Monday, May 2, 2011
Voice of Cyntheia Proctor(as seen in Raymond's Run)
I'm just too smart for them. All of those low-life kids worry about tests and quizzes when I can just relax and watch television. None of them are as smart in the Spelling Bee as I am, especially 'Squeaky'. She thinks that she can barge into anyone's life and take over. She can't even play the piano! The nerve of some people. I could play with one hand behind my back, blindfolded. All she can do is run. What's the fun of that? You just get all sweaty an' tired. For what, a golden trophy? please, I have more piano trophies.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Midwest Miracle Session No.1
NOTE: There are two mini-section specials after the fictional story itself, one describing the Gatling Gun’s modern variants, and the other, a short biography about the life of R.J. Gatling. And although this is a small piece, I have broken into two chapters.
NOTES
~1861-1862 of testing
~Patented in 1865
~Orders from US, Russia, Turkey, Hungary, and many more.
~R.J. Gatling [Indianapolis, Indiana]
~Not big impact, very useful, jammed up a lot
~Remodeled and refitted new, sleek design at Cooper’s Firearms Manufactory in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
~Modern Variant{s}
IN 1862, R.J. GATLING, A RESIDENT OF INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA, CREATED THE WORLD’S FIRST RELIABLE, STURDY AND POWERFUL, MACHINE GUN, APPROPRIATELY NAMED THE GATLING GUN. THIS LOG IS SCAVENGED FROM MANY PAGES OF AN ADOLESCENT WHOM HELPED DR. GATLING AT THE TIME.
Chapter 1
FEBRUARY 22ND, 1862
"My name is Harold Marston. The date is February 22nd, 1862. I have recently turned 6 and 10 years old (16 years old) and I am visiting my friend, Doctor Gatling, in his workshop across town. He was ecstatic the other day, and stated I arrive at his barn immediately."
Harold walked out the door and took a left turn onto an old, drab dirt road, a very common sight in a growing America. Horses and buggies crossed every which way, waving and smiling citizens called out a greeting to Harold. The town of Indianapolis was small at the time. Not very many people had lived in it. Harold walked across the town, just as he wrote, and past two or there plantations, an amazing 6 miles! When he arrived, Dr. Gatling had greeted him outside.
“Harold! Welcome, my boy, welcome!” Shouted the Doctor.
“Hello, Richard. Say, what is this big news you’ve been talking about?”
“Oh, my boy, it’s only the greatest invention in all of time! Come! Come!” Smiled Richard as he motioned Harold into the barn. The barn was very untidy; there were cobwebs, dead insects, and an awful smell. In the center of the first floor, lay an oddly shaped object, covered in a white silk tarp.
“Ah hah. Here she is, Harold: the greatest contraption ever conceived by man.” Richard smiled.
“It all looks really quite intriguing, but, what is it?” Replied Harold.
“Harold, my boy, I give you- the Gatling Gun!” Said Richard as he pulled the tarp away.
Harold couldn’t believe it; there were two wheels, made of oak, holding up a colossal cylinder of steel, with six holes out the front. A crank-handle lay horizontally off the right side.
“My God! What is that?!” Shouted Harold in shock.
“This, Harold, is a multi-barrel automatic firing, mounted gun. Used for plowing down those Southern scum!” Replied Richard, ”I’ve already measured it: 1,200 rounds per minute! That’s 20 rounds per second!”
“Wow, this is very overwhelming.” Said Harold, in shock of disbelief and surprise.
“Quick! Let’s take it into town, and find a government fellow to patent it for us!”
“Sounds good!” Harold shouted.
The two inventors rolled the contraption to the outside of the barn, attached it to a rope, and attached the rope to two horses, whom carried it into town. Harold stood on an old milk carton, and prepared his speech:
“Ladies and Gentleman, of the wonderful city of Indianapolis! My name, is Richard Jordon Gatling. And with me today, my accomplice, and my successor, Harold, uh, Marston! We bring you good fortune today, in hopes of defeating the wretched place called the South. Harold, please, remove the tarp. As my successor is showing you now, I have created a weapon. A mass war machine, capable of firing 20 rounds per second!”
Murmurs and expressions of pleasure arose from the crowd.
“This weapon,” the Doctor continued, “will decimate the enemy, within a week!”
The crowd began to plummet towards the inventor, suffocating him with questions.
“How much will it cost?”
“Will you build more?”
“When will we see it in action?”
The crowd was very anxious to know the answers. All Richard could do was sit there and think of one answer.
“I plan to take it to Philadelphia, to Cooper’s Firearms Manufacturer. They will guide me through the next step towards victory!”
The crowd cheered, as Harold and Richard wheeled the war machine back to the barn. Once they reached the barn, the mosquitoes were beginning to come out, and night began to fall.
“Well, Dr. Gatling, I really must be heading home now.” Sighed Harold
“Okay, Harold! I will see you here in the morning. The break of dawn!” Shouted Richard from inside the barn.
“What do you mean?” Asked a confused Harold
“What do I mean? Harold! You are accompanying me to Cooper’s. We leave on horseback tomorrow!” Said Richard as he walked out of the barn.
“Doctor, I-I can’t. I must attend the schoolhouse, and feed the livestock. You can’t possibly expect me to-“
“I do and I will.” Interrupted the Doctor, “I will see you tomorrow.” He said as the barn doors slowly shut.
Harold let out a large sigh, and began to walk home. On the way, he walked past a fellow, who was heavy on drinking Bourbon and Scotch, two popular alcoholic beverages at the time. Harold had bumped into him, spilling the Bourbon.
“Hey! Watch where you’re walking.” Bellowed the man.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, sir. I didn’t see you there, in the dark.”
“Oh? Well, the name’s Clarence, Federal Bureau agent.”
“You work for the government?”
“Yeah. You got a problem with that?”
“No! No! It’s just, you seem so…so-“
“So what?”
“Never mind that, I must be going now.”
“Take your time, now!” Said Clarence, as he walked drunkenly away.
Chapter 2
Harold awoke the next morning, right before the sun came up. He got prepared in his finest silk suit, snuck out of his home via window, and met Dr. Gatling at the barn on the other side of Indianapolis. Again, Richard was waiting for him outside, with the gun already strapped to a pair of horses.
“Good morning, Harold. Let’s begin, Philadelphia is a long ways away.”
“Okay, can we just go now?”
Harold and Richard climbed aboard the wagon, and began to travel Southeast. The sun shone high above Lake Erie later that day. Unfortunately, Harold had no idea of the temperature that day. It was a scorching 102o, and he wore a heavy silk suit. Brown polyester did not help keep the sunlight out, either. The horses became worn out by the obscene weight of the gun. They stopped for a drink and Harold bathed in a nearby stream. After a refreshing swim, they were on their way again. It became close to nightfall when they reached Akron, Ohio. They parked outside a saloon/Hotel, and spent the night there.
Yet another morning came, when the Doctor and Harold awoke to the sound of clackity-clackity-clack. Harold knew these sounded like horse hooves. He looked out the window, only to see their buggy being taken down the street! Harold rushed to Richard’s room, and they got out of the hotel, carrying loose luggage and clothing.
“Stop! Thief!” Screamed Gatling
“Hey! Give it back!” Yelled Harold.
But they were too late, and the buggy had continued on, down the trail.
“What now?” Asked Harold
“We return home.” Replied a disappointed Doctor.
The two began to walk down main street as the sun rose over a cantina. Not much time passed, before Harold and Richard heard cries of help. Reluctantly, they investigated the source.
“Help! Help! Those men just took my horse! Can you get it back for me, please?”
“Of course,” said Harold, “which way did they go?”
“That way, towards Philly!” Said the stranger, as he pointed Southeast.
“We’ll be right back.”
“Bless you, sirs! Bless you!” Said the man, as he waited by a tree.
Harold and Richard had soon traveled for at least an hour, before they spotted a large, black mass some 400 yards down the trail. There were 4 horses, surrounding a centrifuge wagon, carrying many belongings that clearly weren’t theirs.
“Stop there! Stop, I say!” Screamed Richard.
“Doc, they’re not gonna’ stop!”
“Let’s see if they can handle- this!” Said the doctor, as he pulled out a nickel-plated revolver.
“Doc! What are you gonna’ do with that? Shoot them?”
“No! No, just some warning shots!”
*Bang!*
*Zing!*
*Wham!*
Went the bullets. One lucky shot, the last one in the chamber, hit the wagon wheel, spiraling it out of control.
“We got him,” Said the doctor, smiling, “Come, let’s go!”
They stopped right in front of the wagon, only to find it was completely abandoned! Harold and Richard had found nothing but a tarp on the wagon, made of silk.
“Harold! Harold, look! It’s the gun, Harold! The gun!” Shouted the doctor with glee.
“Excellent! We had better get going back to tell the man his horse was never here.”
“No, we must continue. The weapon expo is in three days! Hurry, Harold!”
Harold helped the doctor onto the wagon, as they continued down the trail…
To be continued…
MODERN VARIANT(S)
The M134 “Micro-gun” is the Modern Variant of the Gatling gun. Able to fire M193 5.56 x 45 mm NATO Hollow-Point Cartridges at a rate of 2000 to 6000 rounds per minute, this often used military weapon is most commonly found strapped to the sides of multiple fixed-wing aircraft and military helicopters around the world. It has six barrels for firing: One barrel fires, two others are in different stages of shell extraction and another three are being loaded. Its earlier variants, the XM214 Chaingun and the M61 Vulcan, were capable of firing at an adjustable rate of 1000 RPM to a dumbfounding 10,000 RPM. U.S. Special Forces equipped the minigun as an option during Desert Storm, but cut it due to the portable issues. If one were to carry a personal minigun holding 1000 rounds that would weigh in at 65lbs., then with the proper arithmetic, those 1000 rounds could be shot and emptied in a short, constant 16 seconds.
RICHARD JORDAN GATLING
Richard Jordon Gatling was an inventor, fisherman, clerk, and shopkeeper until he founded the Gatling Gun company and Manufacturer in 1862. Richard had over 48 patents, including his most famous, the Gatling Gun. He was born on September 12th, 1818, and died on February 26th, 1903. In 1911, the US military declared his machine-gun “obsolete”. Gatling was elected as the first president of the American Association of Inventors and Manufacturers in 1891, serving for six years.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
E. Frank Stephenson, Jr. "The Gatling Gun." 24 October 2006. The North Carolinian Museum of History. 29 March 2011.
McSherry, P. (n.d.). The Gatling Gun. Retrieved 4 1, 2011, from Spanam War: http://www.spanamwar.com/Gatling.htm
Hamill, J. (1998). Richard Jordan Gatling. Retrieved Avril 4, 2011, from Free Masonry: http://freemasonry.bcy.ca/biography/gatling_r/gatling_r.html
NOTES
~1861-1862 of testing
~Patented in 1865
~Orders from US, Russia, Turkey, Hungary, and many more.
~R.J. Gatling [Indianapolis, Indiana]
~Not big impact, very useful, jammed up a lot
~Remodeled and refitted new, sleek design at Cooper’s Firearms Manufactory in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
~Modern Variant{s}
IN 1862, R.J. GATLING, A RESIDENT OF INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA, CREATED THE WORLD’S FIRST RELIABLE, STURDY AND POWERFUL, MACHINE GUN, APPROPRIATELY NAMED THE GATLING GUN. THIS LOG IS SCAVENGED FROM MANY PAGES OF AN ADOLESCENT WHOM HELPED DR. GATLING AT THE TIME.
Chapter 1
FEBRUARY 22ND, 1862
"My name is Harold Marston. The date is February 22nd, 1862. I have recently turned 6 and 10 years old (16 years old) and I am visiting my friend, Doctor Gatling, in his workshop across town. He was ecstatic the other day, and stated I arrive at his barn immediately."
Harold walked out the door and took a left turn onto an old, drab dirt road, a very common sight in a growing America. Horses and buggies crossed every which way, waving and smiling citizens called out a greeting to Harold. The town of Indianapolis was small at the time. Not very many people had lived in it. Harold walked across the town, just as he wrote, and past two or there plantations, an amazing 6 miles! When he arrived, Dr. Gatling had greeted him outside.
“Harold! Welcome, my boy, welcome!” Shouted the Doctor.
“Hello, Richard. Say, what is this big news you’ve been talking about?”
“Oh, my boy, it’s only the greatest invention in all of time! Come! Come!” Smiled Richard as he motioned Harold into the barn. The barn was very untidy; there were cobwebs, dead insects, and an awful smell. In the center of the first floor, lay an oddly shaped object, covered in a white silk tarp.
“Ah hah. Here she is, Harold: the greatest contraption ever conceived by man.” Richard smiled.
“It all looks really quite intriguing, but, what is it?” Replied Harold.
“Harold, my boy, I give you- the Gatling Gun!” Said Richard as he pulled the tarp away.
Harold couldn’t believe it; there were two wheels, made of oak, holding up a colossal cylinder of steel, with six holes out the front. A crank-handle lay horizontally off the right side.
“My God! What is that?!” Shouted Harold in shock.
“This, Harold, is a multi-barrel automatic firing, mounted gun. Used for plowing down those Southern scum!” Replied Richard, ”I’ve already measured it: 1,200 rounds per minute! That’s 20 rounds per second!”
“Wow, this is very overwhelming.” Said Harold, in shock of disbelief and surprise.
“Quick! Let’s take it into town, and find a government fellow to patent it for us!”
“Sounds good!” Harold shouted.
The two inventors rolled the contraption to the outside of the barn, attached it to a rope, and attached the rope to two horses, whom carried it into town. Harold stood on an old milk carton, and prepared his speech:
“Ladies and Gentleman, of the wonderful city of Indianapolis! My name, is Richard Jordon Gatling. And with me today, my accomplice, and my successor, Harold, uh, Marston! We bring you good fortune today, in hopes of defeating the wretched place called the South. Harold, please, remove the tarp. As my successor is showing you now, I have created a weapon. A mass war machine, capable of firing 20 rounds per second!”
Murmurs and expressions of pleasure arose from the crowd.
“This weapon,” the Doctor continued, “will decimate the enemy, within a week!”
The crowd began to plummet towards the inventor, suffocating him with questions.
“How much will it cost?”
“Will you build more?”
“When will we see it in action?”
The crowd was very anxious to know the answers. All Richard could do was sit there and think of one answer.
“I plan to take it to Philadelphia, to Cooper’s Firearms Manufacturer. They will guide me through the next step towards victory!”
The crowd cheered, as Harold and Richard wheeled the war machine back to the barn. Once they reached the barn, the mosquitoes were beginning to come out, and night began to fall.
“Well, Dr. Gatling, I really must be heading home now.” Sighed Harold
“Okay, Harold! I will see you here in the morning. The break of dawn!” Shouted Richard from inside the barn.
“What do you mean?” Asked a confused Harold
“What do I mean? Harold! You are accompanying me to Cooper’s. We leave on horseback tomorrow!” Said Richard as he walked out of the barn.
“Doctor, I-I can’t. I must attend the schoolhouse, and feed the livestock. You can’t possibly expect me to-“
“I do and I will.” Interrupted the Doctor, “I will see you tomorrow.” He said as the barn doors slowly shut.
Harold let out a large sigh, and began to walk home. On the way, he walked past a fellow, who was heavy on drinking Bourbon and Scotch, two popular alcoholic beverages at the time. Harold had bumped into him, spilling the Bourbon.
“Hey! Watch where you’re walking.” Bellowed the man.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, sir. I didn’t see you there, in the dark.”
“Oh? Well, the name’s Clarence, Federal Bureau agent.”
“You work for the government?”
“Yeah. You got a problem with that?”
“No! No! It’s just, you seem so…so-“
“So what?”
“Never mind that, I must be going now.”
“Take your time, now!” Said Clarence, as he walked drunkenly away.
Chapter 2
Harold awoke the next morning, right before the sun came up. He got prepared in his finest silk suit, snuck out of his home via window, and met Dr. Gatling at the barn on the other side of Indianapolis. Again, Richard was waiting for him outside, with the gun already strapped to a pair of horses.
“Good morning, Harold. Let’s begin, Philadelphia is a long ways away.”
“Okay, can we just go now?”
Harold and Richard climbed aboard the wagon, and began to travel Southeast. The sun shone high above Lake Erie later that day. Unfortunately, Harold had no idea of the temperature that day. It was a scorching 102o, and he wore a heavy silk suit. Brown polyester did not help keep the sunlight out, either. The horses became worn out by the obscene weight of the gun. They stopped for a drink and Harold bathed in a nearby stream. After a refreshing swim, they were on their way again. It became close to nightfall when they reached Akron, Ohio. They parked outside a saloon/Hotel, and spent the night there.
Yet another morning came, when the Doctor and Harold awoke to the sound of clackity-clackity-clack. Harold knew these sounded like horse hooves. He looked out the window, only to see their buggy being taken down the street! Harold rushed to Richard’s room, and they got out of the hotel, carrying loose luggage and clothing.
“Stop! Thief!” Screamed Gatling
“Hey! Give it back!” Yelled Harold.
But they were too late, and the buggy had continued on, down the trail.
“What now?” Asked Harold
“We return home.” Replied a disappointed Doctor.
The two began to walk down main street as the sun rose over a cantina. Not much time passed, before Harold and Richard heard cries of help. Reluctantly, they investigated the source.
“Help! Help! Those men just took my horse! Can you get it back for me, please?”
“Of course,” said Harold, “which way did they go?”
“That way, towards Philly!” Said the stranger, as he pointed Southeast.
“We’ll be right back.”
“Bless you, sirs! Bless you!” Said the man, as he waited by a tree.
Harold and Richard had soon traveled for at least an hour, before they spotted a large, black mass some 400 yards down the trail. There were 4 horses, surrounding a centrifuge wagon, carrying many belongings that clearly weren’t theirs.
“Stop there! Stop, I say!” Screamed Richard.
“Doc, they’re not gonna’ stop!”
“Let’s see if they can handle- this!” Said the doctor, as he pulled out a nickel-plated revolver.
“Doc! What are you gonna’ do with that? Shoot them?”
“No! No, just some warning shots!”
*Bang!*
*Zing!*
*Wham!*
Went the bullets. One lucky shot, the last one in the chamber, hit the wagon wheel, spiraling it out of control.
“We got him,” Said the doctor, smiling, “Come, let’s go!”
They stopped right in front of the wagon, only to find it was completely abandoned! Harold and Richard had found nothing but a tarp on the wagon, made of silk.
“Harold! Harold, look! It’s the gun, Harold! The gun!” Shouted the doctor with glee.
“Excellent! We had better get going back to tell the man his horse was never here.”
“No, we must continue. The weapon expo is in three days! Hurry, Harold!”
Harold helped the doctor onto the wagon, as they continued down the trail…
To be continued…
MODERN VARIANT(S)
The M134 “Micro-gun” is the Modern Variant of the Gatling gun. Able to fire M193 5.56 x 45 mm NATO Hollow-Point Cartridges at a rate of 2000 to 6000 rounds per minute, this often used military weapon is most commonly found strapped to the sides of multiple fixed-wing aircraft and military helicopters around the world. It has six barrels for firing: One barrel fires, two others are in different stages of shell extraction and another three are being loaded. Its earlier variants, the XM214 Chaingun and the M61 Vulcan, were capable of firing at an adjustable rate of 1000 RPM to a dumbfounding 10,000 RPM. U.S. Special Forces equipped the minigun as an option during Desert Storm, but cut it due to the portable issues. If one were to carry a personal minigun holding 1000 rounds that would weigh in at 65lbs., then with the proper arithmetic, those 1000 rounds could be shot and emptied in a short, constant 16 seconds.
RICHARD JORDAN GATLING
Richard Jordon Gatling was an inventor, fisherman, clerk, and shopkeeper until he founded the Gatling Gun company and Manufacturer in 1862. Richard had over 48 patents, including his most famous, the Gatling Gun. He was born on September 12th, 1818, and died on February 26th, 1903. In 1911, the US military declared his machine-gun “obsolete”. Gatling was elected as the first president of the American Association of Inventors and Manufacturers in 1891, serving for six years.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
E. Frank Stephenson, Jr. "The Gatling Gun." 24 October 2006. The North Carolinian Museum of History. 29 March 2011
McSherry, P. (n.d.). The Gatling Gun. Retrieved 4 1, 2011, from Spanam War: http://www.spanamwar.com/Gatling.htm
Hamill, J. (1998). Richard Jordan Gatling. Retrieved Avril 4, 2011, from Free Masonry: http://freemasonry.bcy.ca/biography/gatling_r/gatling_r.html
Friday, March 11, 2011
The Day Diffusion Went Backwards
An ode to “Noisuffid”
There was nothing to do, nothing to say,
For Diffusion had left Mudville that day.
No-one spoke, no-one talked
Dust bowls scoured the sidewalk
Now Diffusion is a process
In which Salt affects Water
And the sun in the sky
Couldn’t get any hotter.
So what is diffusion, you say?
Diffusion is not in Mudville today.
Diffusion moves a substance, from area to area,
Whether high or low concetration,
The process is a slow frustration
Mudville was different
Or so it seemed
There was no more hope
No more dreams
All because, it seems
One process, slipped through our dreams.
Now Jean Jeanette
And his sister, Claudette
Brought out some water, they got from store.
Then they brought out another, more and more.
Then Jean brought some ink
That he made in the sink
And ten drops he placed
In the water
In the Jeanette Place
The water and ink sat
On a chair Jean called ‘Pat’
For seven straight days
The water and ink lay
Until one day
Claudette lay
She lay in the room
From Eve ‘till ‘noon
She noticed that night,
That the ink lay tight
And the water, no more
That was there before!
She called for Jean
Who was cool and clean,
Away in a dream
To find the ink
Had taken over
Diffusion had happened!
Jean and Claudette
Went to wake their Parent
And they rode into town
None wearing a frown
“Lookie here! Lookie here!”
Jean had cried
And cheers and hats had filled the skies.
Yes, Jean had prayed,
But for now,
There was Diffusion in Mudville that day!
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
The Fiance II
Here is the sequel to my hit piece, "The Fiance" published back in October:
The Fiance II
by Textutor
His friends were half mad. They couldn't possibly think of a more stupid way to spend Friday night. Giggling with a few hiccups here and there, they rushed up to the bar.
"Man, this is gonna' be the best prank ever." Said the driver
"Yea. We're totally gonna' mess it up."
"Guys, we really should think twice about this." Interrupted Mr. Hanson
"What? No way! We talked about this for years! It's time to get payback on those fascist pigs! But first...a quick shot or two."
Mr. Hanson sighed, as he pulled out a piece of scratch paper and wrote to his fiancè.
My sweet fiance,
I am sorry for this promise yet again broken. I sit here writing in the car. I am driving home in about an hour. Dave has gone too far. I sure can pick ‘em. I will see you soon.
-John
John thought how the marriage will turn out. Soon, he drifted asleep. But, right as his eyes shut, the car slammed to a halt.
"We're here!" Dave cried with a sort of sing
Dave, John, and Mike all walked into the bar. It was crowded. Nobody ever comes here anymore. It's too crowded, John thought.
"Man. There's like-chicks everywhere, man." Shouted Mike over the music
"No thanks," replied John, "mine's at home waiting for me."
"Whatever, man. Let's just grab a tequila and go." said Mike
The three men walked up to the bar.
"Evening, gents. What can I getcha'?" Said the bartender
"Three Tequilas" yelled Dave
"Actually, none for me. Two tequilas." John butted in
"Two tequilas comin' up."
"What the heck, John?" Scolded Mike "We were supposed to get wasted so it looks like an accident!"
"No way, Mike. I can't get drunk. I'm getting married in 2 weeks." John replied
"Then live a little," said Dave, "listen, buddy. I've been married 7 times. It's the worst thing that could happen to a man. We lose our cool. Our dignity. Our manlihood." Said Dave
"That's just you, Dave. You can't even keep a relationship together for 7 hours." John replied
After that, John didn't talk to Dave for the next 20 minutes. Mike was talking to some college girls, half intoxicated. Dave tried to stop him from wasting himself on the girls, he said. In fact, he said it right in front of them. All he got in return was a punch to the stomach and a smack to the face.
"I told you guys not to get wasted," Said John "now I have to drive you home."
"Awwwww, c'mon, bud. Pal. Friend. We're only havin' a few drinks." Blurted Mike
"Mike, 17 shots of tequila is not a few drinks." Replied John
"Was it really that many?" Mike thought out loud
"I don't know about you, but I have to get home. I'll see you guys on Monday." Said John
"Okay! Okay! We're not drunk! We're not drunk. Look. No more drinks." Yelled Dave
"Okay," said John, "if you're not drunk, follow my finger."
"Uh- I can't." Dave said
"And why's that?" replied John
"I'm drunk."
"That's what I thought. Goodbye, guys."
With that, John walked out the door, and began driving away. Dave and Mike had noticed this and sobered up immediately. Dave pulled out his cell phone as Mike started up a gray sedan, like that out of a 1970s factory, with dark tinted windows.
"Alan, hey, it's Dave. We're following John's car, plate number ABY-RD1. Did you forge the letter?"
*Static* "Yea, it's ready to go. I'm driving to the Hanson residence right now."
"Mmkay, we see 'em. Go to go."
The grey car pulled up next to John's. After two or three mile markers, it cut in front of John's SUV. Right about then, an identical grey sedan pulled into the driveway of John's house, with Alan walking up. He knocks on the door, as a woman answers.
"Mrs. Hanson?"
"Yes?"
Back in John's SUV, he is trying to navigate around the car.
"Oh, what the heck. This guy's crazy." Said John, muttering to himself, "He's probably drunk.
It was right about when John said drunk that Dave and Mike waved to him in the sedan. John lost control of the car as it spun off into the ravine. Flame and flesh grinded with metal as John screamed until no more. Dave and Mike pulled the corpse from the wreckage as a tow truck came to clear the car's crash course. After all was gone, Mike and Dave brought the body to the house where Alan was waiting.
Alan met up with them, "Here, put the body here."
"Great, he's really heavy. Aww, his blood's dripping."
After that, Mike, Dave and Alan got in their sedans and drove before they could hear Mrs. Hanson's shreiks pierce the sky.
"So, where to now?" Asked Mike
"Mexico, where else? They can't touch us there." Replied Dave
Mike smiled and said, "Alright! Horchata, Tequila, and girls, here we come!"
The car faded away down Cherry St. with a low, silent hum, when a police car pulled up to the Hanson residence.
The Fiance II
by Textutor
His friends were half mad. They couldn't possibly think of a more stupid way to spend Friday night. Giggling with a few hiccups here and there, they rushed up to the bar.
"Man, this is gonna' be the best prank ever." Said the driver
"Yea. We're totally gonna' mess it up."
"Guys, we really should think twice about this." Interrupted Mr. Hanson
"What? No way! We talked about this for years! It's time to get payback on those fascist pigs! But first...a quick shot or two."
Mr. Hanson sighed, as he pulled out a piece of scratch paper and wrote to his fiancè.
My sweet fiance,
I am sorry for this promise yet again broken. I sit here writing in the car. I am driving home in about an hour. Dave has gone too far. I sure can pick ‘em. I will see you soon.
-John
John thought how the marriage will turn out. Soon, he drifted asleep. But, right as his eyes shut, the car slammed to a halt.
"We're here!" Dave cried with a sort of sing
Dave, John, and Mike all walked into the bar. It was crowded. Nobody ever comes here anymore. It's too crowded, John thought.
"Man. There's like-chicks everywhere, man." Shouted Mike over the music
"No thanks," replied John, "mine's at home waiting for me."
"Whatever, man. Let's just grab a tequila and go." said Mike
The three men walked up to the bar.
"Evening, gents. What can I getcha'?" Said the bartender
"Three Tequilas" yelled Dave
"Actually, none for me. Two tequilas." John butted in
"Two tequilas comin' up."
"What the heck, John?" Scolded Mike "We were supposed to get wasted so it looks like an accident!"
"No way, Mike. I can't get drunk. I'm getting married in 2 weeks." John replied
"Then live a little," said Dave, "listen, buddy. I've been married 7 times. It's the worst thing that could happen to a man. We lose our cool. Our dignity. Our manlihood." Said Dave
"That's just you, Dave. You can't even keep a relationship together for 7 hours." John replied
After that, John didn't talk to Dave for the next 20 minutes. Mike was talking to some college girls, half intoxicated. Dave tried to stop him from wasting himself on the girls, he said. In fact, he said it right in front of them. All he got in return was a punch to the stomach and a smack to the face.
"I told you guys not to get wasted," Said John "now I have to drive you home."
"Awwwww, c'mon, bud. Pal. Friend. We're only havin' a few drinks." Blurted Mike
"Mike, 17 shots of tequila is not a few drinks." Replied John
"Was it really that many?" Mike thought out loud
"I don't know about you, but I have to get home. I'll see you guys on Monday." Said John
"Okay! Okay! We're not drunk! We're not drunk. Look. No more drinks." Yelled Dave
"Okay," said John, "if you're not drunk, follow my finger."
"Uh- I can't." Dave said
"And why's that?" replied John
"I'm drunk."
"That's what I thought. Goodbye, guys."
With that, John walked out the door, and began driving away. Dave and Mike had noticed this and sobered up immediately. Dave pulled out his cell phone as Mike started up a gray sedan, like that out of a 1970s factory, with dark tinted windows.
"Alan, hey, it's Dave. We're following John's car, plate number ABY-RD1. Did you forge the letter?"
*Static* "Yea, it's ready to go. I'm driving to the Hanson residence right now."
"Mmkay, we see 'em. Go to go."
The grey car pulled up next to John's. After two or three mile markers, it cut in front of John's SUV. Right about then, an identical grey sedan pulled into the driveway of John's house, with Alan walking up. He knocks on the door, as a woman answers.
"Mrs. Hanson?"
"Yes?"
Back in John's SUV, he is trying to navigate around the car.
"Oh, what the heck. This guy's crazy." Said John, muttering to himself, "He's probably drunk.
It was right about when John said drunk that Dave and Mike waved to him in the sedan. John lost control of the car as it spun off into the ravine. Flame and flesh grinded with metal as John screamed until no more. Dave and Mike pulled the corpse from the wreckage as a tow truck came to clear the car's crash course. After all was gone, Mike and Dave brought the body to the house where Alan was waiting.
Alan met up with them, "Here, put the body here."
"Great, he's really heavy. Aww, his blood's dripping."
After that, Mike, Dave and Alan got in their sedans and drove before they could hear Mrs. Hanson's shreiks pierce the sky.
"So, where to now?" Asked Mike
"Mexico, where else? They can't touch us there." Replied Dave
Mike smiled and said, "Alright! Horchata, Tequila, and girls, here we come!"
The car faded away down Cherry St. with a low, silent hum, when a police car pulled up to the Hanson residence.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Blood, sweat, and tears
He was in the heat of the moment. Blood ran down the right side of his face, with a thick consistency. Gritting his teeth, he takes another swing; miss, again. The club raged with fury, anxiety, and most imprtantly, a thirst for blood. Tyler couldn’t help but collapse. In the story “Fight Club”, by Chuck Palahniuk, Schizophrenic business agent Tyler Durden, aka the Main Character, faces psychological challenges throughout the story.
At the beginning of the story, our main character, meets a young, egocentric man on a nude beach named Tyler. After their greeting, Tyler compiles five vertical logs covered by sand. He describes it when he says that at exactly 4:30 pm, the sand will form into a perfectly crafted hand. The main character finds this untrue, but at 4:30 it does. The author added this to show that the main charcter’s subconsious has a brief side of perfection.
Later on throughout the story, Tyler and the main character transition in a fierce fist-fight in an underground parking lot. Every time the main character swings a punch at Tyler, he aslways ends up missing, resulting in the main character getting puched, kicked, or mauled by Tyler. On the parking lot’s cameras, it looks as though the main character is fighting nothing but thin air. Tyler eventually throws the main character down a flight of stairs.
The main character wakes up tied to a chair in an empty condominium. Tyler has him at gunpoint waiting to become “one step closer to financial equality". The main character has no idea of how to get out, until he remembers that Tyler was a figment of his imagination all along. And if he can do anything Tyler can do; he has complete control. Realizing this, he coverses with Tyler, “If the gun’s in your hand; it’s in my hand.” Using his newly attained ability, the main character takes the firearm, and shoots himself in the cheek, killing Tyler. The author may have added this to show that the term “mind over matter” really prevails, and that one can overthrow any form of terror with their wits.
Schizophrenia challenges the mind beyond unbelievably wild limits. The story ends with a cliché fade-to-black sequence, not to be a disambuigation with the movie. The main character learns that with the correct amount of will and mind power, you might just survive through anything, even Fight Club. Chuck Palahniuk describes the power of the subconscious mind and its raw power.
At the beginning of the story, our main character, meets a young, egocentric man on a nude beach named Tyler. After their greeting, Tyler compiles five vertical logs covered by sand. He describes it when he says that at exactly 4:30 pm, the sand will form into a perfectly crafted hand. The main character finds this untrue, but at 4:30 it does. The author added this to show that the main charcter’s subconsious has a brief side of perfection.
Later on throughout the story, Tyler and the main character transition in a fierce fist-fight in an underground parking lot. Every time the main character swings a punch at Tyler, he aslways ends up missing, resulting in the main character getting puched, kicked, or mauled by Tyler. On the parking lot’s cameras, it looks as though the main character is fighting nothing but thin air. Tyler eventually throws the main character down a flight of stairs.
The main character wakes up tied to a chair in an empty condominium. Tyler has him at gunpoint waiting to become “one step closer to financial equality". The main character has no idea of how to get out, until he remembers that Tyler was a figment of his imagination all along. And if he can do anything Tyler can do; he has complete control. Realizing this, he coverses with Tyler, “If the gun’s in your hand; it’s in my hand.” Using his newly attained ability, the main character takes the firearm, and shoots himself in the cheek, killing Tyler. The author may have added this to show that the term “mind over matter” really prevails, and that one can overthrow any form of terror with their wits.
Schizophrenia challenges the mind beyond unbelievably wild limits. The story ends with a cliché fade-to-black sequence, not to be a disambuigation with the movie. The main character learns that with the correct amount of will and mind power, you might just survive through anything, even Fight Club. Chuck Palahniuk describes the power of the subconscious mind and its raw power.
Friday, January 14, 2011
A Soldier's Cry
I'll walk alone
Because to tell you the truth
I am lonely
I don't mind being lonely
When my heart tells me to
They'll ask me why
And I'll say
That I'd rather
There are dreams I must gather
Dreams we fashion the night
So I'll walk alone
Because to tell you the truth
I am lonely
I don't mind being lonely........
Because to tell you the truth
I am lonely
I don't mind being lonely
When my heart tells me to
They'll ask me why
And I'll say
That I'd rather
There are dreams I must gather
Dreams we fashion the night
So I'll walk alone
Because to tell you the truth
I am lonely
I don't mind being lonely........
Thursday, January 13, 2011
The Speed of Sound Issue No.4
U.S. Pentagon
District of Columbia, U.S.A.
1100 Hours
D.E.F.C.O.N. 5
"Where are they? That's what I want to know! Where in God's name are they?"
"Sir, Waters' team SR-71a stalled en route and fell through the Troposphere. They- crashed in the Red River."
"What? Why don't they tell me anything anymore? Seriously! How could I know they crashed?"
"Sir, we got a reading from their E.D.B.!"
"Find their bird's serial number!"
"We can't find it; his E.D.B. crashed sometime around last night."
"But you said you got a reading-"
"A reading is different than the actual beacon. It's emitted from a satellite 12 hours after it's sent out. It doesn't mean he sent it now. For all we know, they could be past the Mekong into Hue or Khe Sanh by now."
ANNOUNCER: "Power level critical. DEFCON increased to: 6."
"Six? Is that even possible? I thought we only go to 5?"
"DEFCON 6 is a last resort level which implies that America has been intruded. Somewhere in the U.S. there are Communist militants. They could even be inside the Pentagon."
"You mean our security isn't even that good?"
"Yea, that's what I'm trying to say."
"Uh, Sir? There's an Unidentified Object En Route to the Pentagon."
"I wanna' know what kind, how far, and what present they sent us."
"It's an ICBM, serial number 3361."
"How far?"
"About 3000 meters."
"Okay, everyone! Into the shelter! Go, go, go!"
"Move, move, move!"
Channel 12 News
1900 hours
Pentagon Parking Lot J36
"Thanks, Tom. I'm David Walsh reporting for Channel 12 news. We don't have all the facts, but apparently, the Pentagon has been invaded by an unknown assilant. Right now, I'm standing 5 miles outside the Pentagon Blast Zone, where a Nuclear Bomb has been set off. The Pentagon has been reported to be completely demolished. Evac Teams are scoured about the perimeter of the building searching for survivors in the underground vault.Oh, here comes DCPD Chief of Staff, Bill Mandle. Mr. Mandle, can you verify if the president was inside the building at the time of the explosion?"
"We're not sure. We have S&R Teams about the area, looking for HVTs."
"Can you assure America will be safe from further attacks? Do you know the assilant? Mr. Mandle!"
"No further comments. And shut that camera off!"
District of Columbia, U.S.A.
1100 Hours
D.E.F.C.O.N. 5
"Where are they? That's what I want to know! Where in God's name are they?"
"Sir, Waters' team SR-71a stalled en route and fell through the Troposphere. They- crashed in the Red River."
"What? Why don't they tell me anything anymore? Seriously! How could I know they crashed?"
"Sir, we got a reading from their E.D.B.!"
"Find their bird's serial number!"
"We can't find it; his E.D.B. crashed sometime around last night."
"But you said you got a reading-"
"A reading is different than the actual beacon. It's emitted from a satellite 12 hours after it's sent out. It doesn't mean he sent it now. For all we know, they could be past the Mekong into Hue or Khe Sanh by now."
ANNOUNCER: "Power level critical. DEFCON increased to: 6."
"Six? Is that even possible? I thought we only go to 5?"
"DEFCON 6 is a last resort level which implies that America has been intruded. Somewhere in the U.S. there are Communist militants. They could even be inside the Pentagon."
"You mean our security isn't even that good?"
"Yea, that's what I'm trying to say."
"Uh, Sir? There's an Unidentified Object En Route to the Pentagon."
"I wanna' know what kind, how far, and what present they sent us."
"It's an ICBM, serial number 3361."
"How far?"
"About 3000 meters."
"Okay, everyone! Into the shelter! Go, go, go!"
"Move, move, move!"
Channel 12 News
1900 hours
Pentagon Parking Lot J36
"Thanks, Tom. I'm David Walsh reporting for Channel 12 news. We don't have all the facts, but apparently, the Pentagon has been invaded by an unknown assilant. Right now, I'm standing 5 miles outside the Pentagon Blast Zone, where a Nuclear Bomb has been set off. The Pentagon has been reported to be completely demolished. Evac Teams are scoured about the perimeter of the building searching for survivors in the underground vault.Oh, here comes DCPD Chief of Staff, Bill Mandle. Mr. Mandle, can you verify if the president was inside the building at the time of the explosion?"
"We're not sure. We have S&R Teams about the area, looking for HVTs."
"Can you assure America will be safe from further attacks? Do you know the assilant? Mr. Mandle!"
"No further comments. And shut that camera off!"
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
The Speed of Sound Issue No.3
メコン川 ストリーム
0700 Hours
Waters and team presumed KIA
Our sampan slowly drifted down the river. Mosely and I didn't really say anything to one another; there was really nothing to say. We were planning to go downstream 'till dawn to keep in the dark; we couldn't risk getting caught by a riverside patrol. Mosely and I took 3 hour shifts, while the other rested. Eventually, morning came, along with no breakfast. We grabbed some branches off a nearby tree, and whittled them with our K-bars to create somewhat authentic fishing spears. Unfortunately, the river was too fogged-up with mud and dust for us to see through. It really made me miss the transparency in streams back in Beale.
"Hey, Alan; closed trail. 3:00."
I turn my head sharply to the right. Up on a rigid cliff, lay a highway, occupied with multiple jeeps and military trucks. On the side in large Courier print, are the words: người có thẩm quyền chỉ.
"Authorized Personnel Only, it says. NVA"
As we whispered, large groups of Viet-Cong walked along side the river. We lay down and pray. Two soldiers stop for a smoke right on the edge of the riverbank. Of course, I had no idea what they were talking about. They were saying something about the "Ho Hoan Kiem"; a lake right by Hanoi Penitentiary. The only other word we could make out was "Sampan". The boat drifted down the river as the two Viet-Cong killed the cigarette butts. After the small encampment dilemma, I fell into a deep sleep as Mosely skippered the boat. I can't remember when I woke up, but it was night. The Sampan was lazily floating by a small village of huts. Gunfire and female screams were heard for minutes on end. I sat there in fear, wondering what could possibly be happening.
"They're killing the villagers."
Delirious, I began to re-shut my eyes, hoping to wake up in the daylight. Right before my right eyelid closed, a faint, whistling sound began to crescendo, as a large, cylindrical metal object tore the boat's port side clean off, forcing us into the water. Since we've been spotted, bullets created a stream of bubbles as they pierced the Vietnamese water. Swim, I thought, swim. I signaled Mosely a gesture to follow me, but he denied and began paddling in the opposite direction. Frustrated, I followed him as steaming lead surrounded me. Soon, the water became to muggy to see just about anything. I lost sight of Mosely. Bringing my head up for air, I waded to the side, under the brush.
"Mosely." I whispered. "Mosely!"
No reply. I continued downstream, where I could think anyone would want to go. Silhouettes of Sampans disappeared into the foggy night, with Vietnamese and Laotian fights breaking out over lost Americans. I spent the next couple hours looking for Mosely, or at least until the sun came up. Eventually, I wore tired of the Mosquitoes and the obscene humidity. I waded in a nearby 死の沼, as the locals called it. It smelt of poverty and death, explaining the 死 part. To this day, I could never figure out why it was in Japanese and not Vietnamese. Japanese settlers? I walked into some shallow ground right about the time I hit a soft log. Probably some dead wood. I kicked it out of the way. But then some more dead wood. I picked it up to guess how old this 沼 was anyway. But it had some odd twigs. But they weren't twigs. They were fingers. Immediately, I threw it into the water. From there I realized I was truly in a 死の沼. The Vietnamese. They did this. They killed the villagers along the メコン川. War crimes; inhumane. But why?
"Help! Oh, God, someone help me!"
Mosely was screaming. Pain. Agony. 死. I rushed through the 沼 to the nearest source of light. But as Mosely's screams grew closer and closer: boom. Gunshot. I stopped, and crouched behind the nearest tree. I watched as some NVA moved Mosely's body across a courtyard, and laid him next to a house. After harassing some villagers, they left. A group of children crowded around him as I pushed through the group. Mosely was sitting there, hole in his temple, spurting blood. He was unconscious, so I picked him up and started walking towards a stray Sampan. I set him down on it. However, something was different about this one; it was heavier. I found a tarp and covered Mosely. But as I moved the tarp, I noticed the previous owner of it was an arms dealer; assault rifles, sub-machine guns, sidearms, even a few grenades were riddled in the corner. It was Heaven. I pushed off as the crescendo of guns and screams came into hearing range. From there, we stumbled upon the attack of Hue City.
0700 Hours
Waters and team presumed KIA
Our sampan slowly drifted down the river. Mosely and I didn't really say anything to one another; there was really nothing to say. We were planning to go downstream 'till dawn to keep in the dark; we couldn't risk getting caught by a riverside patrol. Mosely and I took 3 hour shifts, while the other rested. Eventually, morning came, along with no breakfast. We grabbed some branches off a nearby tree, and whittled them with our K-bars to create somewhat authentic fishing spears. Unfortunately, the river was too fogged-up with mud and dust for us to see through. It really made me miss the transparency in streams back in Beale.
"Hey, Alan; closed trail. 3:00."
I turn my head sharply to the right. Up on a rigid cliff, lay a highway, occupied with multiple jeeps and military trucks. On the side in large Courier print, are the words: người có thẩm quyền chỉ.
"Authorized Personnel Only, it says. NVA"
As we whispered, large groups of Viet-Cong walked along side the river. We lay down and pray. Two soldiers stop for a smoke right on the edge of the riverbank. Of course, I had no idea what they were talking about. They were saying something about the "Ho Hoan Kiem"; a lake right by Hanoi Penitentiary. The only other word we could make out was "Sampan". The boat drifted down the river as the two Viet-Cong killed the cigarette butts. After the small encampment dilemma, I fell into a deep sleep as Mosely skippered the boat. I can't remember when I woke up, but it was night. The Sampan was lazily floating by a small village of huts. Gunfire and female screams were heard for minutes on end. I sat there in fear, wondering what could possibly be happening.
"They're killing the villagers."
Delirious, I began to re-shut my eyes, hoping to wake up in the daylight. Right before my right eyelid closed, a faint, whistling sound began to crescendo, as a large, cylindrical metal object tore the boat's port side clean off, forcing us into the water. Since we've been spotted, bullets created a stream of bubbles as they pierced the Vietnamese water. Swim, I thought, swim. I signaled Mosely a gesture to follow me, but he denied and began paddling in the opposite direction. Frustrated, I followed him as steaming lead surrounded me. Soon, the water became to muggy to see just about anything. I lost sight of Mosely. Bringing my head up for air, I waded to the side, under the brush.
"Mosely." I whispered. "Mosely!"
No reply. I continued downstream, where I could think anyone would want to go. Silhouettes of Sampans disappeared into the foggy night, with Vietnamese and Laotian fights breaking out over lost Americans. I spent the next couple hours looking for Mosely, or at least until the sun came up. Eventually, I wore tired of the Mosquitoes and the obscene humidity. I waded in a nearby 死の沼, as the locals called it. It smelt of poverty and death, explaining the 死 part. To this day, I could never figure out why it was in Japanese and not Vietnamese. Japanese settlers? I walked into some shallow ground right about the time I hit a soft log. Probably some dead wood. I kicked it out of the way. But then some more dead wood. I picked it up to guess how old this 沼 was anyway. But it had some odd twigs. But they weren't twigs. They were fingers. Immediately, I threw it into the water. From there I realized I was truly in a 死の沼. The Vietnamese. They did this. They killed the villagers along the メコン川. War crimes; inhumane. But why?
"Help! Oh, God, someone help me!"
Mosely was screaming. Pain. Agony. 死. I rushed through the 沼 to the nearest source of light. But as Mosely's screams grew closer and closer: boom. Gunshot. I stopped, and crouched behind the nearest tree. I watched as some NVA moved Mosely's body across a courtyard, and laid him next to a house. After harassing some villagers, they left. A group of children crowded around him as I pushed through the group. Mosely was sitting there, hole in his temple, spurting blood. He was unconscious, so I picked him up and started walking towards a stray Sampan. I set him down on it. However, something was different about this one; it was heavier. I found a tarp and covered Mosely. But as I moved the tarp, I noticed the previous owner of it was an arms dealer; assault rifles, sub-machine guns, sidearms, even a few grenades were riddled in the corner. It was Heaven. I pushed off as the crescendo of guns and screams came into hearing range. From there, we stumbled upon the attack of Hue City.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Mischief. Mayhem. Soap.
I'm sure many of us are familiar with the American actor, Brad Pitt. While he's appeared in some rather different films, he made his outstanding appearance in the David Fincher film, Fight Club. Starring Edward Norton and Pitt, Norton plays a man in his early 20s, who's name is never mentioned. After his IKEA and assorted furniture condo is set ablaze after an incident involving nitroglycerine, he contacts a soap dealer, Tyler Durden, whom he met on a flight the day before. Oddly, Norton's character and Tyler have the same briefcases. After rough-housing in a bar parking lot, Tyler and the Narrator form "Fight Club", a place where young men can relieve a day's stress by beating each-other to a pulp. From there, the Narrator realizes a set of spontaneous crimes around the city. Soon, Project Mayhem is commenced, creating a downfall towards oblivion. Watch the movie, read the book. But remember: The first rule of Fight Club is, you do not talk about Fight Club. The second rule of Fight Club is, you DO NOT talk about Fight Club! Personally the best movie ever.
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