A mountain of dead bodies and spent artillery casings separates the squad of footmen from their attackers, positioned about 2-3 miles from the squad's position near the eastern river embankment.
It's impossible to hear anything being said by anyone in the foxhole - hand gestures and chickenscratch on dirty, tiny notepads are the only effective means of communication.
Incoming mortar blasts and small rounds fire pepper the area. The half-dozen or so soldiers nesting in their earthen keep wait for the blasts to die down before attempting to communicate a plan for the next maneuver.
A small ridge about 300 yards north from their position affords the only semblance of protection for any advancement towards the enemy. The men in the foxhole decide to uproot their makeshift base and relocate to within sniping distance, along the foothills.
There is now 30 seconds or so between mortar rounds. The air is less riddled with flying bullets than it was earlier that morning, giving the soldiers an all-too-tempting window of opportunity to act.
The move is on. The bags are packed, the boots begin a quick march up a steep grade.
Soggy, sticky dirt-mud flies with each footstep. Somewhere close by a soldier gets his right leg ripped completely off by a land mine explosion. His cries die quickly as he does.
The men from the foxhole are about half-way to their new position. Their fear of death withstanding, they see the ridge fast approaching and quicken their pace with optimism.
A prime position amongst the foothills is obtained by the squad. The lead sniper unpacks his weapon and begins assembling it, still waiting on orders for where to point his death dealer.
For now, things are safer. The enemy doesn't know of the squad's whereabouts and the team has the slight advantage of surprise on their side.
Soon the wind dies down. Sun is setting in the west and time to point and pull is growing thin.
Sniper receives instructions, takes aim. He takes a deep breath and begins exhaling slowly. Target is in the crosshairs. The soldiers anticipate the sharp crack made by the discharged sniper round.
It comes. The bullet flies. The target has been disposed.
***
"I think you're making the right decision," Gail said as Henry finished signing his name on the document.
"They'll take excellent care of you here. I just know it."
Gail handed the signed agreement back across the desk and stood up to leave.
"Henry will be ready to move in sometime next month...I'll let you know exactly when."
The admissions clerk for the Huntington Beach Assisted Living Community smiled softly and nodded as the two left her office.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
The Most Delicious Apple Ever
Imagine if you will, the perfect field.
It is spanning, green, fertile and full of life. There are crickets, rabbits, wheat, life-giving soil and...most notably...there is a lone apple tree right in the middle.
This apple tree has been around for years, however it is not until just this morning that this tree has borne an apple that is the most delicious, most perfect apple ever.
It hangs delicately from it's branch, glistening in the morning sun and almost ethereal in it's flawlessness. The shape is geometrically perfect. The texture of it's skin is smooth and moist, and its color is so remarkable that any person walking by would be immediately drawn to it whether they were famished or not.
Yes, this is the most delicious apple ever created, and here it dangles, innocently and almost mockingly - as if to boast it's superiority among all other apples. A perfect apple on a perfect tree in a perfect field on a perfect morning; if only there were any humans around to appreciate it.
In 1 weeks time, this apple will fall from it's branch, smack the earth with a thud, become bruised by the impact and slowly start rotting away to eventually become a brownish black heap of organic slurry. It's seeds will be ensconced by the earth and it's skin will be consumed by whatever insects are lucky enough to stumble upon it's corpse.
In a month - this, the most perfect of all apples to have ever sprouted from their trees, will die.
And no one will know.
And life will go on.
And futures traders in their high-rise corner offices in Manhattan will proceed with their monetarily-fueled lives.
And wars will continue to rage.
And economies will continue to dictate the happiness of citizens.
And lions in Africa will continue to seek out the weakest of the gazelles, in order to themselves live another day.
...and all reality will be ignorant to the rise and fall of the most delicious apple ever.
It is spanning, green, fertile and full of life. There are crickets, rabbits, wheat, life-giving soil and...most notably...there is a lone apple tree right in the middle.
This apple tree has been around for years, however it is not until just this morning that this tree has borne an apple that is the most delicious, most perfect apple ever.
It hangs delicately from it's branch, glistening in the morning sun and almost ethereal in it's flawlessness. The shape is geometrically perfect. The texture of it's skin is smooth and moist, and its color is so remarkable that any person walking by would be immediately drawn to it whether they were famished or not.
Yes, this is the most delicious apple ever created, and here it dangles, innocently and almost mockingly - as if to boast it's superiority among all other apples. A perfect apple on a perfect tree in a perfect field on a perfect morning; if only there were any humans around to appreciate it.
In 1 weeks time, this apple will fall from it's branch, smack the earth with a thud, become bruised by the impact and slowly start rotting away to eventually become a brownish black heap of organic slurry. It's seeds will be ensconced by the earth and it's skin will be consumed by whatever insects are lucky enough to stumble upon it's corpse.
In a month - this, the most perfect of all apples to have ever sprouted from their trees, will die.
And no one will know.
And life will go on.
And futures traders in their high-rise corner offices in Manhattan will proceed with their monetarily-fueled lives.
And wars will continue to rage.
And economies will continue to dictate the happiness of citizens.
And lions in Africa will continue to seek out the weakest of the gazelles, in order to themselves live another day.
...and all reality will be ignorant to the rise and fall of the most delicious apple ever.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Lyman Ward Military Acadamy (LWMA) attempted cover up
Hello!
I am responding to some action taken by Lyman Ward Military Academy.
Apparently they didn't like the videos I had posted on YouTube, depicting cadets being beaten and hazed at their academy.
So, I am going to publish the videos here.
Folks, this destruction of our youth is REAL. LWMA (Lyman Ward Military Academy) is a haven for drug use, cadet beatings, awful living conditions, and a host of other atrocities.
I have more proof than would ever be needed in a court of law...I just wish the school would acknowledge these awful acts instead of being childish and ripping evidence of them off the internet.
HERE ARE THE LINKS:
http://s481.photobucket.com/albums/rr180/entrophize/?action=view¤t=video.flv
http://s481.photobucket.com/albums/rr180/entrophize/?action=view¤t=video2.flv
I'll add another few when I get done uploading them.
THIS INFORMATION WILL NOT BE SUPPRESSED.
I am responding to some action taken by Lyman Ward Military Academy.
Apparently they didn't like the videos I had posted on YouTube, depicting cadets being beaten and hazed at their academy.
So, I am going to publish the videos here.
Folks, this destruction of our youth is REAL. LWMA (Lyman Ward Military Academy) is a haven for drug use, cadet beatings, awful living conditions, and a host of other atrocities.
I have more proof than would ever be needed in a court of law...I just wish the school would acknowledge these awful acts instead of being childish and ripping evidence of them off the internet.
HERE ARE THE LINKS:
http://s481.photobucket.com/albums/rr180/entrophize/?action=view¤t=video.flv
http://s481.photobucket.com/albums/rr180/entrophize/?action=view¤t=video2.flv
I'll add another few when I get done uploading them.
THIS INFORMATION WILL NOT BE SUPPRESSED.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Lyman Ward Military Acadamy (LWMA)
A few things should be said about Lyman Ward Military Academy.
I attended the school for 5 years, beginning in 1992 and ending in 1997. I spent my entire high school career at Lyman Ward Military Academy and I feel it's time I share with the public just what goes on there.
The school itself is very, very, very steeped in 'southern tradition', meaning it's views of 'proper young men' run deep and are very traditional, almost to the point of going back to civil war times.
Cadets are loosely thrown together in 'barracks' consisting of 3 floors of jail-like cells in large, isolated buildings on the campus. The living accommodations for cadets at Lyman Ward Military Academy are absolutely atrocious: there is no air conditioning; the living area per cadet is roughly 20 square feet and the power given to individual cadets is enough to make the 'inferior' cadets' lives a living hell.
I know. I've been there. I've seen all sides of Lyman Ward Military Academy and it's not pretty.
Any 'officer' cadet at Lyman Ward Military Academy has the power to subjugate any 'NCO' cadet at will.
Hazing, organized fighting, drug use, extortion and sexual assault are all commonplace. I have proof. Lyman Ward Military Academy is a haven for the breeding of violent, maladjusted young men.
Ask anyone who has spent more than a few weeks at the school and they will tell you: if you don't get beaten, humiliated, broken down and completely destroyed psychologically during your first few weeks there, then the faculty and cadre are NOT doing their jobs.
Lyman Ward Military Academy is hell. Again, I have proof. Just contact me.
bretd9@gmail.com
I will never stop being a voice for those whose lives have been destroyed by this deplorable institution.
I attended the school for 5 years, beginning in 1992 and ending in 1997. I spent my entire high school career at Lyman Ward Military Academy and I feel it's time I share with the public just what goes on there.
The school itself is very, very, very steeped in 'southern tradition', meaning it's views of 'proper young men' run deep and are very traditional, almost to the point of going back to civil war times.
Cadets are loosely thrown together in 'barracks' consisting of 3 floors of jail-like cells in large, isolated buildings on the campus. The living accommodations for cadets at Lyman Ward Military Academy are absolutely atrocious: there is no air conditioning; the living area per cadet is roughly 20 square feet and the power given to individual cadets is enough to make the 'inferior' cadets' lives a living hell.
I know. I've been there. I've seen all sides of Lyman Ward Military Academy and it's not pretty.
Any 'officer' cadet at Lyman Ward Military Academy has the power to subjugate any 'NCO' cadet at will.
Hazing, organized fighting, drug use, extortion and sexual assault are all commonplace. I have proof. Lyman Ward Military Academy is a haven for the breeding of violent, maladjusted young men.
Ask anyone who has spent more than a few weeks at the school and they will tell you: if you don't get beaten, humiliated, broken down and completely destroyed psychologically during your first few weeks there, then the faculty and cadre are NOT doing their jobs.
Lyman Ward Military Academy is hell. Again, I have proof. Just contact me.
bretd9@gmail.com
I will never stop being a voice for those whose lives have been destroyed by this deplorable institution.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Bourke's Box
"In all of my 64 years, I've never been treated like this," the man barked at me, "what kind of establishment is this?"
I was in the middle of a conversation with Mickey, the warehouse guy, trying to locate this man's shipment. I could have easily hung up with Mickey, told the guest his package never made it, and that would have been the end of it.
Well...maybe it wouldn't have been the end, but at least his problem would no longer be my problem. However I wasn't being paid to pass the buck and I kind of felt sorry for the guest. His demeanor reeked of disappointment with life and everything in it, and for someone like that I could only feel pity.
"Sir, again, I apologize and I assure you we're doing all we can. If you'd like to go ahead up to your room I'll be sure to notify you if we find it," I attempted.
"I don't think you understand, boy," the staunch, graying man said to me through narrowing eyes, "what's in that box is more important than anything you've ever dreamed of. I've got sixty-three of the most important people in physics waiting for me right now and I've got NOTHING to show them. Do YOU want to go tell them they've travelled all the way here for nothing?"
Without answering I returned to my phone conversation.
Mickey apologized for me having to endure this guy's attitude and assured me that there was not, in fact, any parcel in the warehouse 'shaped like a 3-foot wide doughnut'. I thanked him, hung up the phone and watched as the angry guest turned his back and marched towards the hotel elevators with his single piece of luggage in tow.
A final, disgusted look over his shoulder reminded me why I fucking hated that job so much. The guests there were almost always complete assholes. What could possibly be so important about that package?
"ROOM 334 IN CASE YOU FORGOT, MORON!" the man screamed from across the hotel foyer.
"Got it!" I yelled back, "I'll keep you posted!"
Those within earshot cast a collective stare towards me almost as if to say in unison, "Are you gonna take that shit?"
Of course I was. I was a happy, rule-following Hilton Hotels employee without a soul, any self-respect or care for the fact that I was being paid nine dollars an hour to take shit from rude pricks all day.
I needed a cigarette.
"Hey John, it's three o'clock. Can I go on break?" I asked.
John looked over from his station at the concierge desk. He glanced at his watch then gave me a nod.
***
"So what was that guy's problem?" Mickey asked me.
We normally met during our breaks to bullshit over a smoke or two. Mickey was one of the few guys I worked with who was almost as jaded as I was and it felt good to vent to him about the crap I had to wade through during my shift.
I finished my drag and explained that whatever this guy was expecting must have been ultra-important, and that it had something to do with psychics. Or physics, or some shit like that.
"Maybe he's with NASA or something," Mickey said, "Next time he comes down to check on his package ask him if he'll give us a couple of vouchers for a free tour or something!"
I laughed; Mickey did too but only ended up coughing.
Just then a delivery truck pulled into the loading bay of the hotel where we were sitting and parked about twenty feet away. A short, stocky red-headed man hopped out of the driver's side and made his way to the rear of the vehicle where he proceeded to open the sliding door and pull out, yes, a circular, doughnut-shaped box with red and white-striped packing tape all over it.
"Ha! Well, there's his flying saucer," Mickey said.
"Jesus fucking Christ, finally I can shut this dude up," I said as I mashed my lit cigarette into a corner of the stairs. "Maybe I'll deliver it with a hearty 'fuck you, asshole' just because, you know, we're all about service here."
"Hahaha...yea. That'd be dope," Mickey replied, "But seriously...what do you think is in there?"
The delivery driver brought the package to Mickey and had him sign for it. I remember seeing the driver pick the strangely-shaped object up with only one hand and give it to Mickey with barely any effort.
"Ha! There ain't shit in here!" he joked.
As the truck driver sped off, Mickey brought the package up the stairs and set it next to the wall where he and I both had a look at the markings on it. There were three affixed shipping labels, two of which had the to and from addresses scratched out to eliminate confusion by the postal service. We could still make out the lettering below the scratch lines, however.
"Looks like it came from Alaska at first, then went to San Diego, then here. Huh." Mickey commented.
I picked up the package and slid my forearm through the hole in the center.
"Needs icing!" I joked.
"Seriously though...this thing is light as hell. It's like there's literally not a damn thing in there," I said.
"Dude, let's open it...maybe someone stole what was in there and we need to let the guest know that, right? I mean, we have an obligation here," Mickey said, only half kidding.
"I got no problem with that," I said, "If we fuck up what's inside, if there IS anything inside, he'll actually have a reason for calling me a moron. Let's just be sure we're able to close it back up without any signs of tampering."
With that, Mickey and I wheeled the package through the warehouse doors, into the freight elevator lobby and back through to the janitorial area. We set it against the wall and I retrieved my keys from my pocket.
"Apartment key should do the trick," I said, slicing at the packing tape and making a hole large enough for my thumb to fit into.
I have to admit, I was pretty damn curious myself about what could be so important about a big, bike tire-shaped box weighing close to nothing. If the guest, whose name was "Richard Bourke" by the way, wanted to be such an a-hole, perhaps having a glimpse at his Ark of the Covenant wasn't so unethical after all.
As I eased my thumb into the hole I created with my key, I noticed something incredibly peculiar. It was as if there was a current of air running through the box, yet I couldn't hear any noises necessarily and there certainly weren't any machines or electrical devices attached to the thing that would account for such a strange breeze.
"What the fuck?" I remarked, "Mickey, put your finger in there."
"Why? What is it?" he inquired, peering at the hole I made.
"Just do it. It's like...there's wind in there. But, there's nothing blowing it. Fucking bizarre!" I exclaimed.
Mickey pushed the pointer and middle fingers of his right hand into the hole, a bit deeper than I had gone with my thumb.
"Whoah!! What the hell? Damn! It's...it's cold, too! It's like this box is like, I dunno...self-air conditioned or something," he said, "Dude, we gotta open it. This is waaaay fucking cool..."
"Nah, come on man. We've seen enough. This is too strange and what if this is some like, high-tech science experiment worth a bunch of money? We could get sued or something," I cautioned, "I don't know about you, but I'd rather not be sued by asshole scientists for letting the wind out of their box."
"Haha, good point. Fair enough...hey, grab that tape over there on that counter, would ya? I'll mend this hole and you can go give this thing to..."
Just then the hole I made in the box started to grow without us being anywhere near it. Compressed air coming from inside was gushing out of the hole at an increasing rate, and as Mickey and I stepped back away from the box, which was now on the floor, what we saw next is something we'd never forget.
From the hole in the box a bluish-white beam of light was emanating along with the air, and within a few seconds the 'doughnut' was split in half and what we saw before us was what I can only describe as a swirling, cold halo of blue light.
It...was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.
The coldness coming from it was enough to drop the temperature in the janitor's room by at least a few degrees. But before I could take time to shiver, the 'halo' began to rise out of the box halve that it was in and there it hovered, about 3 feet off the ground.
"Oh...my...fucking...god..." Mickey whispered through quivering lips, "Derrick, what the hell is this thing..."
"I don't know man but I think, we need to get out of here," I said.
Just as I had finished saying that, the halo of cold, blue wind started to increase in size, thinning out a bit so as to resemble a flat disc of sorts. The light coming from it had begun to decrease in intensity, and right before our eyes, Mickey and I watched as the 'object' rose to the ceiling, entered an air duct and left our sight.
Mickey and I looked at each other.
Without saying a word, I grabbed the tape and began winding it around the two box halves.
"Ok listen, nothing happened here. We never opened this fucking box and you didn't see anything, got it?" I said.
"Yea, right...nothing." Mickey replied, his face ghost-white.
I grabbed the box, returned to the hotel lobby and told John I was back on the clock. I then took the package to the elevator, pushed the call button and waited.
Soon, the doors opened for one of the elevators and out walked Richard Bourke.
"AHA! You found it!" He said.
"Yessir. Here's your package. Just showed up." I said.
"So, apparently you're good for something after all, boy. I was just coming down to complain to management about you, so I guess you've averted that crisis." he said, taking the box from my hands and walking back into the elevator.
"Yessir," I said, as the elevator door closed.
"Crisis averted."
I was in the middle of a conversation with Mickey, the warehouse guy, trying to locate this man's shipment. I could have easily hung up with Mickey, told the guest his package never made it, and that would have been the end of it.
Well...maybe it wouldn't have been the end, but at least his problem would no longer be my problem. However I wasn't being paid to pass the buck and I kind of felt sorry for the guest. His demeanor reeked of disappointment with life and everything in it, and for someone like that I could only feel pity.
"Sir, again, I apologize and I assure you we're doing all we can. If you'd like to go ahead up to your room I'll be sure to notify you if we find it," I attempted.
"I don't think you understand, boy," the staunch, graying man said to me through narrowing eyes, "what's in that box is more important than anything you've ever dreamed of. I've got sixty-three of the most important people in physics waiting for me right now and I've got NOTHING to show them. Do YOU want to go tell them they've travelled all the way here for nothing?"
Without answering I returned to my phone conversation.
Mickey apologized for me having to endure this guy's attitude and assured me that there was not, in fact, any parcel in the warehouse 'shaped like a 3-foot wide doughnut'. I thanked him, hung up the phone and watched as the angry guest turned his back and marched towards the hotel elevators with his single piece of luggage in tow.
A final, disgusted look over his shoulder reminded me why I fucking hated that job so much. The guests there were almost always complete assholes. What could possibly be so important about that package?
"ROOM 334 IN CASE YOU FORGOT, MORON!" the man screamed from across the hotel foyer.
"Got it!" I yelled back, "I'll keep you posted!"
Those within earshot cast a collective stare towards me almost as if to say in unison, "Are you gonna take that shit?"
Of course I was. I was a happy, rule-following Hilton Hotels employee without a soul, any self-respect or care for the fact that I was being paid nine dollars an hour to take shit from rude pricks all day.
I needed a cigarette.
"Hey John, it's three o'clock. Can I go on break?" I asked.
John looked over from his station at the concierge desk. He glanced at his watch then gave me a nod.
***
"So what was that guy's problem?" Mickey asked me.
We normally met during our breaks to bullshit over a smoke or two. Mickey was one of the few guys I worked with who was almost as jaded as I was and it felt good to vent to him about the crap I had to wade through during my shift.
I finished my drag and explained that whatever this guy was expecting must have been ultra-important, and that it had something to do with psychics. Or physics, or some shit like that.
"Maybe he's with NASA or something," Mickey said, "Next time he comes down to check on his package ask him if he'll give us a couple of vouchers for a free tour or something!"
I laughed; Mickey did too but only ended up coughing.
Just then a delivery truck pulled into the loading bay of the hotel where we were sitting and parked about twenty feet away. A short, stocky red-headed man hopped out of the driver's side and made his way to the rear of the vehicle where he proceeded to open the sliding door and pull out, yes, a circular, doughnut-shaped box with red and white-striped packing tape all over it.
"Ha! Well, there's his flying saucer," Mickey said.
"Jesus fucking Christ, finally I can shut this dude up," I said as I mashed my lit cigarette into a corner of the stairs. "Maybe I'll deliver it with a hearty 'fuck you, asshole' just because, you know, we're all about service here."
"Hahaha...yea. That'd be dope," Mickey replied, "But seriously...what do you think is in there?"
The delivery driver brought the package to Mickey and had him sign for it. I remember seeing the driver pick the strangely-shaped object up with only one hand and give it to Mickey with barely any effort.
"Ha! There ain't shit in here!" he joked.
As the truck driver sped off, Mickey brought the package up the stairs and set it next to the wall where he and I both had a look at the markings on it. There were three affixed shipping labels, two of which had the to and from addresses scratched out to eliminate confusion by the postal service. We could still make out the lettering below the scratch lines, however.
"Looks like it came from Alaska at first, then went to San Diego, then here. Huh." Mickey commented.
I picked up the package and slid my forearm through the hole in the center.
"Needs icing!" I joked.
"Seriously though...this thing is light as hell. It's like there's literally not a damn thing in there," I said.
"Dude, let's open it...maybe someone stole what was in there and we need to let the guest know that, right? I mean, we have an obligation here," Mickey said, only half kidding.
"I got no problem with that," I said, "If we fuck up what's inside, if there IS anything inside, he'll actually have a reason for calling me a moron. Let's just be sure we're able to close it back up without any signs of tampering."
With that, Mickey and I wheeled the package through the warehouse doors, into the freight elevator lobby and back through to the janitorial area. We set it against the wall and I retrieved my keys from my pocket.
"Apartment key should do the trick," I said, slicing at the packing tape and making a hole large enough for my thumb to fit into.
I have to admit, I was pretty damn curious myself about what could be so important about a big, bike tire-shaped box weighing close to nothing. If the guest, whose name was "Richard Bourke" by the way, wanted to be such an a-hole, perhaps having a glimpse at his Ark of the Covenant wasn't so unethical after all.
As I eased my thumb into the hole I created with my key, I noticed something incredibly peculiar. It was as if there was a current of air running through the box, yet I couldn't hear any noises necessarily and there certainly weren't any machines or electrical devices attached to the thing that would account for such a strange breeze.
"What the fuck?" I remarked, "Mickey, put your finger in there."
"Why? What is it?" he inquired, peering at the hole I made.
"Just do it. It's like...there's wind in there. But, there's nothing blowing it. Fucking bizarre!" I exclaimed.
Mickey pushed the pointer and middle fingers of his right hand into the hole, a bit deeper than I had gone with my thumb.
"Whoah!! What the hell? Damn! It's...it's cold, too! It's like this box is like, I dunno...self-air conditioned or something," he said, "Dude, we gotta open it. This is waaaay fucking cool..."
"Nah, come on man. We've seen enough. This is too strange and what if this is some like, high-tech science experiment worth a bunch of money? We could get sued or something," I cautioned, "I don't know about you, but I'd rather not be sued by asshole scientists for letting the wind out of their box."
"Haha, good point. Fair enough...hey, grab that tape over there on that counter, would ya? I'll mend this hole and you can go give this thing to..."
Just then the hole I made in the box started to grow without us being anywhere near it. Compressed air coming from inside was gushing out of the hole at an increasing rate, and as Mickey and I stepped back away from the box, which was now on the floor, what we saw next is something we'd never forget.
From the hole in the box a bluish-white beam of light was emanating along with the air, and within a few seconds the 'doughnut' was split in half and what we saw before us was what I can only describe as a swirling, cold halo of blue light.
It...was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.
The coldness coming from it was enough to drop the temperature in the janitor's room by at least a few degrees. But before I could take time to shiver, the 'halo' began to rise out of the box halve that it was in and there it hovered, about 3 feet off the ground.
"Oh...my...fucking...god..." Mickey whispered through quivering lips, "Derrick, what the hell is this thing..."
"I don't know man but I think, we need to get out of here," I said.
Just as I had finished saying that, the halo of cold, blue wind started to increase in size, thinning out a bit so as to resemble a flat disc of sorts. The light coming from it had begun to decrease in intensity, and right before our eyes, Mickey and I watched as the 'object' rose to the ceiling, entered an air duct and left our sight.
Mickey and I looked at each other.
Without saying a word, I grabbed the tape and began winding it around the two box halves.
"Ok listen, nothing happened here. We never opened this fucking box and you didn't see anything, got it?" I said.
"Yea, right...nothing." Mickey replied, his face ghost-white.
I grabbed the box, returned to the hotel lobby and told John I was back on the clock. I then took the package to the elevator, pushed the call button and waited.
Soon, the doors opened for one of the elevators and out walked Richard Bourke.
"AHA! You found it!" He said.
"Yessir. Here's your package. Just showed up." I said.
"So, apparently you're good for something after all, boy. I was just coming down to complain to management about you, so I guess you've averted that crisis." he said, taking the box from my hands and walking back into the elevator.
"Yessir," I said, as the elevator door closed.
"Crisis averted."
Monday, May 5, 2008
She, Me and the Wii
I remember the sweaty palms
The racing pulse before unlocking the door
I then remember the calm
The resting peace I felt was sudden and sure
She walked in and smiled wide
We enjoyed a hug and I drank in her form
I was curious of her mind
And couldn't remember being this thrown before
Conversation started, wine poured
She commented on my cleanliness and my words back stumbled
Such beautiful eyes, my word!
I think I forgot what she just said; I tried to keep humble
My nervousness became obvious
"Come sit, be calm," she said...I oblige and we touch
Now there's no tension between us
The nerves and anxiety I felt seemed not to matter as much
I see her lips move as she speaks
The words they utter are as soft and sincere as I can remember
Can it be this nice? The way we meet?
I stop caring about everything when we kiss...igniting embers
Soon we embrace and the world melts
All that's there now is a union of two on a night set in time
The passion and pulling, buttons and belts...
The intensity of love expressed when her eyes met with mine
I kiss her goodnight on my meager twin bed
"I can't believe you sleep on this" she said and I conceded
Welcome, dear, to your own place in my head
It seems that for all I thirst, your company is all I've needed.
<3
The racing pulse before unlocking the door
I then remember the calm
The resting peace I felt was sudden and sure
She walked in and smiled wide
We enjoyed a hug and I drank in her form
I was curious of her mind
And couldn't remember being this thrown before
Conversation started, wine poured
She commented on my cleanliness and my words back stumbled
Such beautiful eyes, my word!
I think I forgot what she just said; I tried to keep humble
My nervousness became obvious
"Come sit, be calm," she said...I oblige and we touch
Now there's no tension between us
The nerves and anxiety I felt seemed not to matter as much
I see her lips move as she speaks
The words they utter are as soft and sincere as I can remember
Can it be this nice? The way we meet?
I stop caring about everything when we kiss...igniting embers
Soon we embrace and the world melts
All that's there now is a union of two on a night set in time
The passion and pulling, buttons and belts...
The intensity of love expressed when her eyes met with mine
I kiss her goodnight on my meager twin bed
"I can't believe you sleep on this" she said and I conceded
Welcome, dear, to your own place in my head
It seems that for all I thirst, your company is all I've needed.
<3
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Tired of dating losers? Follow these 5 easy steps!!
It's time again for another "Getting better dates in Boulder" post!
Today we're going to be discussing the perils of (and lessons learned from) dating idiots, losers, bums, neer-do-wells, miscreants and other sub-standard men.
You know they're out there...these men. Why, with the sheer concentration of males with such low intelligence yet such high sex drives, it makes things nearly impossible for a sophisticated and classy woman such as yourself to expect success in your love life.
Right?!
Right.
So here are 5 easy steps that YOU (yes, YOU) can follow to ensure that your odds of staying clear of spineless, broke, intellectually bereft morons are high:
1. Do not entertain e-mail offers for 'just coffee' that also include attached pictures of male genitalia.
Ladies, this should go without saying, but it seems I have to lay some ground rules in order to make sure my advice doesn't fall on deaf ears. If a guy sends you an e-mail just wanting 'coffee sometime', yet has also went to the effort of attaching a snapshot of his man bits, just...click...delete. Trust me. The kind of 'coffee' he's referring to probably isn't a variety you'd like. Just a hunch.
2. Learn to identify the patterns of the man who just wants sex.
This is actually a very easy thing to do. When you receive correspondence from a potential date, and if you're interested in finding out if this guy just wants to get his rocks off or not, simply count the number of times the following words are used in his e-mails to you:
sex
sexy
sex kitten
sex doll
sex toys
sex starved
sex change
sex crazed
sexytime (imagine this being said in a Borat accent)
sexify
sexcapade (immediate red flag)
sexual
etc.
If any of the above are used more than once in any given paragraph, click delete. This should solve the problem and narrow down your prospects well.
3. Never, ever, ever, ever, assume that the guy who uses big words actually knows their meanings.
If there's one thing that I hear all the time from the thousands of beautiful women who call me daily with their dating woes, it's their disappointment in meeting men who initially seem well-spoken and intellectual only to find that they're really mouth-breathing heathens who can't string an sentence in English together to save their lives.
Example: when a man types, "I really like existentialism. It's implications really enthuse my mental capacities," click delete.
4. Stop thinking there are men out there who actually WON'T try to kiss you by the third date.
This is a reality check, girls. Guys...want...1st...base...by...date...3. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but by at LEAST the third date you will be subjected to the potentially uncomfortable experience of having to make a decision as to whether or not to kiss the man standing before you, perhaps slightly buzzed from beer and hopeful.
Know your end game before you start playing. The cocktail of male hormones that course through a man's veins while he is in the company of an attractive woman is a very dangerous thing.
5. Use the 1-in-10 ratio when forming expectations about the men you meet on the internet.
This is simple math. Because of the sheer density of lowlife, degenerate men who play on the internet, you must expect that only 1 out of every 10 men you 'meet' this way will end up being even worth considering as a potential mate.
So...when you get 150 responses to your 'innocent' craigslist posting, know that only 15 of them are probably worth even opening.
That's it! I tell you now, if you put these simple steps to good use TODAY, you can start relishing in your dating success TOMORROW.
Thanks for reading and do let me know what sort of experiences you have. Being a hot, single Boulder guy gets old and I need your accounts of dating folly to keep things fresh.
Toodles!
Today we're going to be discussing the perils of (and lessons learned from) dating idiots, losers, bums, neer-do-wells, miscreants and other sub-standard men.
You know they're out there...these men. Why, with the sheer concentration of males with such low intelligence yet such high sex drives, it makes things nearly impossible for a sophisticated and classy woman such as yourself to expect success in your love life.
Right?!
Right.
So here are 5 easy steps that YOU (yes, YOU) can follow to ensure that your odds of staying clear of spineless, broke, intellectually bereft morons are high:
1. Do not entertain e-mail offers for 'just coffee' that also include attached pictures of male genitalia.
Ladies, this should go without saying, but it seems I have to lay some ground rules in order to make sure my advice doesn't fall on deaf ears. If a guy sends you an e-mail just wanting 'coffee sometime', yet has also went to the effort of attaching a snapshot of his man bits, just...click...delete. Trust me. The kind of 'coffee' he's referring to probably isn't a variety you'd like. Just a hunch.
2. Learn to identify the patterns of the man who just wants sex.
This is actually a very easy thing to do. When you receive correspondence from a potential date, and if you're interested in finding out if this guy just wants to get his rocks off or not, simply count the number of times the following words are used in his e-mails to you:
sex
sexy
sex kitten
sex doll
sex toys
sex starved
sex change
sex crazed
sexytime (imagine this being said in a Borat accent)
sexify
sexcapade (immediate red flag)
sexual
etc.
If any of the above are used more than once in any given paragraph, click delete. This should solve the problem and narrow down your prospects well.
3. Never, ever, ever, ever, assume that the guy who uses big words actually knows their meanings.
If there's one thing that I hear all the time from the thousands of beautiful women who call me daily with their dating woes, it's their disappointment in meeting men who initially seem well-spoken and intellectual only to find that they're really mouth-breathing heathens who can't string an sentence in English together to save their lives.
Example: when a man types, "I really like existentialism. It's implications really enthuse my mental capacities," click delete.
4. Stop thinking there are men out there who actually WON'T try to kiss you by the third date.
This is a reality check, girls. Guys...want...1st...base...by...date...3. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but by at LEAST the third date you will be subjected to the potentially uncomfortable experience of having to make a decision as to whether or not to kiss the man standing before you, perhaps slightly buzzed from beer and hopeful.
Know your end game before you start playing. The cocktail of male hormones that course through a man's veins while he is in the company of an attractive woman is a very dangerous thing.
5. Use the 1-in-10 ratio when forming expectations about the men you meet on the internet.
This is simple math. Because of the sheer density of lowlife, degenerate men who play on the internet, you must expect that only 1 out of every 10 men you 'meet' this way will end up being even worth considering as a potential mate.
So...when you get 150 responses to your 'innocent' craigslist posting, know that only 15 of them are probably worth even opening.
That's it! I tell you now, if you put these simple steps to good use TODAY, you can start relishing in your dating success TOMORROW.
Thanks for reading and do let me know what sort of experiences you have. Being a hot, single Boulder guy gets old and I need your accounts of dating folly to keep things fresh.
Toodles!
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Life as a collection of perceived extremes
I challenge you, reader, to think about ultimate extremes.
I challenge you to imagine being at your basest, your lowest, your most painful and most dejected. I want you to create for yourself an ultimate image of depravity, lifelessness and misery. Try to make it such that you can NOT imagine a scenario more despicable or callous. In other words, try to think of how incalculably BAD life could be.
Now hold that thought. Quarantine it, and put it somewhere in your mind for future reference. It might be painful to even approach with thought, but just humor me for this exercise.
Next I challenge you to imagine a circumstance in which life could not be any better for you. Think about being the paragon of happiness...seeing everything for what it is and being listlessly happy to the point of harnessing infinite good. Let your mind conjure up a setting in which you as a living human have no worries, no sins, no anxieties and only the purest of positive feelings. This, for you, should be the extreme GOOD life.
Take this second extreme and place it next to the first. Notice the clear disparity between the two...notice the huge chasm of well-being that exists between being ultimately, extremely miserable and being ultimately, extremely happy.
Now consider this: life on earth has been, for you, nothing more than a collection of experiences that fall somewhere between these two extremes. You have never felt worse than your definition of extreme misery and you've never really known happiness beyond your definition of extreme contentment.
Do you really wish to know reality and to see everything as it is, independent of your flawed faculties of perception? Is this even possible?
I say yes, yes it is.
The first step to doing this is to take the two extremes that I had you imagine...take them and crush them. Destroy them. Watch them, in your mind, burn away like smoldering cinder. Blow away the remaining ash and believe that there is no such thing as an objective extreme. No one knows exactly to what extent we can feel good or bad - those extents are only shaped by what we've been shown or experienced so far in life.
Understand that your life, my life, your ancestors' and progeny's lives, have all been lived between two extremes that could have been completely rejected and redefined at any time with enough will and wisdom.
I think it's critical to gain wisdom in order to learn more about why we're here, alive, sentient and tasked with the burden of being encapsulated inside a body that can be both ultimately miserable or ultimately happy at any given point in the course of it's tenure on earth.
For, to understand our respective purposes in life is to live with an ongoing thirst for answers that can't be obtained. This understanding is never fully gained, however it is lived and exercised through actions and communication. If anyone tells you they understand exactly what human life was created for is living in a fantasy land. No one knows exactly why we're here.
What those on higher planes of wisdom understand is that the seeking of meaning in life is what propels us and in some way pacifies our yearning for answers that are never really realized. It's enough 'to live the quest'.
Pretending to have all the answers is tantamount to saying you have none.
The answers we seek won't ever reveal themselves to us as the answers, rather we are destined to make sense of our realities as we traverse them, always between our two extremes, and always hoping to be closer to ultimate happiness.
I challenge you to imagine being at your basest, your lowest, your most painful and most dejected. I want you to create for yourself an ultimate image of depravity, lifelessness and misery. Try to make it such that you can NOT imagine a scenario more despicable or callous. In other words, try to think of how incalculably BAD life could be.
Now hold that thought. Quarantine it, and put it somewhere in your mind for future reference. It might be painful to even approach with thought, but just humor me for this exercise.
Next I challenge you to imagine a circumstance in which life could not be any better for you. Think about being the paragon of happiness...seeing everything for what it is and being listlessly happy to the point of harnessing infinite good. Let your mind conjure up a setting in which you as a living human have no worries, no sins, no anxieties and only the purest of positive feelings. This, for you, should be the extreme GOOD life.
Take this second extreme and place it next to the first. Notice the clear disparity between the two...notice the huge chasm of well-being that exists between being ultimately, extremely miserable and being ultimately, extremely happy.
Now consider this: life on earth has been, for you, nothing more than a collection of experiences that fall somewhere between these two extremes. You have never felt worse than your definition of extreme misery and you've never really known happiness beyond your definition of extreme contentment.
Do you really wish to know reality and to see everything as it is, independent of your flawed faculties of perception? Is this even possible?
I say yes, yes it is.
The first step to doing this is to take the two extremes that I had you imagine...take them and crush them. Destroy them. Watch them, in your mind, burn away like smoldering cinder. Blow away the remaining ash and believe that there is no such thing as an objective extreme. No one knows exactly to what extent we can feel good or bad - those extents are only shaped by what we've been shown or experienced so far in life.
Understand that your life, my life, your ancestors' and progeny's lives, have all been lived between two extremes that could have been completely rejected and redefined at any time with enough will and wisdom.
I think it's critical to gain wisdom in order to learn more about why we're here, alive, sentient and tasked with the burden of being encapsulated inside a body that can be both ultimately miserable or ultimately happy at any given point in the course of it's tenure on earth.
For, to understand our respective purposes in life is to live with an ongoing thirst for answers that can't be obtained. This understanding is never fully gained, however it is lived and exercised through actions and communication. If anyone tells you they understand exactly what human life was created for is living in a fantasy land. No one knows exactly why we're here.
What those on higher planes of wisdom understand is that the seeking of meaning in life is what propels us and in some way pacifies our yearning for answers that are never really realized. It's enough 'to live the quest'.
Pretending to have all the answers is tantamount to saying you have none.
The answers we seek won't ever reveal themselves to us as the answers, rather we are destined to make sense of our realities as we traverse them, always between our two extremes, and always hoping to be closer to ultimate happiness.
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