Tag Archives: stories

Two Entries from the ol’ Dreambox…

Last night:
I was back in my house where I used to live in Wisconsin, and my parents were having a falling out with some stupid people. Something about my Dad ruining his children’s lives or something. They were these uber-Christian dorks who seemed insistent on sticking their noses into everyone else’s lives and telling them how it should be lived. Eventually, after my Dad flipped and told them to leave, he went out and traded the Impala for what looked like an old original Mustang (64 1/2 – 66) Don’t know why, he just did. Soon after, the idiots called the cops on us for making too much noise entering and exiting our house.
Let me remind you that our old house was located five miles out of town, between three cornfields a a major highway.
So the cops show up, and then I do. Basically, my parents had been telling me all about this, so I finally got pissed off and came over. I got to be a ringer, hee hee ^_^ So anyway, I get there, ask the cops what’s going on. They tell me about the noise complaint, and I roll my eyes and say “Well, I’m going to go sue everyone in Chicago because they make too much noise going in and out of their houses!” The cop kinda gives me this “I know it’s bullshit” look and I go inside. Inside are the idiots trying to incriminate my family. Everyone turns at me when I go in. I was wearing a sleeveless shirt and trying my best to look imposing. I start getting in the face of the dumbasses, and their son, some pudgy teenager with a bowl cut, finally tries to come at me.
I woke up soon after, but I was pretty sure I took him down ^_^
I woke up with a smile on my face.
And no, I didn’t have a bowl cut when I was younger, so there’s no “inner child struggle” symbolism.
All I know is that this was probably because right now in Minnesota we have some dumbfuck white trash neighbors who insist on turning everyone else in on charges in an attempt to make them forget about their miserable lives. For us, it’s our dog, who has three legs and is about as vicious as a cotton ball in a stiff breeze. Their dogs, however, bark continuously, (I think we counted four hours straight at one point) are rarely fed, and have a tendency to get out and attack people like the poor natural gas tech working on our houses. We turned in their dogs, so of course they turn in ours every time he barks.
Anyway, moving on…
A few nights ago:
I’m sitting in what looks like a country club or something, dressed nicely. It looks like I’ve been at work and this is my lunch break. One of my friends is just getting done playing tennis, and she’s in the little tennis get-up (all white with the skirt and the headband and whatnot) and she’s waiting for me on a bench. I’ve brought some deep friend cheese curds, which is apparently a regular thing for us to do when we meet for lunch.
Don’t ask, I don’t know ^_^
Anyway, we have nice little small talk. I try not to get lost in her eyes or her amazing kindness, because she’s got a guy and that’s not a nice thing to do. Part of me says I deserve her more than the guy does, but I’m able to quell that rebellion. I mean, she’s gorgeous, intelligent, she seems pretty much perfect. What do I have to offer to get her away from her current guy, ya know?
So we’re down to the last curd. I reach for it and she slaps my hand away, hungrily shoving the cheese nugget in her mouth with great relish. I’d never seen her eat so hungrily, so I ask her what’s up. Then, in a great moment of out of character behavior, she says that she was up all night with the boyfriend, and then makes a bunch of pantomiming, hip thrusting, gestures in her seat. Now this surprises me because she’s usually rather demure in public, and it also pains my heart because, I guess in context of this story, I have a deep love for her and I feel like I’m the one that should be with her.
She sees me look a little confused. I don’t know if she saw that I was hurt, but that doesn’t matter.
Because then she gives me that smile, and I melt.
Switch to me heading back to work, chastising myself like I usually do.
“That’s the reason girls don’t want you. You’re too easy. You melt at every look and smile! Girls want a guy they have to work at, a guy they have to chip away a stoic and macho exterior to get to, well, you. You’re a Cadbury egg with no chocolate, boy! Get some chocolate!”
But not matter, how loud Willy yells, I’m still lost in that smile.
I can never quite understand her smile. Is it a smile like “I’m so glad you’re here with me, someone I can talk to,” or more like “I’m so glad you’re here with me, can’t you see I want you to take me away with you?”
Part of me wants to believe that, but that second one can’t be right. She’s too perfect, I couldn’t possibly deserve something like that, etc. etc.
Cue the wake-up.
So there are two of my dreams from the past week. I may be back to give you a Choir Tour rundown, I may not ^_^
Watch this space!
Willy and Eric.

A Tribute.

Cell phones. Always hated those fuckin’ things.
A dead weight in my breast pocket, just a lump of plastic I carried around for hardly any purpose. No one ever called me. I hardly called anyone. Sure, every once in a while it proved handy, but it was never a godsend like I always thought it would be, and thus being the nature of the necessity of my purchase of this useless, glowing, button covered technological marvel.
My main problem with cell phones wasn’t the phone itself. Like I said, they were handy sometimes. No, it was the people that used cell phones. When I carried that thing around, I felt like I shared a kinship, a symbiotic bond to that sad fuck who’s always got a cell phone to his ear. You know the kind, the kind that ruin your movies and your dinners and your conversations with their endless chatter. They always think they are so important, like that lump of plastic glows with some amazing light that makes them so much better than anyone else.
That phone was their ticket to godhood.
And every time I used mine, I was reminded about the bond I shared with those witless, simpering idiots. Every call to Mom about groceries or bank balances drew me closer and closer to those arrogant fucks and their “let’s do lunch” rationale and button pushing mayhem. Every time that phone glowed its flourescent blue I felt as if it was a parasite, sucking away at me and replacing it with some mocked up, blonde haired suburban dickless wonder named Chad who drove his Daddy’s BMW and was so much more important that you or me could ever hope to me.
Cell phones. Always hated those fuckin’ things.
It was one of those aforementioned dickless wonders that got me into this whole mess. In this case, the suburban crown prince was Todd, not Chad. His car was a Lexus IS 300, not a BMW, but those were minute detials. Everything else was spot on: the designer t shirt, designer jeans, designer sneakers, everything down to designer fuckin’ underwear. Topping it all off was a two hundred dollar haircut meticulously scuplted to look as if he hadn’t even touched it.
Oh yeah, this kid was a fucking piece of work.
And he looked good. He was toned and tanned, a real All American Boy. Who cared that he’d been cheating his way through high school and well into college? Who cared that he was a womanizer, a rapist, and a violent drunk, landing three girls in the hospital and one in the morgue thanks to his lethal combo of booze, broads, and Bimmers? (Of course, he broke his Daddy’s Bimmer, and his flavor of the night’s neck, when he swerved drunk as a skunk into a telephone poll last fall, hence the shiny new Lexus.) It didn’t matter, he was absolved of all sins. His Daddy had cash, and he had the look.
Todd was God.
But even gods have their dissenters, a lone heretic who cries foul through the throng like a single red rose in a field of dead lillies.
Consider me the lone heretic.
I’d seen him go through girl after girl, each one thinking that they could be the one to tame him, they could be the one to make him the perfect man. I mean, hey, he already had the look, and that’s the hardest part, right?
I saw these girls, time after time, go to him with stars in their eyes and return with Death’s Head in their hearts. I saw the anguish in their souls, the torment on their faces, the horrible, searing realization that they hadn’t meant anything to him, they were just another Mary Magdalene that Jesus cast aside, coming out shining like heaven and smelling like a rose.
I saw it over and over again. And each time, part of me would rise up inside. It was a strange part, a scary part, a part that burned and burned hot, like an unquenchable flame.
Back in elementary school, I had one helluva temper. I could get my water hot over nothing, so bad that I ended up in counseling. At that point I learned that if I just hid my anger and pain, bottled it deep within me, that people would leave me alone.
So I did. And they did. But the bottle couldn’t hold forever.
Every man has a breaking point, a point at which reason and logic no longer factors into his decisions. A point at which nothing makes sense except for the one thing he can see through his blood red vision. When that point is reached, only death or victory will pull the man back to reality.
I reached that point, when he turned his sights on Brittany.
Brittany was one fine woman, inside and out. Beautiful, intelligent, interesting, witty, and warm. She was an absolutely flawless specimen of the female race. That generic name betrayed her true nature, as she was most definately one in a million, no, one in a billion.
So when I heard Todd talking about how she was next on his “Hit List,” my blood began to boil.
That fire was stoked deep within my gut, and the bottle broke. All of a sudden it all came rushing back. Fifteen odd years or so of seeing fucks like him ruin girls like her, and I couldn’t take it any more?
Would Brittany say yes? Of course. Despite her perfection, she was a modest and self-conscious girl, always thinking she wasn’t good enough. So, when this Adonis, THE Big Man on Campus, asked her out, she never stood a chance.
The only thing he didn’t know, however, was that I was there.
I was around the corner when he asked her out.
I was in the bathroom stall when he bought the Ruffies.
I was in the table one over in the cafeteria when he loudly bragged to his buddies about his newest acquisition.
Being shy and unnoticable and unimposing has its benefits sometimes.
I was there.
I cried foul.
The Lone Heretic.
It was raining when I tossed on my Chuck Taylors and climbed into my Ford. Before I even knew what was happening I was parked outside his Daddy’s summer cottage, next to the lake, a baseball bat in the passenger seat next to me and three empty Jolt Cherry Bomb sodas on the floorboards. I was wired and on fire, the fizzling soda in my gut betraying the cold iron weight that was beginning to form. The blood was starting to fade from my vision, but only partially. I could only really look on from the back of my head as an observer, screaming for myself to stop as my feet, of their own volition, plunged forward through the muddy grass of the front lawn.
Who in the hell did I think I was, some nerd with glasses and a pot belly calling out this God? I know how this always goes in the movies, the kid miraculously beats the Jock and gets the girl, and the violins hit their sting of music and we all live happily ever after.
It doesn’t go like that in real life.
With my good sense screaming from the prison of my rage-fueled mind, I kicked down the door and headed upwards to the bedroom. He obviously head me coming, and was ready as I came through the door.
I had never been in a real fight. I had a few scuffles in elementary school, but that was about it.
I certainly had never been shot before.
I still can’t describe that feeling, but I can thank God it only grazed my left hand. It was a burning, completely foreign pain, completely unknown to me, and the shock of it took me down to one knee. Luckily, he had reached for his gun in a panic, his pants still around his ankles. Brittany was on the bed, out like a light, her skirt pulled up around her stomach.
I chanced a glance.
Her panties were still on.
Good sign.
Black silk.
Good choice.
My undergarment ruminations were cut short as Todd drove the butt of the pistol down on my back, sending me crashing to the floor. I returned to my knees with a quickness that surprised even myself, and aimed the bat at his knees.
Playing baseball for four years in high school had paid off. The sweet spot of the barrel connected just below his right knee, sending the gun clattering to the floor and the bat splintering into two large pieces. Then, once again defying the protestations of my good sense, I rose up off my knees in a true football power stance (three years of that in high school) and caught my shoulder in his well muscled stomach. Six pack or not, it knocked the wind out of him and I continued to drive, rage and red mist clouding my vision.
I pumped my legs hard, harder than I had ever pumped on that stupid push sled at practice. At one point my legs were pressing four hundred pounds thirty times, this time only hammering about two hundred and thirty with piston-like movements. When I finally took the time to raise my head and see exactly where I was driving him, a large plate glass window met my gaze. It was the same window I had observe the two in when I parked outside.
Oh shit, I thought, this is going to hurt.
I tried to stop myself, but it was too late. We both crashed through the second story window, careening to the muddy ground below.
Thankfully, it had been a hard rain, so the ground was soft. Like landing on wet noodles before you hit concrete. I had managed to flip over somewhat in the air, and landed flat on my back. The wind was knocked so far out of me what I never thought I could get it back in. As I finally started to breathe again, I noticed Todd, laying not but three feet away, on his back but facing the opposite direction. He hadn’t flipped over.
But he was in much better shape than I was.
I was on all fours by the time he reached me again. He sent a kick into my abodmen that pulled what little air I had brought in right back out with a loud whoosh. I rolled on the wet ground, covered in mud, and Todd finally saw the face of his assassin.
I heard him speak through a world made of pain.
“Who the fuck… aren’t you that fat kid in my Poli Sci class? What the hell, man? What’s the fucking deal?”
I managed to draw enough breath to rasp out something.
“I…I…I won’t…I can’t let you take her.”
Now Todd laughed, high pitched and mocking.
“You what? You came here to play knight in shining fucking armor over some bitch that doesn’t even know who you are? You’re letting some little boner fantasy get you all the way out here to get your ass kicked?”
“I saw you…heard you…getting drugs…you…rapist…”
“You shut the fuck up, fat-ass. I do what I want because I can, and no chubby little fuck like you is gonna stop me. Did you really think you were gonna come in with a mother fucking baseball bat and take me down? Don’t you know who I am? You stupid FUCK!”
And with that last “fuck” he aimed another kick to my midsection, driving me farther out into the lawn. When I landed I felt something uncomfortable hit my chest.
Jesus Christ.
My cell phone.
That ridiculous blue light was shining like a God damn sun from my pocket. Before I even had time to wonder how it managed to keep intact from the fall, Todd was screaming like a wounded animal and rushing me. Luckily the rain made him a little blind and I was able to trip him, allowing me a bit of time to scramble to me feet and stumble a bit across the soaked lawn. My fingers fumbled on the keypad as I heard Todd approach again.
Another thunderbolt of a blow to the back from his well muscled arm sent me to the ground. As I lay there, tired, beaten and gasping for air, he stood over me, gloating.
I always knew he was a cocky fuck. My fingers began to move, as secretly as possible, through my speed dial.
Funny, I put the names in the speed dial so I wouldn’t have to remember, but I remembered the order anyway. I counted each button push off to myself through my pain addled brain as Todd continued ranting
“You know what I’m gonna do now, fat ass?”
Adriene, Alexandra…
I’m gonna go back up to my room, and I’m gonna get me gun…”
Becky R, Becky F, Becca…
“And I’m gonna come back down here and put a bullet in your fucking head!”
Fuck I know a lot of Beckys, I thought to myself…
“Why? Because I can and, frankly…”
Brittany. Send.
She always kept the phone close to her heart. She lived by the damn thing. With her, it wasn’t a sign that she was one of the bad cell phone people, it was just a charming accessory that made her so much more lovely.
She always said that the vibration function on her phone would shake her out of bed at night, if the alarm didn’t wake the dead first.
Here’s hoping she was right, and the alarm would wake her, even if she was dead.
Thankfully, some loud claps of thunder and heavy rain disguised any idea that her phone was ringing. I rolled over, every muscle in my body kicking itself over and over again. I could taste blood in my mouth like when I used to get a nosebleed. I moved a pained hand to touch my face. Pieces of glass were embedded all over, and I was gushing like a fucking fire hydrant.
But that didn’t matter.
The pain in my limbs didn’t matter.
The blood running down my face, through the caked mud, stinging my eyes…it didn’t matter.
Brittany mattered.
I heard him open the door. I saw him turn the light on. It was a ghastly puppet show of shadows I saw from my vantage below.
The shadow of Todd approached the bed. his cocky swagger barely dented by his fall.
The shadow of Brittany suddenly sprang up from the bed, the shadow of her hand oddly distored.
That was no shadow.
Blood splattered the wall from where I could see, just a few random flecks I saw through broken glasses.
The adreanaline emptied from my veins, and I realized the true nature of the pain I was in. For a chubby fuck that had never really fought before, this sure was something. But you know what? I didn’t do that bad.
Of course… where would I be without Brittany and that desperation call.
Cell phones.
Always hated those fuckin’ things.

It’s all a conspiracy, I tell ya!

X says:
so what are these loud noises? I’m confused
awww shucks
it’s from Anchorman. I couldn’t think of anything better.
X says:
oh. okay
I was gonna put “I’m too Sexy for my Shirt” but I didn’t wanna disturb people
because I am, indeed, too Sexy for this certain shirt.
it’s been proven
by Swedes. they’re always proving stuff, aren’t they?
X says:
most likely. Abba. Volvo.
Abba was an experiment gone horribly horribly wrong it was originally a Swedish Super Solider project
ABBA is a Swedish acronym for Ultimate Soldier Production Unit
X says:
it’s also the first initials of the singers…
X says:
that’s what they want you to think…

ain’t I just the fuckin’ hilarious-est?
Taters and Space Lasers, kiddies, I’m off to wreak havoc!

Feels like forever since I last updated…

It has been quite a trip, I’ll tell you that much… -_-;
Let’s cover my journey home, shall we?
Well, outside of Madison is starting half raining/half snowing, which is a great recipe for slippery roads. I almost met my maker on a birdge outside Madison, did a little fishtailing…it was fun! And by fun I mean fucking scary. So a little ways outside of Madison, wham…it’s clear as a bell and the road is as dry as a bone. What the fuck? Whatever, I don’t care.
So I fly down that a ways, making good time.
Then I hit around LaCrosse, and it starts snowing again. By the time I cross the border into Minnesota, there’s a few inches of standing snow on the road, and only one plow sighted over an hour trip. Thank you, Minnesota’s signature “Heads Up Our Asses” Road crews -_-;
So yeah, driving home was a harrowing, six hour experience, but it’s nice to be home. Really. I’m enjoying time with the family, the retarded three legged dog, the fat antisocial haugyty kitten and the two chinchillas. It’s been fun so far, seeing as how everyone (parents included) had a veritable snow day so it was like having another day of the weekend to spend good times with the family. Hooray! And Shrimp Scampi with beer battered cod (made by myself) for dinner.
Man I love being home.
Just got done watching Monk. What a charmingly intriguing show. The Monk character is just so damn lovable, and Sharona…how do I put this? Is it wrong for me to think that Bitty Schram is attractive? I dunno, I just like her capable attitude and the way her character is always keeping Monk on track. Not to mention she’s got some nice sparkly eyes and a good, strong nose…I know some people may think it’s weird or whatever but I think it fits her face pretty well. Kinda like another girl I know… ^_~
Anyway, there’s just something about that character I like. Don’t know what it is, but the curly hair doesn’t hurt either ^_~
Wow, now I’ve probably just weirded you all out. Oh well, what can I say? I love women of all shapes, sizes, ages, etc. A woman’s a woman, and still what a woman, eh? hee hee…
It’s nice to be home, and especially since no one can bother me here that I don’t want to talk to. That’s the worst part of being home, actually. I hate having to leave my house and possibly have to deal with the fuckwits that made me despise and want to get away from this hellhole so badly. Don’t get me wrong, I love my house and I love my family, but the rest of this place can eat my ass. Seriously, so ahead, I could stand to lose a few pounds ^_^
Well, I think that’s about all the damage I can cause tonight. Hope you all liked the St. Paddy’s Day “Green Screen,” I threw it up as a present.
I think I’ll head off to bed. Laying around doing nothing all day and eating good food has made me soooo tired. tee hee.
Until tomorrow, I tenderly remain,