do the math, the “ I’m with stupid” t-shirts, the “I (heart) (–PLACE NAME OF CITY HERE)” shirts, big scrunchy socks, anything spandex, tube socks rolled down, any and all things FUBU-Baby Phat and Racca Wear, oversized headbands, low rise jeans that allow the tops of your underwear straps to show, any neon colored bra that is allowed to be seen, MC Hammer “parachute pants”, the Vanilla Ice haircut (flat top with three lines of increasing length shaved in just above the ears), the “pocket pooch” you know the ones people carry around in their purses, the mullet as rocked by the one and only Billy Ray Cyrus, anything worn by Chaka Khan, the “side of the head pony tail” the one that is set about the middle of the skull, any shirt with a short stupid tag phrase like “-(Place exploitive here)- happens”, any shirt that says “I survived (name of random experience)”, people who wore a band t-shirt to that same bands concert (buying one at the concert and wearing it for the duration is ok though), portable Boom boxes carried on one shoulder so as to place one speaker next to the carriers ear and playing the music at decibels inciting the deaf to complain about the volume, Kriss-Cross and EVERYTHING regarding the wearing of one’s cloths backwards, the infamous one piece jumpsuit underwear, and the always disgusting fanny pack. Just to name a few.
I think it could suffice to say that the years of 1988-1999 could be considered the “Dark Ages” of fashion.
If you find that you have anything before mentioned in your closet do yourself a favor…RUN!!! Run like your life depends on it!! Run fast and hard like you are running an imaginary marathon. Run like you are being chased by some crazed lunatic trying to get you… because you are... you are being chased by the stigmata that is bad fashion sense. Run to your closet and grab every item you have that violates all areas of sensibility and good fashion and then sprint to the nearest incinerator and toss it all in…then you have an excuse to go buy things that can only be described as stunningly awesome.
CiAo!
P.S. My holiday to the Caribbean was great, but it’s good to be back and ranting again.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Welcome back!!! Man it has been a while since I was able to get my thoughts out and onto this screen for all you to feast on. And let me tell you something… I HAVE A TON TO SAY!!!!!!!!!
So the reason for my latest hiatus-means absence- is, I was inundated with reports and reading for the two classes I was taking at UNLV; English 460 and English 477. The work was tedious and took up a lot of my time, but I don’t mind as long as I get an A in the class. The only thing I have to complain about, well not the only thing…I mean let’s be honest… if I only had one thing to complain about The Rant Shack would be a lost cause…. Ok back on topic… ONE of the things that infuriated me- means made me really really mad-was this girl in the class named Jasmine…yep that’s her real name and I’m not afraid to use it. So, Jasmine if you are reading this I have something to say to you so get close to the screen and listen up…I HATE YOU!!!! Aackkehhmm ßme clearing my throat… And here are my top five reasons why.
Jasmine you suck
(The top FIVE)
5
You seemed to come in late to class every day with some type of new perfume on. And let me give you a little advice, ok….the maker of the fragrance intended the bottle to be used more than once…I mean honestly…do you smell so horrific that you feel the need to mask whatever noxious gas is obviously seeping out of your pores on a mission to assault all the nostrils within a two planet radius?? Because if that’s your purpose and the reason for your perfume showers just before crossing the threshold into the classroom…you got the amount right on the money…HOWEVER!!!!! If for some reason-unknown to the class, myself and science professionals-you have saturated your clothes with this “stink of the day” in an effort to smell pretty, let me let you in on a little secret…YOU ARE RETARDED and you smell like a mixture of stale hot dog water and burnt grits…oh and by the way…do you hear the words deet-dee-dee often in your head?
4
Ok sweetheart, I know you know that class started at 5:00 pm… and I recognize that you have an intense need to stroll in at about 5:23pm for that “gatta make an entrance” routine, but can I just give you one suggestion/question/complaint/observation??? WHY FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS CRAIG’S LIST DO YOU FEEL IT A NECESSITY TO WEAR YOUR SUNGLASSES INTO A DARK ROOM…90% of the time we were watching a movie with the lights out when you entered class…SO TAKE OFF THE WANNABE STUNNA SHADES AND OPEN THOSE BIG FAT EYES OF YOURS!!!!!!! Ok I could really blow a gasket if I continue on this one, so ill save my own life and move on…I just have to say one last thing on the subject…I Hate You!!!
3
Can I be the first one to say Welcome to the year 2008. We have lots of cool things going on in the world right now…scientology in all its retardedness, California leading the way in pole on pole marriage, we even have two interesting presidential candidates. One I guarantee knows old grandfather time personally and, if elected, could possibly meet Thantos** while still in office. The other candidate has an upper class mind set, says he is sympathetic to the “working middle class” and when referring to his teenage daughter said “I don’t want to punish her with a baby,” that is, if by chance she can’t keep her legs in the same time zone and practice a little thing I like to call moral integrity…but then again what would I know..
Well enough about the world let’s get back to you…
Allow me illuminate one thing for you… Spandex, yeah it only has one real function in society today…that function is for all the ultra thin or super big guys to wear as they strut around the local Golds Gym or 24hr fitness…you know so that everyone can see what they’re packin…even if it’s only a few tic-tac’s and a slurpee straw. But hey, I have to congratulate you on the spandex capri’s you have worn in a kaleidoscope of colors for the past four weeks solid…you have recovered the ancient “super spandex of 1981”…you know that type of spandex that really, reaLLY, REALLY holds it all up and in and together and around and down…I mean your spandex is soooo tight, I mistook your tan pair for two small children clinging to your legs as if your legs were a long lost friends or loved ones…I mean honestly, it would have taken the Jaws of life to remove those things…yikes…what if you got a sudden case of Montezuma’s revenge??? I guess your tan pants would be polka doted then.
**Thantos- The Greek God of a non-violent death**
2
I’m a big fan of the accessories…anyone who knows me will attest to the fact that I like all things sparkly and heart shaped…with that said, one can take the accessories a bit too far…my dear…it has been made universally clear to me that you are in dire need of a fashion consultant…if you don’t believe me, confide in your full length mirror…yes you twit, it has to be a full length mirror, you have to see how you look, all of you, in totality. I am confident that I could transform you from the disgusting, sloppy cow you appear to be now, into something befitting a Monet or Van Gogh print.
There is one accessory you are constantly bringing to class that just exacerbates me-means to aggravate strongly, beyond reconciliation; almost as much as the Blue tooth ear piece, and everyone who has been with us for a while knows my distain for that ear cockroach. This accessory being that suitcase sized purse you always drag into class…that thing is like Mary Poppins crazy carpet bag-o-goodies. I know you are thinking economical, economical, but really??? 157 yards of thick, dark leather sewed together in a disgraceful fashion, is just a bit much…I’m not sure, but I think bright red might be a bit too tacky even for you..well maybe not.
The more I fester over the thought of your big, fat, ugly purse clutching to your big fat arm like a first time bungee jumper clings to the scaffolding before a jump, just exhausts all my energy..Bright RED… Who does that type of thing??awwgghh, PLEASE.. choose colors that go together or, at the very least, compliment each other a little. But then again, why would you wear anything that had coordination and class? I can tell you right now what will be your best, most flattering look…but I’m not sure if Versace (pronounced Ver-sachi) has come out with a summer burka line yet… oh well, here’s to hoping.
1
The number one reason I HATE YOU could encompass its own rant, but for our purposes I’ll limit my length. After typing until 2:45a.m I’m now a bit punch drunk. I have on many an occasion thought it would be comical to play dumb in school, at church, or when my wife asks me to do some chore I’m just not diggin’…but in the end I know it’s just a facade …my playing dumb, coy or a little Deet-Dee-Dee is just temporary and a means to an end…that end usually paying off with me declaring victory over my couch with my butt impressions in the couch not having the opportunity to re-adjust and fill back out…but you Jasmine, YOU have got to be one of the most mind numbingly dumb people I’ve ever had the extreme misfortune of interacting with… and here is one example of why…
In class, one of the things the professor said to help gauge the depth of poverty a story character was in, was whether or not the person owned a Radio…but the idea of everyone not having a radio was just not an option for you now was it??? In fact your exact quote to the class was “like, I thought everyone had a radio back then…because like, in every movie I’ve watched, like, I always see people sitting on the stoop listening to the radio.” OOOHHH Yes...silly me…I forgot… back then everyone got a clock radio at birth…you know, as a baby shower gift from the Radio Gods. AAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAA!!!! (me Yelling out loud) But what made things so much worse, if such a thing were possible, you were dead serious when you said it.
Over all I think you have driven me past the point of lunacy with your crazy antics and your retarded gimmicks. Please do me a favor…give it a break!!!!
There you have it Jasmine, the top five reasons why I HATE YOU!!!! By the way, the comment about being punch drunk, yeah it has nothing to do with anything; I just thought I’d let you in on something from beyond the screen…
Now a little note to all reading
…the proceeding pictures are of the infamous Jasmine herself. All pictures were taken by me using ninja-esque stealth and craftiness. I was sitting in front of Jasmine in class and took the pictures with my cell phone’s camera. I acted like I was playing with the phone and took all the pictures. Then at the end of class, the professor asked her to stay after because she never reads the assignments and never has anything of real intellect to share with the class about said readings. So I took the opportunity to snap a few pics of Jasmine standing at the professors desk…notice the snooty posture she stands in……aaarrgghh. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed our little reunion. Talk to ya again soon.
CiAo!
So the reason for my latest hiatus-means absence- is, I was inundated with reports and reading for the two classes I was taking at UNLV; English 460 and English 477. The work was tedious and took up a lot of my time, but I don’t mind as long as I get an A in the class. The only thing I have to complain about, well not the only thing…I mean let’s be honest… if I only had one thing to complain about The Rant Shack would be a lost cause…. Ok back on topic… ONE of the things that infuriated me- means made me really really mad-was this girl in the class named Jasmine…yep that’s her real name and I’m not afraid to use it. So, Jasmine if you are reading this I have something to say to you so get close to the screen and listen up…I HATE YOU!!!! Aackkehhmm ßme clearing my throat… And here are my top five reasons why.
Jasmine you suck
(The top FIVE)
5
You seemed to come in late to class every day with some type of new perfume on. And let me give you a little advice, ok….the maker of the fragrance intended the bottle to be used more than once…I mean honestly…do you smell so horrific that you feel the need to mask whatever noxious gas is obviously seeping out of your pores on a mission to assault all the nostrils within a two planet radius?? Because if that’s your purpose and the reason for your perfume showers just before crossing the threshold into the classroom…you got the amount right on the money…HOWEVER!!!!! If for some reason-unknown to the class, myself and science professionals-you have saturated your clothes with this “stink of the day” in an effort to smell pretty, let me let you in on a little secret…YOU ARE RETARDED and you smell like a mixture of stale hot dog water and burnt grits…oh and by the way…do you hear the words deet-dee-dee often in your head?
4
Ok sweetheart, I know you know that class started at 5:00 pm… and I recognize that you have an intense need to stroll in at about 5:23pm for that “gatta make an entrance” routine, but can I just give you one suggestion/question/complaint/observation??? WHY FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS CRAIG’S LIST DO YOU FEEL IT A NECESSITY TO WEAR YOUR SUNGLASSES INTO A DARK ROOM…90% of the time we were watching a movie with the lights out when you entered class…SO TAKE OFF THE WANNABE STUNNA SHADES AND OPEN THOSE BIG FAT EYES OF YOURS!!!!!!! Ok I could really blow a gasket if I continue on this one, so ill save my own life and move on…I just have to say one last thing on the subject…I Hate You!!!
3
Can I be the first one to say Welcome to the year 2008. We have lots of cool things going on in the world right now…scientology in all its retardedness, California leading the way in pole on pole marriage, we even have two interesting presidential candidates. One I guarantee knows old grandfather time personally and, if elected, could possibly meet Thantos** while still in office. The other candidate has an upper class mind set, says he is sympathetic to the “working middle class” and when referring to his teenage daughter said “I don’t want to punish her with a baby,” that is, if by chance she can’t keep her legs in the same time zone and practice a little thing I like to call moral integrity…but then again what would I know..
Well enough about the world let’s get back to you…
Allow me illuminate one thing for you… Spandex, yeah it only has one real function in society today…that function is for all the ultra thin or super big guys to wear as they strut around the local Golds Gym or 24hr fitness…you know so that everyone can see what they’re packin…even if it’s only a few tic-tac’s and a slurpee straw. But hey, I have to congratulate you on the spandex capri’s you have worn in a kaleidoscope of colors for the past four weeks solid…you have recovered the ancient “super spandex of 1981”…you know that type of spandex that really, reaLLY, REALLY holds it all up and in and together and around and down…I mean your spandex is soooo tight, I mistook your tan pair for two small children clinging to your legs as if your legs were a long lost friends or loved ones…I mean honestly, it would have taken the Jaws of life to remove those things…yikes…what if you got a sudden case of Montezuma’s revenge??? I guess your tan pants would be polka doted then.
**Thantos- The Greek God of a non-violent death**
2
I’m a big fan of the accessories…anyone who knows me will attest to the fact that I like all things sparkly and heart shaped…with that said, one can take the accessories a bit too far…my dear…it has been made universally clear to me that you are in dire need of a fashion consultant…if you don’t believe me, confide in your full length mirror…yes you twit, it has to be a full length mirror, you have to see how you look, all of you, in totality. I am confident that I could transform you from the disgusting, sloppy cow you appear to be now, into something befitting a Monet or Van Gogh print.
There is one accessory you are constantly bringing to class that just exacerbates me-means to aggravate strongly, beyond reconciliation; almost as much as the Blue tooth ear piece, and everyone who has been with us for a while knows my distain for that ear cockroach. This accessory being that suitcase sized purse you always drag into class…that thing is like Mary Poppins crazy carpet bag-o-goodies. I know you are thinking economical, economical, but really??? 157 yards of thick, dark leather sewed together in a disgraceful fashion, is just a bit much…I’m not sure, but I think bright red might be a bit too tacky even for you..well maybe not.
The more I fester over the thought of your big, fat, ugly purse clutching to your big fat arm like a first time bungee jumper clings to the scaffolding before a jump, just exhausts all my energy..Bright RED… Who does that type of thing??awwgghh, PLEASE.. choose colors that go together or, at the very least, compliment each other a little. But then again, why would you wear anything that had coordination and class? I can tell you right now what will be your best, most flattering look…but I’m not sure if Versace (pronounced Ver-sachi) has come out with a summer burka line yet… oh well, here’s to hoping.
1
The number one reason I HATE YOU could encompass its own rant, but for our purposes I’ll limit my length. After typing until 2:45a.m I’m now a bit punch drunk. I have on many an occasion thought it would be comical to play dumb in school, at church, or when my wife asks me to do some chore I’m just not diggin’…but in the end I know it’s just a facade …my playing dumb, coy or a little Deet-Dee-Dee is just temporary and a means to an end…that end usually paying off with me declaring victory over my couch with my butt impressions in the couch not having the opportunity to re-adjust and fill back out…but you Jasmine, YOU have got to be one of the most mind numbingly dumb people I’ve ever had the extreme misfortune of interacting with… and here is one example of why…
In class, one of the things the professor said to help gauge the depth of poverty a story character was in, was whether or not the person owned a Radio…but the idea of everyone not having a radio was just not an option for you now was it??? In fact your exact quote to the class was “like, I thought everyone had a radio back then…because like, in every movie I’ve watched, like, I always see people sitting on the stoop listening to the radio.” OOOHHH Yes...silly me…I forgot… back then everyone got a clock radio at birth…you know, as a baby shower gift from the Radio Gods. AAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAA!!!! (me Yelling out loud) But what made things so much worse, if such a thing were possible, you were dead serious when you said it.
Over all I think you have driven me past the point of lunacy with your crazy antics and your retarded gimmicks. Please do me a favor…give it a break!!!!
There you have it Jasmine, the top five reasons why I HATE YOU!!!! By the way, the comment about being punch drunk, yeah it has nothing to do with anything; I just thought I’d let you in on something from beyond the screen…
Now a little note to all reading
…the proceeding pictures are of the infamous Jasmine herself. All pictures were taken by me using ninja-esque stealth and craftiness. I was sitting in front of Jasmine in class and took the pictures with my cell phone’s camera. I acted like I was playing with the phone and took all the pictures. Then at the end of class, the professor asked her to stay after because she never reads the assignments and never has anything of real intellect to share with the class about said readings. So I took the opportunity to snap a few pics of Jasmine standing at the professors desk…notice the snooty posture she stands in……aaarrgghh. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed our little reunion. Talk to ya again soon.
CiAo!
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Coming soon
The Top Ten Reasons I HATE YOU!!!! No not you, please give me the bennifit of the doubt, its about this chick in one of my summer classes. She is quite possibly the DUMBEST human alive. oh and by the way.... I only tell people I hate you behind your back...
CiAo!!
CiAo!!
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
My Caviot
To all who read these blogs:
The views and opinions of The Rant Shack blog posts are the sole creation of the author and not any of his affiliates. I aim to entertain from the view point that will stir up the most interesting post. If you are offended by anything that is written please don’t stop visiting “The Shack.”
While this week’s rant might not see things from your view point, let me reassure you…eventually you will read a posting and agree with what was said. Heck…you might even agree so much that you have a little party inside to celebrate the vindication you feel.
I guess what I am trying to say is…The Shack is meant to entertain and to vent out any frustrations you and/or I feel about given topics. In the end if you just don’t like what was written, take up my wife’s philosophy on what I say…act like you are listening, but zone out 99% of what comes out of my mouth (or in this case fingers) untill you hear or read something you think is worth paying attention to.
This is a time tested philosophy that has had 100% positive results for keeping Tara’s sanity intact when talking to me… maybe you will have similar results… who knows?
Until next time CiAo!
The views and opinions of The Rant Shack blog posts are the sole creation of the author and not any of his affiliates. I aim to entertain from the view point that will stir up the most interesting post. If you are offended by anything that is written please don’t stop visiting “The Shack.”
While this week’s rant might not see things from your view point, let me reassure you…eventually you will read a posting and agree with what was said. Heck…you might even agree so much that you have a little party inside to celebrate the vindication you feel.
I guess what I am trying to say is…The Shack is meant to entertain and to vent out any frustrations you and/or I feel about given topics. In the end if you just don’t like what was written, take up my wife’s philosophy on what I say…act like you are listening, but zone out 99% of what comes out of my mouth (or in this case fingers) untill you hear or read something you think is worth paying attention to.
This is a time tested philosophy that has had 100% positive results for keeping Tara’s sanity intact when talking to me… maybe you will have similar results… who knows?
Until next time CiAo!
Monday, June 2, 2008
The Great BTEP Epidemic
There you are standing in a line at some store or business, when all of the sudden the person behind you starts talking to you. Now you have never seen, yet alone spoken to this person before and can’t figure out why they would be asking you a question. But before you’ve had a chance to turn around and answer them, they have moved on to another line of questioning and you realize they were not even talking to you.
This really did happen to me at the UNLV bookstore. Now, for a second I thought the girl behind me in line was just flirting with me, and I was positive she had taken some type of opiate based crazy pills- because all the nonsense she was spouting off. She asked “so what classes are you taking this semester?” And before I could answer her she said, “I have taken that class, the professor was really boring.” As I turned around I realized she was not even speaking to me because she had her head tilted to the right and was looking out with this blank gaze. I could also see that she was not holding a cell phone in either hand.
Needless to say I was perplexed. Was this chick just retarded? Was she speaking to some imaginary friend that the rest of us are not privileged enough to know? Was she even on this rock I like to call Earth? Perhaps she was lunch’n? (lunch’n is a term that I use to describe the state of a person who is high and/or just not there, you know…out to lunch.)
I finally noticed who she was talking to. As I said before, she had her head tilted and I could only see the left half of her face. Had I been able to see her right ear I would have known right away that she was not talking to anyone in the bookstore. See, she had a Blue Tooth earpiece (BTEP) in and was talking on her cell phone. For all of those reading this who don’t know what a Blue Tooth ear piece is, I have one thing to say to you…wake up and smell the technology, it’s the year 2008 and life is passing you by. Oh and by the way, Grandma and Grandpa Waite if you are reading this…don’t worry; you get a pass on this one. You no doubt have acquired more knowledge of things pertaining to life than I can ever hope to in two life times.
Allow me to break off on a tangent quickly….when I think about how growing old is viewed these days, I can’t help but think how arrogant and misguided we are as a society in our way of thinking. Growing old should not be viewed as a curse of nature or a cruel trick God plays on the beautiful. But rather, we should look at those growing old with a little envy and a healthy bit of jealousy. I say this because they have traveled the paths of life, gained tremendous amounts of life experience and have declared victory over all trials, calamities and circumstances that could end one’s life. Growing old can, and in my opinion, should be looked at as one of the greatest opportunities one we have in this life.
Ok, point made...moving on.
She was just standing there, talking on this earpiece that was blinking like a ticking time bomb. It’s almost as though this blinking light attempts to announce to all within a ten foot radius that the persons head will explode if they cease to talk at outrageous sound levels.
Why is it these people can’t tell by the angry stares and annoyed sighs from all those around them, that they are talking at mind numbing volumes? They apparently don’t know that they look like crazy people, just standing in various places yapping away to themselves. It’s kinda pathetic.
To all who use the BTEP (such a hideous device)…I understand that life is full of hard jobs and endless tasks to be undertaken. However, is your life soo difficult, and your day soo exhausting that you can’t spare the strength to actually pick up the 10 oz cell phone in your pocket and hold it to your ear while you commence the endless chatter with your friends? Oh and by the way…for the love of all things Mary Kay, if you insist on using that ear piece…TAKE THE THING OUT WHEN YOU ARE NOT USING IT!!! You have no idea how ridiculous you look with that thing just sitting on the side of your head.
To all those who do not use the BTEP…thank the manufacturer that there are still people of sound mind out there; People who have the forethought and intellect to refrain from an activity that could bring Mother Teresa to fisticuffs-that’s fighting for the late person.
In closing…the BTEP has become somewhat of an epidemic. And while we may not be able to do much about those who have already caught this debilitating parasite, we can do something to stop them from spreading the disease to future generations. So please…HELP CONTROL THE BTEP POPULATION, HAVE YOUR BTEP WEARING FRIENDS SPAYED OR NUTERED!!!
CiAo!
This really did happen to me at the UNLV bookstore. Now, for a second I thought the girl behind me in line was just flirting with me, and I was positive she had taken some type of opiate based crazy pills- because all the nonsense she was spouting off. She asked “so what classes are you taking this semester?” And before I could answer her she said, “I have taken that class, the professor was really boring.” As I turned around I realized she was not even speaking to me because she had her head tilted to the right and was looking out with this blank gaze. I could also see that she was not holding a cell phone in either hand.
Needless to say I was perplexed. Was this chick just retarded? Was she speaking to some imaginary friend that the rest of us are not privileged enough to know? Was she even on this rock I like to call Earth? Perhaps she was lunch’n? (lunch’n is a term that I use to describe the state of a person who is high and/or just not there, you know…out to lunch.)
I finally noticed who she was talking to. As I said before, she had her head tilted and I could only see the left half of her face. Had I been able to see her right ear I would have known right away that she was not talking to anyone in the bookstore. See, she had a Blue Tooth earpiece (BTEP) in and was talking on her cell phone. For all of those reading this who don’t know what a Blue Tooth ear piece is, I have one thing to say to you…wake up and smell the technology, it’s the year 2008 and life is passing you by. Oh and by the way, Grandma and Grandpa Waite if you are reading this…don’t worry; you get a pass on this one. You no doubt have acquired more knowledge of things pertaining to life than I can ever hope to in two life times.
Allow me to break off on a tangent quickly….when I think about how growing old is viewed these days, I can’t help but think how arrogant and misguided we are as a society in our way of thinking. Growing old should not be viewed as a curse of nature or a cruel trick God plays on the beautiful. But rather, we should look at those growing old with a little envy and a healthy bit of jealousy. I say this because they have traveled the paths of life, gained tremendous amounts of life experience and have declared victory over all trials, calamities and circumstances that could end one’s life. Growing old can, and in my opinion, should be looked at as one of the greatest opportunities one we have in this life.
Ok, point made...moving on.
She was just standing there, talking on this earpiece that was blinking like a ticking time bomb. It’s almost as though this blinking light attempts to announce to all within a ten foot radius that the persons head will explode if they cease to talk at outrageous sound levels.
Why is it these people can’t tell by the angry stares and annoyed sighs from all those around them, that they are talking at mind numbing volumes? They apparently don’t know that they look like crazy people, just standing in various places yapping away to themselves. It’s kinda pathetic.
To all who use the BTEP (such a hideous device)…I understand that life is full of hard jobs and endless tasks to be undertaken. However, is your life soo difficult, and your day soo exhausting that you can’t spare the strength to actually pick up the 10 oz cell phone in your pocket and hold it to your ear while you commence the endless chatter with your friends? Oh and by the way…for the love of all things Mary Kay, if you insist on using that ear piece…TAKE THE THING OUT WHEN YOU ARE NOT USING IT!!! You have no idea how ridiculous you look with that thing just sitting on the side of your head.
To all those who do not use the BTEP…thank the manufacturer that there are still people of sound mind out there; People who have the forethought and intellect to refrain from an activity that could bring Mother Teresa to fisticuffs-that’s fighting for the late person.
In closing…the BTEP has become somewhat of an epidemic. And while we may not be able to do much about those who have already caught this debilitating parasite, we can do something to stop them from spreading the disease to future generations. So please…HELP CONTROL THE BTEP POPULATION, HAVE YOUR BTEP WEARING FRIENDS SPAYED OR NUTERED!!!
CiAo!
Friday, May 23, 2008
Idiots Rising
There are a few items of house cleaning that I need to take care of before we start in on this week’s rant. First, to all my friends, family and anyone loyal to The Rant Shack, I must apologize to you for the few week hiatus that I took but I have a good reason for doing so. As most of you know, I am still in college and attending UNLV. These past few weeks I took every spare moment I had to study and prepare for my finals. I am happy to report I got 100% on both of my music finals, however I don’t know what I got on my English final portfolio-but I did get an “A” in the class.
Second, on the last rant “Food For Thought” I mentioned that the ten dollars I spent was the only money my wife gave me for my monthly allowance. OK, for all those who are too dense to have figured this out… that was a joke! Let me make one thing clear. My wife gives me all the money I want. In fact, I have so much money that I find myself reaching for fives and tens to blow my nose in rather than a tissue. Now I know what you are thinking…knights of Columbus, why for the love of everything holy do you use the fives and tens? I use fives and tens because the fibers in the twenties and hundreds are stiffer and harsher on the nose; so I use the fives and tens. And thus ends our house cleaning for the day.
Now, on with the rant!!!
PEOPLE WHO CAN’T DO THEIR JOB/HAVE NO CLUE ABOUT WHAT THEIR JOB ENTAILS, ARE THE BANE OF MY EXISTENCE. I like to call these people Idiots Rising; Idiots because they are, and rising because it seems that there are an ever increasing number of them.
As I stated previously, I am in school getting my undergraduate degree. Just in case anyone reading this has not gone to college, for every degree there are a few classes that everyone needs; we will call these the “general” courses or just “generals” for short. Now these generals are required for everyone to take and pass in order to get a degree. I have been pursuing this degree of mine for quite some time and had my generals out of the way a little while ago; or so I thought.
Let me take you back a few years ago to a scenario when I was seated in one of the counselor’s offices at CSN (formerly CCSN). We have our conversation about the direction that I want to go with my education and then she spells out what classes are needed as far as the generals are concerned. There was one section of the generals that I paid close attention to because I am not a fan of it… The US history section. Now don’t get me wrong…I can appreciate our countries history just as much as the next cornbread eating, barnyard raised, rebel flag waiving hillbilly, but two semesters of it is like death for me. So I try and knock that requirement out over time to spread out the pain. The counselor told me that I needed to take US history 101 and 102 or political science. And for those of you who don’t know what I think about politics, here is a crash course in Trevor’s political ideas. I have one thought about politicians…the sooner we realize that most of, if not all of them are corrupt and retarded, the sooner I can be crowned the undisputed king of the world.
OK we are getting off subject here… so she tells me this and I suffer through the classes and move on with life. Now she swore up and down that those two classes were all I needed to take, in order to satisfy the US constitutions requirement. ASSUMING she had a clue about what she was saying, I did not give the topic a second thought, and why should I? I paid the hundreds of dollars to sit in the classes, I sold a kidney to purchase the course books and I eventually I got my A’s.
Jumping forward a few years (and a few thousand dollars), my sweet wife decides that it would be a good idea to go see the counselor at UNLV, just to make sure that things are still on track. So I go, sit in the musty 12x12 closet they call a counselors office and wait the fifteen minutes that it apparently takes to fill out a pre-printed, fill in the blanks form of the classes I have and those I still need. Once again I am assured that all the generals are out of the way and all requirements have been met. So I get home and show my wife with a huge, and I am sure, stupid grin on my face that declared to the world “look at me, I’m a moron who’s just standing here holding a worthless piece of paper, but Hoover damn I feel special for doing so!”
There is one thing you must remember before moving on…we are now two college student counselors into declaring victory over these generals.
Once again jump ahead a few weeks to the day my wife gets online and looks up the DARS report. This is the report that you can get online at UNLV’s website that shows what generals/degree requirements have and have not been met. And would'nt you know…This thing said that the only generals class that I was not done with… was the constitutions requirement. It stated that I needed one US constitution and one Nevada history class to fulfill the requirement. WHAT THE???!@!!!! What, did the counselors forget this? Has there been some cataclysmic event that, all of the sudden the requirements have changed on the counselors and they have not been briefed on the new changes???? Two counselors! TWO FREAKING COUNSELORS!! Not one of them figured this little tid bit of information would be useful to me. Oh gosh... so the time that I spent in the chair with these two idiots posing as educators was all for not…how is it possible that they were unable to have foreseen this?? Is the DARS report some super secret squirrel stuff that only my wife has access to??
Ohh I was so mad!!! So now I am stuck having to take another class, and by the way…thank you because I have now paid for a class that is useless. I guess it not such a bad thing due to the fact that I blow my nose in money, right?
Why are the people that should be the most proficient and knowledgeable about any given topic usually the ones that are the most retarded; like riding the little yellow bus to school retarded? I swear that it seems like some people try their hardest to be incompetent, if only just to get out of doing their job. It’s almost like these people are running in a moronathon and the grand prize is free lunch and no work for a year. I find it hard to grasp the concept that these people have obviously mastered; the concept that working very hard to not do your job is easier than working moderately hard, and just doing your job. But what do I know right? I only live in a crazy little place called REALITY!!!
To all of those reading that happen to fall into the category of an idiot rising, do me a favor…stop wasting your bosses time and get back to work.
CiAO!
P.S.
Sorry Whit (my sister) for the “little bus comment”; like mom said when we were growing up...you are special! And everyone who meets you knows it a few seconds in to the conversation. ;-)
Second, on the last rant “Food For Thought” I mentioned that the ten dollars I spent was the only money my wife gave me for my monthly allowance. OK, for all those who are too dense to have figured this out… that was a joke! Let me make one thing clear. My wife gives me all the money I want. In fact, I have so much money that I find myself reaching for fives and tens to blow my nose in rather than a tissue. Now I know what you are thinking…knights of Columbus, why for the love of everything holy do you use the fives and tens? I use fives and tens because the fibers in the twenties and hundreds are stiffer and harsher on the nose; so I use the fives and tens. And thus ends our house cleaning for the day.
Now, on with the rant!!!
PEOPLE WHO CAN’T DO THEIR JOB/HAVE NO CLUE ABOUT WHAT THEIR JOB ENTAILS, ARE THE BANE OF MY EXISTENCE. I like to call these people Idiots Rising; Idiots because they are, and rising because it seems that there are an ever increasing number of them.
As I stated previously, I am in school getting my undergraduate degree. Just in case anyone reading this has not gone to college, for every degree there are a few classes that everyone needs; we will call these the “general” courses or just “generals” for short. Now these generals are required for everyone to take and pass in order to get a degree. I have been pursuing this degree of mine for quite some time and had my generals out of the way a little while ago; or so I thought.
Let me take you back a few years ago to a scenario when I was seated in one of the counselor’s offices at CSN (formerly CCSN). We have our conversation about the direction that I want to go with my education and then she spells out what classes are needed as far as the generals are concerned. There was one section of the generals that I paid close attention to because I am not a fan of it… The US history section. Now don’t get me wrong…I can appreciate our countries history just as much as the next cornbread eating, barnyard raised, rebel flag waiving hillbilly, but two semesters of it is like death for me. So I try and knock that requirement out over time to spread out the pain. The counselor told me that I needed to take US history 101 and 102 or political science. And for those of you who don’t know what I think about politics, here is a crash course in Trevor’s political ideas. I have one thought about politicians…the sooner we realize that most of, if not all of them are corrupt and retarded, the sooner I can be crowned the undisputed king of the world.
OK we are getting off subject here… so she tells me this and I suffer through the classes and move on with life. Now she swore up and down that those two classes were all I needed to take, in order to satisfy the US constitutions requirement. ASSUMING she had a clue about what she was saying, I did not give the topic a second thought, and why should I? I paid the hundreds of dollars to sit in the classes, I sold a kidney to purchase the course books and I eventually I got my A’s.
Jumping forward a few years (and a few thousand dollars), my sweet wife decides that it would be a good idea to go see the counselor at UNLV, just to make sure that things are still on track. So I go, sit in the musty 12x12 closet they call a counselors office and wait the fifteen minutes that it apparently takes to fill out a pre-printed, fill in the blanks form of the classes I have and those I still need. Once again I am assured that all the generals are out of the way and all requirements have been met. So I get home and show my wife with a huge, and I am sure, stupid grin on my face that declared to the world “look at me, I’m a moron who’s just standing here holding a worthless piece of paper, but Hoover damn I feel special for doing so!”
There is one thing you must remember before moving on…we are now two college student counselors into declaring victory over these generals.
Once again jump ahead a few weeks to the day my wife gets online and looks up the DARS report. This is the report that you can get online at UNLV’s website that shows what generals/degree requirements have and have not been met. And would'nt you know…This thing said that the only generals class that I was not done with… was the constitutions requirement. It stated that I needed one US constitution and one Nevada history class to fulfill the requirement. WHAT THE???!@!!!! What, did the counselors forget this? Has there been some cataclysmic event that, all of the sudden the requirements have changed on the counselors and they have not been briefed on the new changes???? Two counselors! TWO FREAKING COUNSELORS!! Not one of them figured this little tid bit of information would be useful to me. Oh gosh... so the time that I spent in the chair with these two idiots posing as educators was all for not…how is it possible that they were unable to have foreseen this?? Is the DARS report some super secret squirrel stuff that only my wife has access to??
Ohh I was so mad!!! So now I am stuck having to take another class, and by the way…thank you because I have now paid for a class that is useless. I guess it not such a bad thing due to the fact that I blow my nose in money, right?
Why are the people that should be the most proficient and knowledgeable about any given topic usually the ones that are the most retarded; like riding the little yellow bus to school retarded? I swear that it seems like some people try their hardest to be incompetent, if only just to get out of doing their job. It’s almost like these people are running in a moronathon and the grand prize is free lunch and no work for a year. I find it hard to grasp the concept that these people have obviously mastered; the concept that working very hard to not do your job is easier than working moderately hard, and just doing your job. But what do I know right? I only live in a crazy little place called REALITY!!!
To all of those reading that happen to fall into the category of an idiot rising, do me a favor…stop wasting your bosses time and get back to work.
CiAO!
P.S.
Sorry Whit (my sister) for the “little bus comment”; like mom said when we were growing up...you are special! And everyone who meets you knows it a few seconds in to the conversation. ;-)
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Just a Tease
I, like many of you, do not make millions of dollars a year and therefore must keep to a strict budget. In keeping with this budget there are a few things that make me insane to spend money on. The first is anything that I have to buy again. Let me clarify. I hate buying things twice!
Ooohhh. I must digress for a second and give a little information that I forgot to give all of you in The Genesis. For the most part I will be using a passive voice in these rants, informants and the anecdotes. However, in an effort to add color to the readings I will use punctuation that will denote very specific emotions and/or voice types. So, when you see either of these two punctuation marks at the end of a sentence, read that sentence over in the voice style that the punctuation denotes. The first punctuation mark is the question mark (?). When this is used, read the sentence as though I am using a voice that sounds confused. It would be a higher pitched, slow sentence. The second is the exclamation point (!). When I use this read the sentence as if I am YELLING! This sentence utilizes the type of voice that is very loud, very quick paced and very matter-of-fact. Ok moving on.
The second thing that makes me insane to spend money on is food that I don’t and won’t eat. For those of you who don’t know, I am considered by many the modern day Hitler of eating. I am ruthlessly stringent on what I will and will not eat and to deviate from what is on my diet makes me want to lash out irrationally. I could divulge the reasons for my O.C.D, but that would ruin the opportunity to give the topic its own rant. And it is spending money on food that this week’s rant is going to be centered around. I should have the rant posted by Thursday so check back, until then adieu.
Ooohhh. I must digress for a second and give a little information that I forgot to give all of you in The Genesis. For the most part I will be using a passive voice in these rants, informants and the anecdotes. However, in an effort to add color to the readings I will use punctuation that will denote very specific emotions and/or voice types. So, when you see either of these two punctuation marks at the end of a sentence, read that sentence over in the voice style that the punctuation denotes. The first punctuation mark is the question mark (?). When this is used, read the sentence as though I am using a voice that sounds confused. It would be a higher pitched, slow sentence. The second is the exclamation point (!). When I use this read the sentence as if I am YELLING! This sentence utilizes the type of voice that is very loud, very quick paced and very matter-of-fact. Ok moving on.
The second thing that makes me insane to spend money on is food that I don’t and won’t eat. For those of you who don’t know, I am considered by many the modern day Hitler of eating. I am ruthlessly stringent on what I will and will not eat and to deviate from what is on my diet makes me want to lash out irrationally. I could divulge the reasons for my O.C.D, but that would ruin the opportunity to give the topic its own rant. And it is spending money on food that this week’s rant is going to be centered around. I should have the rant posted by Thursday so check back, until then adieu.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Genesis: The Beginning
After all the anticipation, The Rant Shack is up and I’m ready to rant. Let me give you the history behind The Rant Shack and its conception.
A few months back I got onto my e-mail and saw I had received a message from my sister. The e-mail was about a blog that she had created which she was going to use to post information about her family, more specifically her newborn son. So, being the good brother that I am, I quickly checked out this blog of hers. To my surprise, I found her blog rather spectacular. She had a few pictures of her family, and the blog layout was quite nice. However, I was drawn to an enormous list of names to the left side of the blog entitled “Blogger Buddies.” As I scrolled through what seemed to be an unending list of people, I realized two things. First, it was painfully apparent that my sister had a talent for building web sites -and I am glad that she has put this talent to good use. Second, either she is WWWAAAYYY more popular than me, or, she has been spending a lot of time listing names for her imaginary friends.
About a third of the way down the list, around name 3355, I noticed a few names that were familiar. I figured the names were pretty common and thus, the links could be to anyone’s blog. Boy was I mistaken! Of every name that looked familiar, there were only three I did not know. So, I clicked on a name and immediately I got whizzed off to that person’s blog. I got the same result for several of the familiar names.
Never had any of these people mentioned these blogs to me, and some of them I consider to be close friends, dang near family. I felt betrayed. Bamboozled. Hornswagled even. This was no ordinary hurt. This was hurt like a fat kid feels when he realizes mom used light whip cream on his double fudge brownie split. You know that deep rooted, industrial grade, just got told you were ugly type of hurt.
Well, needless to say I needed an outlet to vent this betrayal borne frustration. Oh sure, I could have turned to the usual vices: a dozen chocolate roses, a gallon tub of cookie dough ice cream, or years of fruitless yet expensive therapy. However, despite all the fantastic options I had, I chose to go outside, sit on the covered swing in my back yard and cry it out. It was then that I had, what I feel, was a stroke of genius. I thought to myself, “what the heck, if they can have a blog than why can’t I?” So I started planning The Rant Shack.
Often words spoken in the heat of the moment are sharp, ill placed, un-thought out and thus almost always “taken back.” For this reason I feel that what I have to say and/or rant about, just might accomplish a few things for me as the author and you as the reader. First, I will be able to have a place that I can vent out my frustrations about any topic I choose. Second, we all experience the same things, just the people and locations change. I hope The Rant Shack becomes a place that you can turn for some type of solace, advice or just a good laugh. To realize this goal I will post weekly blogs of some sort whether they are aimed at reliving my stress (the rants), giving some kind of advice I found helpful with some topic or situation (the informant), or just a generally funny story (the anecdotes).
I will also open the topic pool up to you. You can email me and request a rant, an informant or an anecdote on any topic you would like. I will more than likely have a few blogs cookin’ on any given week, so just have patience with me and I will absolutely get to what you have requested.
One last thing. I realize that we live in an exciting technological world full of crazy gadgets and things that help us be better than we could be on our own. To put it bluntly, I CAN’T SPELL!!!!! Nor have I ever, or will I ever say I can. So if there are words that the spell checker does not pick up… blame my wife for not catching them. Other than that I don’t think there will be many postings quite this long but I wanted to give you the genesis of The Rant Shack. Thanks for reading, please come back and as always… enjoy your life, you only get one.
A few months back I got onto my e-mail and saw I had received a message from my sister. The e-mail was about a blog that she had created which she was going to use to post information about her family, more specifically her newborn son. So, being the good brother that I am, I quickly checked out this blog of hers. To my surprise, I found her blog rather spectacular. She had a few pictures of her family, and the blog layout was quite nice. However, I was drawn to an enormous list of names to the left side of the blog entitled “Blogger Buddies.” As I scrolled through what seemed to be an unending list of people, I realized two things. First, it was painfully apparent that my sister had a talent for building web sites -and I am glad that she has put this talent to good use. Second, either she is WWWAAAYYY more popular than me, or, she has been spending a lot of time listing names for her imaginary friends.
About a third of the way down the list, around name 3355, I noticed a few names that were familiar. I figured the names were pretty common and thus, the links could be to anyone’s blog. Boy was I mistaken! Of every name that looked familiar, there were only three I did not know. So, I clicked on a name and immediately I got whizzed off to that person’s blog. I got the same result for several of the familiar names.
Never had any of these people mentioned these blogs to me, and some of them I consider to be close friends, dang near family. I felt betrayed. Bamboozled. Hornswagled even. This was no ordinary hurt. This was hurt like a fat kid feels when he realizes mom used light whip cream on his double fudge brownie split. You know that deep rooted, industrial grade, just got told you were ugly type of hurt.
Well, needless to say I needed an outlet to vent this betrayal borne frustration. Oh sure, I could have turned to the usual vices: a dozen chocolate roses, a gallon tub of cookie dough ice cream, or years of fruitless yet expensive therapy. However, despite all the fantastic options I had, I chose to go outside, sit on the covered swing in my back yard and cry it out. It was then that I had, what I feel, was a stroke of genius. I thought to myself, “what the heck, if they can have a blog than why can’t I?” So I started planning The Rant Shack.
Often words spoken in the heat of the moment are sharp, ill placed, un-thought out and thus almost always “taken back.” For this reason I feel that what I have to say and/or rant about, just might accomplish a few things for me as the author and you as the reader. First, I will be able to have a place that I can vent out my frustrations about any topic I choose. Second, we all experience the same things, just the people and locations change. I hope The Rant Shack becomes a place that you can turn for some type of solace, advice or just a good laugh. To realize this goal I will post weekly blogs of some sort whether they are aimed at reliving my stress (the rants), giving some kind of advice I found helpful with some topic or situation (the informant), or just a generally funny story (the anecdotes).
I will also open the topic pool up to you. You can email me and request a rant, an informant or an anecdote on any topic you would like. I will more than likely have a few blogs cookin’ on any given week, so just have patience with me and I will absolutely get to what you have requested.
One last thing. I realize that we live in an exciting technological world full of crazy gadgets and things that help us be better than we could be on our own. To put it bluntly, I CAN’T SPELL!!!!! Nor have I ever, or will I ever say I can. So if there are words that the spell checker does not pick up… blame my wife for not catching them. Other than that I don’t think there will be many postings quite this long but I wanted to give you the genesis of The Rant Shack. Thanks for reading, please come back and as always… enjoy your life, you only get one.
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