Day of Death

What an interesting story, possibly worth mentioning in passing.

July 4, 2010 started with some major panic over a snake discovered in my garage. After bellowing out an animalistic guttural scream, I attacked the serpent with everything I could think of from long distance. (I opted out of using the shotgun, though reached for in passing, as I figured the ricochets might cause some personal damage that would be quite difficult to explain to the snowboyz. The same reasoning opted out the Glock .40.)

A hose and various chemicals ended up causing nothing more than a mystery as to where the fucker slithered, but managed to leave an ingrained memory.

This morning, after the Departure Of The Boyz, I was down and blue; on the downhill side of melancholy actually.

I decided to attack the entire house once again with every chemical I had on hand starting with the garage.

This I did, and continued all around the house, as I have done several times prior.

It was at that time I noticed the mummified birds of sorrow.

Yes. As I worked my way around the house, I once again passed over what I thought to be an old unoccupied bird nest, and continued spraying shit all over the place. For whatever reason on this passing, I gazed higher and looked further into the nesting area. There I saw a bird preserved in death staring back at me with blackened eyes. I knew immediately I was responsible for yet another senseless unintended destructive death. Destroyed and preserved in death before me was a young little birdy, forever preserved to stare at the unknown assailant that took his ass out of existence.

That was enough to toss some over the edge.

I popped on Leaving Las Vegas and after watching the whole fucking thing, contemplated what to do at that point.

I decided to start by digging a grave and documenting it.

When that was completed, I went to immortalize the little birdy for posterity.
At this point, my fears spiraled. As this is what I discovered:

TWO LIVING BIRDIES!!!

.... That I had JUST doused with fucking poison!!!

UN-MOTHER-FUCKING-BELIEVABLE!!!

Should these shadows fade. like the rest of this cursed fucking place where nothing else other than death matters,.... The grave shall be filled.... and may the rest of us rest in HELL.

No.... More.... PAINT!!!

I'm totally fine with not seeing a paint brush or roller for about the next 20 years or so.

However... I know the living room and bedroom are coming soon.

The finished product is:

Hell's Kitchen

In the ongoing preparation for winter, I figured among other things that I better get some color in this dreary place. What I thought was a mild red, ended up being something completely different, but very much up my ally.

I present to you shit collected during the transformation. Completed pics are forthcoming. Thank you Tom Waits for your inspiration.

...and all the B O C dorks sing...

B.O.C.You can be whatever you want to be
You got the power, we got the key
Yeah, B.O.C.

You're a rebel and you got no friends
We all know that it all depends
On rock and roll

Do you feel like they're keeping you down
Ain't no fun with your feet on the ground
So let go
Let go let go let go

B.O.C.
You can be whatever you want to be
You got the power, we got the key
Yeah,
B.O.C.

Schwinn, Pump, Worthless PIECE OF SHIT!!!!

Schwinn Quality?

Well reader(s), here’s another probably useless review of a totally random object that has come across my path.

Note that the last one was Summer Oreo cookies, which I spared you the review of and went straight to the source. Mainly because I like Oreo cookies and all of those by Nabisco, however… When you start tasting dye in the tasty cookie cream I think someone oughta say something. (It still boggles me that NO ONE in quality control could taste the blue dye.)

BUT!... That’s water under the bridge. (Another saying I hear a lot, which I have discovered REALLY means -> “Water under the bridge which-I’m-really-falsly-saying-just-to-appease-you..."

As my bird says daily, “FUCK-A-YOU!!!”

Where was I?

OH yes… Schwinn…

So I go to Walmart (because I still go there with the theory that I can’t beat them) and get what I thought was a high end bicycle pump.

Schwinn.

Can’t beat it. Right?

The FUCK!!!

All around pump w. a guage and a 5-in-1 nozzle! HELLS YEAH! RIGHT?!

WRONG!!!!!!

I get this bad-boy all unpacked and attempt to blow up a mutha-fuckin’ riding mower tire (OH! HEY! DEAR {and undear} READERS… THE WHOLE RIDING MOWER STORY IS ANOTHER ONE WORTH WRITING ABOUT SOME DAY… W. MUCH MIRTH FOR ALL!)

RIGHT… so where was I?... … … … AHH! Right!...

So I get this SCHWINN TOP OF THE MUTHA-FUCKIN’ LINE PUMP out… and the sum-bitch has more fucking garbage to deal with than unpacking a mutha’ fuckin’ refrigerator from mutha’ fuckin’ Lowes or wherever!!!

I had to tear this bitch apart 15 ways to the apocalypse and back and NEVER got it to work right!

You know that stupid fucking lever you gotta bend over to lock on your mutha’fuckin’ bike wheel so you can pump it up? (Think back to when you were able to be or think like a kid and had a bike.) Well on this high dollar SCHWINN (with QUALITY!) pump, this stupid lever did nothing. NOTHING!

The entire workings (which here means where the air-giving-nozzle hits the air deprived hole) come apart in pieces, and no matter HOW you put them back together (YEAH I SAW YOUR WORTHLESS FUCKING DIAGRAM!) it doesn’t work correctly!!!

SO! Because it’s my fucking space in nothing-that-matters-at-all, I hereby proclaim that SCHWINN’s bike pump with the 5-IN-1 NOZZLE sucks my ever loving, now tanned, SACK!!!!!!!

PISS OFF SCHWINN!!!! SEE IF I BUY ONE OF YOUR FUCKING SECOND RATE FUCKING BIKES AGAIN!

The rest of you… GET THE FUCK OFF MY BLOG!!!

"Ish" and Will Ferrell

So the Snowboyz have graduated and are moving on. The following day they headed off for Ocean City for a celebration week. From the stories I've been told thus far, there is one that remains epic (for me anyway).

Though the boyz chose not to take the liberty of drinking (alcohol), their friend "Ish" did. No big deal, right? I mean, like, no surprise or anything. Ya know... 4 guys and 5 girls in a condo for a week... You sort of expect some shit to go down.

There was a share of drama of course. (5 girls, remember?)

The epic story, however, was "Ish" and Will Ferrell.

Now usually (almost always) I refuse to pass along any type of anecdote that I am not a part of experiencing. However, this one struck me funny enough to pass along.

"Ish" is obviously not a drinker at all. Was never into it, and is most definitely not into it now (nor in the foreseeable future). His first encounter with the liquid beast had many a vacationer cracking up.

After imbibing for a time, "Ish" eventually reached that point many a drinker has reached. That blacking out phase combined with the throwing-up-all-over-the-place phase. In the midst of being sick, and vacating all the poisonous fluids, "Ish" had visions. Visions of Will Ferrell.

Yes, out of all the things that could have happened, that could have been seen, heard or experienced during his time of complete inebriation... It was Will Ferrell that chose to visit him. He spoke not a word, but hung out for quite a long time... in the following manner: He placed himself in a painting for some time, staring vacantly. A miniature Will Ferrell at one point did lie upon the chest of "Ish." Yes! Upon the chest of "Ish" he did lie! Alas, and the final location was the trash can in which "Ish" did spew within.

Upon his disappearance "Ish" was heard to exclaim, "Hey! Will Ferrell! Where'd you go?!!"

Distraught over his absence, "Ish" commenced to beating up on the couch for a period of time, and then upon the very trash can which had previously contained Will.

In what might have been a moment of clarity... There was only "Ish".... and the expended contents of his digestive system staring back at him from the depths of the can before him.

There was no voice... There was no body.... And the man they called Will was silent.

The Little Lady of Hell House

So I’d like to delve into the case of the mysterious Little Lady of Hell House.

I’m getting over a case of some sort of bad chest infection or flu or H1N1 or some other sort of dreadful thing (which for whatever reasons, caused me to be on 4 prescribed meds). We had a really rough week, as we had an office move from one building to another, so I had to keep going into work; which also meant a good deal of physical labor. Physically I haven’t been up to par yet since surgery and still have to limit my activity. By the time I would get home in the evenings, I was pretty much comatose. (I say all this to give a full background of the mystery.)

With the stress of the move, and being sick, and being in Hell House in general, my sleep was for naught. So the other night, feeling on the verge of just shutting down completely, I figured I would take an Ambien and force sleep upon me.

I imagine that right now my reader(s) is/are going to chalk all of this up to that little white pill. I guess that would be the easy way to go. However, bear with me on this, and recognize my analytical cognizance for what it is.

Before going to bed that night, I started to fall asleep on the couch, however (and this is sort of backwards from what I recall, vs. the order in which things played out) I typed the following in the midst of some writing that I had been doing: “…I’m just one slip in to sloeep, but imm’ still wring this ,but it feels like I’m on another plane. Strange . like the lam p next to me wat just a real still sort of small lady… just standing there. I was sure of it…”

I’ll reiterate here that I didn’t find what I had written until the following day, and had no recollection of it. (And, NO, I had not been drinking, smoking or taking in anything other than the Ambien!)

At shortly after 2:00 a.m., I woke up. I was quite aware of everything and was angered that the Ambien had started to wear off. I could tell that I would be restless for awhile in attempting to try to get back to sleep, and probably have to put the TV on. I got up and retrieved a glass from my dresser (which I placed there upon going to bed) and got a drink of water from the sink. I recalled placing the glass on the sink and even debating upon its placement there, as I usually will not reuse any glass situated in a bathroom once it is placed down on the surface of the counter. I didn’t think I would need another drink that evening (which would have meant a walk to the kitchen for a new glass, or replacing the glass back on the dresser) so I set the glass down on the counter. (The glass was on the counter in the bathroom the next morning.)

I returned to bed and recall rubbing my feet together 4 times each to make sure no debris follow them into the “foot area” of the sheets. Nothing worse than that feeling of, like, a single crumb or something down there among your feet, and having to go after it and removing it, and then having to search the entire area for any other remnant.

I lay down and felt like it would take awhile to fall asleep, so I laid on my back and sandwiched my head between two pillows; the top one just covering my eyes basically.

Within several minutes I became aware that someone was next to the bed and within seconds of that, the young female had lain down in bed next to me. I scooted over some and rolled over onto my side away from the young lady, making sure she had room and not wanting to invade her space.

I contemplated this after rolling over, and reasoned what was happening. It was not scary. Though I wondered why it wasn’t. I contemplated that I was in the midst of a dream and analyzed that factor for awhile, and came up with the conclusion that I wasn’t asleep or dreaming. This in and of itself was difficult, as my dreams are such that it is not uncommon to have a large amount of control and an ability to think.

So it is here that I also place that element of doubt that may be present. However, usually when in any thought process within my dreams, I also have the ability to recognize that it is a dream and then continue to interact in kind (at least as long as possible. The more control I take within the dream, the more the percentage of becoming fully awake increases.)

I did not physically see anything at any time when the lady entered the bed. I only felt her lie down, and heard the whisper of the bed itself. She did not talk or communicate in any way audible, but I felt everything was ok.

After that I told myself I really needed to try and sleep because my body was wearing out. I also debated falling asleep with this lady next to me, and contemplated getting up to turn the light on and probably just end up scaring away this phantom anomaly. I decided to let things ride out and allowed myself to go back to sleep.

Nothing was present upon my waking the next morning, but I recalled the events that occurred earlier, in explicit order and detail. It was also later that morning that I discovered my writing mentioned previously.

So, though long-winded here. You’ll have to make your own call.

I think I just had an encounter with the Little Lady of Hell House, and she means no harm.