One long entry

Ah yes, this will be one long entry. In the interest of all who may stumble upon this I will put the good stuff first and the long story at the very end. Be sure to scroll down and look at the beautiful artwork Todd whipped up to accompany my lame attempt at mocking him.

First the time waster:
build the track, race the cars

The time waster I’m really looking for is an online version of Tunnel Hunt. Let me know if you know of one. If you’re the original programmer… well I know who you are, just as soon as I figure out where you live I’m coming looking for quarters.

My TV pick (Friday Night):
LifeTime (LIFETIME???) is showing one of my all time fave movies: GoodFellas. Sure all the f’s will get cut out but it’s worth watching.

Odd question, but one that needs answering:
David Bowie and Queen did a song (later sampled by Rob Van Winkle) called Pressure. I maintain that it’s a David Bowie song with Queen as the backing band. Someone else (a vile evil person, likely a spammer) maintains it was David Bowie singing backup on a Queen song. I put it to the people who read this to decide.

Look away after this because my story follows Todd’s fairly awe inspiring illustration:

And now onto the story. I’m not much of a writer, which won’t come as news to anyone here, so fiction certainly isn’t my deal. You’ve been warned.

Wherein Johann Zhender Finds Himself Confused

I found myself in a large nondescript hall surrounded by strangers. While the architecture was standard stuff the aura was very strange. The surface tingled with hope but the undercurrent, much stronger than the surface giddiness, was a pounding dark gray paranoia. ‘Ye Gods,’ I thought, ‘where is this place?’ It is a question I ask for too often owing to my predilection for strong drink and massive doses of kava root. My weekly indulgences leave me unable to form new memories for hours at a time and judging by the pounding in my head I had overindulged once again. Realizing this was no place to convalesce I felt through my pockets hoping to stumble across the keys of my glorious caddy. I soon learned that ownership is a fleeting thing when I fished out a small slip of paper covered with a drunken scribble that read: ‘Poker Debt Paid in Full. ’79 Cadillac Eldorado. Value $250 Sig- Foxy Moron’ Damn, no transportation and I was certainly in no shape to walk.

Circumstances like this is what separate men from the social beasts. I was once witness to the ‘introduction’ of a Cape Hunting Dog to a new pack. The dog, like me, had awaken from heavy sedation. Upon seeing the other animals eyeing him warily the beast lashed out with razor sharp claws, flashing canines and a ferocity not seen since Ali-Frazier. The noble animal was soon dispatched, not by better dogs but, by an overwhelming number of them. I would not let such a fate befall me, no, I would bide my moments and lunge only if strongly provoked. In situations like these I am thankful I keep Mr. Beauchamp on permanent retainer, it is no small comfort to have an actual human being at your beck and call and Mr. Beauchamp works cheap. Remembering the lesson of the over anxious hound I quietly retrieved my cell phone, a purely experimental Sony-Erricsson P 9073X17, and text messaged: ‘beauchamp come here i need you’ Alexander Graham Bell would have been proud.

With transportation on the way I was able to turn my attention back to the room before me. One thing was becoming apparent, these people were true devotees of something, possibly someone. Their eyes were zeroed in on the stage before them, peering at an orator far too distant for my ocular acuity to resolve. I could hear his words, words of promise. Promise for a brighter future, a richer life, a more complete raison d’être. Words like that are cheap, every half bit salesman uses them. But what was he selling? AmWay, Avon, BoTox Parties? Doubtful, the enraptured seemed a bit to hip for those stale pitches. The real question, I decided, wasn’™t what the pitchman was selling, but rather what the varying mass wanted to buy. Were they here for a life saving rotisserie or did they want something just because of the man who told them they wanted it. In other words: were they buying the product or buying the man by proxy?

Whatever they were here for their zeal was inspiring. The legion displayed a single-mindedness that impressed me and the absolute devotion would make them fearful opponents. I briefly considered abandoning my sanity and joining them in their communal worship but I am a trained observer. When there is nothing to observe introspection is the inevitable consequence and that possibility held more fear for me than any fleeting joy gained by joining this particular coterie of hairless apes could overcome.

Beauchamp had finally crept up beside me ‘Let’™s go professor, the car is waiting’

‘Not now Beauchamp’ I hissed ‘I must learn why these people are here’

‘That’™s something you don’™t need to know, Herr Doktor’ Beauchamp muttered

‘Beauchamp! You son of a motherless goat!’ I spat ‘These people are intriguing, if I had a platoon of these people I could rule the jungle! Tell me, are they hip to Jesus? Are they Steve Jobs minions posing a computer users? No, wait… They are some kind of free energy whackos hoping for a brighter future. Ah yes that explains their passion AND paranoia’

‘Much more dangerous Professor’ Beauchamp whispered ‘These are Dean supporters.’

Jove chuckled somewhere over Rome on and the earth under my feet quaked. Dean supporters? We were in thick shit now. Dean’™s initial appeal as the erudite incarnation of Bubba, version 2.0, which would skip the fries and eschew blow jobs, had long since rusted. He had been revealed as just another elitist bastard, but one that had a Grand Wizard worthy war whoop. The people that still followed his fading torch had been infected by a virus, a virus with no cure and an environmental need to propagate, the ‘Rage’ some called it.

The look of realization on my face might as well have been a rape whistle. The acolyte on the podium stopped chanting and all eyes fixed on me and Beauchamp. There is a strong hunger to spread the infection and the jones welled up in each of them. They came toward us at an ungodly clip, I pushed Beauchamp towards the mob in a move of pure self preservation, turned and headed for the door. I felt a momentary pang of regret for Beauchamp but in situations like these there are few choices. I imagined he was already swarmed by the crowd but looking back was out of the question, I was of a singular thought: ‘Keep Moving.’ I had nearly made it when I felt the titanium hinge that a half mad Mexican surgeon used to replace my knee lock tightly. Damn the luck, the very joint I had opened skull after skull with would now be my undoing. I waited for the mob to descend and turn me into nothing more than a thin bloody aerosol. Suddenly I felt a strong tug at my shoulders and found myself yanked into the sunlight. Beauchamp had recovered more quickly from my initial shove than I thought possible. We taunted the Deanians with pictures of Bush and Kerry for a bit, but in the end that grew tiresome so we headed off for a long tussle with kava root and Rumpleminze.