making it through the storm

As I sat in my office the last 2 hours of the day, it was unavoidable to hear the wind picking up the pace outside. Each time the automatic door opened bigger and bigger gusts of wind were able to force there way into the building. Whether it was predicted or not, we had a cold front and a rain storm on its way.

At 3:30 I adventured out to my truck and saw on my western horizon a dark line forming in the sky. There were no individual clouds, only a thick grey cloud. I drove west, heading right for it.

As I got closer to the dark horizon, I noticed to my right the Delta already engulfed in the suffocating clouds. Around me the wind increased and knocked my light truck bed around like I was a pinata at an Oakland Athletics' batting practice. Shortly before the hill that arose in front of me, the sky began to open up, first my spitting on my windshield, but eventually it came down in sheets and decreased the visibility of the other motorists in front of me. By the time I reached the crest of the hill, little white beads started to pepper the hood of my truck. Hail is not common in California, but this little storm didn't let that deter it. My truck's hood turned from bright red to speckled white.

I pressed on.

By the time I reached the bridge, I was on the other side. The only visibility problem I faced now was the bright sun cascading down from the baby blue sky. The wet pavement reflected the shine up, filled the truck cab with warmth and a little bit of glare. As I looked back over the darkened Delta, I thought of the near ending of the Truman Show. Truman, in the midst of his own storm, shouts up at the sky and screams "Is that the best you can do?" I too felt that way as a smile settled on my face and I thought about the other storms in my life. They might seem dark and able to toss me around. But waiting on just the other side is sunshine and an attitude of "Is that the best you can do? Because that trial - that storm - wasn't nearly enough to knock me off course.

Quick write for a friend

Today I got a text from a friend asking me to do a small favor. She wants me to write a paragraph on anythng I want, but to write it twice - once on lined paper and once on unlined paper. The following was the first paragraph that popped into my head. I thought I'd share.

--
One other unique feature of the one eyed one horned flying purple people eater is its ability to see into the inner layers of people and search out their purpleness. Most purple people have evolved to the point where they blendin with most other people, and therefore only have purple on the inside. Much like a hawk scouring for prey from above, the one eyed one horned flying purple people eater hovers in the sky scanning people down below. "Their eye has a special filter on it that makes the Purple People glow purple, eventhough to us humans we don't see the glow." says Dr. Melinda Tennessee, who has been studying the rare species for some time. "Once they see a glowing purple person, they will often stalk it from the air until the purple person is alone." Continues Dr. Tennessee. According to Tennessee, the one eyed one horn flying purple people eater then swoops down and eats the purple person. If it wasn't for the specialized eye, the one eyed one horned flying purple people eater would not be able to eat as easily as it does.

Dealing with Character

In the recent weeks, Amy and I have been discussing character. She is a novelist and I am a short story writer. I don't get attached to my characters enough to deal much with their current character much less the character they might get in the future (i.e. Character Development).

This gap between us has left us to discuss characters as we see or interpret them.

For example, we saw a boat while we were in Crescent City. It was way out at sea and it was traveling North, toward Canada. As we discussed the ship, I decided that it was a drug running boat that transported cargo size shipments of Mexican marijuana to Canada. Aboard the Boat was Jack, a Canadian by birth, who found drug running to be a way to make good money for his mother who was suffering from various disabilities. Not only that but the money allowed him to use his boating skills to provide a natural substance opposed to being a whaler - a job that goes against his moral code because of the innocent slaughter of mating whales. However, on this particular trip, Jack was overly concerned about his chosen business. Jack's brother, Thomas, had recently died at the old ancient age of 16 - to a drug over dose. Jack was concerned about if he was doing the right thing....And that is as far as I have gotten. Amy and I occassionaly talk about Jack - but for the most part he is just on the boat because I don't know how to move his character along.

The same goes for another Jack. (Can you tell I like the name) I wrote about Jack the anti-hero a few months ago. Since then I have struggled to find ways to develop his character. I have more adventures in my head (Jack buys a rope to hang himself and instead lassoses a bank robber), but I am struggling to develop his character - why he is depressed? What will bring him out of his depression or dive him deeper? Why does he have such luck in not succeeding at such a simple task of ending his life? I don't know - mainly because I can't find it inmyself to develop Jack beyond that point.

Another Character I struggle with is the Amazing Drooling Boy. This is a name I have for one of my clients who constantly drools. On everything. I keep thinking I should develop an alter ego super hero for him but the more and more I try the more and more I'm stuck. So instead all I see is in my head - the amazing drooling boy.

Does anyone have any suggestions for developing characters?

from smaller eyes

mamma is gettin bigger and i'm scared.

at first i thought she swallowed a basketball but now i'm sure it was more. she has been so hungary lately that she eats everything and gets bigger and bigger. i'm scared.

mamma and daddy took away my bed last week and moved it into the room they just painted PINK! i was mad until that night when i saw in my room a big boy's bed where my old bed had been.

i thought maybe once my old bed was eaten mamma wouldn't be so hugary but she keeps getting bigger.

despite the smiles on their faces, i don't think mamma and daddy are tellin the truth. daddy says not to worry - mammas not going to eat me. but she keeps gettin bigger what will be left to eat but me. then mamma tells me that soon their will be a new child in the house. i guess that means after she eats me they will get nother child to fatten up for her belly to eat.

everytime we go to the park people ask her if she has names picked out and they point to her belly. mamma's going to name it Krista, Amy or Melinda after she eats me. i am scared to get a girl's name after i'm eaten. i like being kyle.

so i'm scared. mammas gettin bigger and i'm scared i'm next to eat.

breathe

I watch each breath like it was a hike up a steep incline. Each time she inhales I imagine heavy feet trudging up some hillside desperately hoping to land further up the hill than when they left mother earth. Each time she exhales I can feel the relief in those troubled lungs - just as I imagine the relief of those spasming calf muscles on a hiker after reaching the next foot hole on the hill.

Each breath adds to the many we have shared over the years together. Breathes playing Frisbee at the beach; breathes inhaling the smell of hickory as the bonfires in the sand burned low and embers warmed our toes as we nestled to the sounds of the crackling fire and waves smothering the shore before us.
We shared breathes as we kissed each other and caressed each other both in moments of comfort and in moments of passions run rapid. Each night we shared our breathes as we laid in bed, face to face whispering stories from the day and telling each other about our dreams, hopes and plans. I loved those shared breathes.
We shared breathes as we screamed at each other in frustration, heartache, stress and argument. Those were moments when it would have been better for me to hold my breathe than to exhale it with miscommunicated misunderstandings, but at the time I couldn't see what a few wasted breathes would mean when all I saw was me winning the argument. Those were prideful breathes we both shared.
Later we would share breathes chasing the two little ones around our tiny little piece of land - a castle for our kids. Breathes blowing out birthday candles and breathes inhaling the sweet scents of Easter dinners; Quickened breathes when a child was 30 minutes late for curfew on a snowy night; Calm relaxed breathes once the family was all home again, safe in the beds we built for them.
So many breathes, I should be grateful for each one, but now as I watch her rest all I can do is plead for more. Soon we will share breathes no more and I will be forced to breathe alone. But for now, I will simply enjoy the breathes we are sharing and have always shared.

Mahon's Journey to Faith

(The scene opens with two men sitting in beach chairs, their backs toward the audience with a beach table between them. Up stage is an ocean/beach scene with bright sunlight and a big blue sky. Waves crashing can be heard in the back. A sucking sound from some one's straw can be heard and the audience can see Jared replacing his drink on the beach table between them)

Jared - Man, Mahon, this is the life. Four years ago today I was so terrified we were going be separated. I thought when the towers tumbled and the language barrier suddenly appeared and we couldn't get everyone to work through the language barrier to rebuild the towers - man I thought that was just going to be the end. All happiness was going to be gone. (He stands up and faces the audience - pointing) But this, this is great. We got a bunch of fruits and vegetables. Our women and children are well fed. The cattle are fat every year. And you and I get to hang out on the beach every day. Mahon, my brother. This is the life.

Mahon - Yup, we got it pretty good. It is amazing what we can do. Hey while you're standing, do you mind getting me a refill?

Jared - Not a problem, bro.

(exit Jared. Suddenly a burst of light shines on the stage and a cloud appears. Booming from the cloud is a voice)

Voice of God - Mahon, my child, I have missed you. I have missed our conversations. Do you feel you no longer need Me? I did not bring you from the towers to the beach just for you to sit around and drink fruit punch. There is a land of great promise across these waters - waiting for you and your families. I have prepared the land for them and it is a choice piece of land. But you will need me if you are to get there and you will need me if you are to tame it. Do you no longer want this blessing? Mahon, my child - speak unto me.

Mahon - Dear Lord, I am but a weak man and have been neglectful in my duties to call upon you. I have forgotten all that you did for me and my family and Jared and his family. How can I repent? How can I return to you and get my family to this choice land you have prepared for us? How can I be forgiven? How Lord? How is it done?

Voice of God - Your sins are forgiven you. However, fail me not again, I plead. (pause) Your future land awaits you, but you must build some boats to get there. I will place in your mind the directions for the boats you are to build. They will be small and light. If you are confused on the design, seek me out and I will come again. Pray unto me constantly and you will be filled. The time to get off this beach is at hand.

(Another Burst of light on stage and the cloud disappears and the scene is set back to previously. Enter Jared)

Jared - Dude, brother, I am so sorry. When I got back to the house and to the fridge I was just so tired. I took a three hour nap - which was probably the best nap of my life - and so I forgot to ge----. (pause) Is something wrong Mahon? You look pail, and confused. Did I miss something? Are you mad that I forgot the fruit punch? Mahon?

Mahon - We need to start building some barges. The voice of the Lord has spoken to me and we need to build some boats.

Jared - When?

Mahon - Right now.

(Mahon grabs his towel and runs off stage. Jared takes a sip of his drink and then follows Mahon off stage. Black out. Clear the stage. From the back of the House we hear men grunting and house lights come up to 50% to see men carrying the hull of a small boat through the center isle up to the stage. Stage lights come up on a very dirty tired looking Jared and Mahon. House lights fail once the boat reaches five feet from the stage)

Jared - That's right brethren - bring it all the way to the see shore. Before we put the final top on and it becomes too hard to carry. A little further. That's right, just a little further.

(all the while Mahon is pacing on the beach muttering to himself. As the boys who carried in the boat leave Jared turns to his brother...)

Jared - What seems to be bothering you? What's wrong. We built the boats exactly as you stated. The boats are no longer than the size of a tree. When the door is closed the boats as are tight as a dish. I don't think any water is getting into these girls. So what has you worried?

Mahon - I'm troubled by that last part. There is no way to see where we are going - How will we steer? If they are as tight on the water as they are on land, how will we breathe? Are we to hold our breath for a really long time? It just doesn't make sense.

Jared - Go and inquire of the Lord. He told you how to build them. Surely he knows how to solve the problems that you see.

Mahon - Maybe you are right Jared. Just like at the time of the fallen towers, your suggestion is well.

Jared - I will go with the other boys and go get another boat. Pray while we are gone and if I see you are still praying when we arrive I'll stall them with stories of how I met my wife. Who would have thought her and I would end up together.

Mahon - Very well.

(exit Jared through the house. Mahon kneels)

Mahon - Dear Lord. I have done as thou has directed. We have built these eight boats. They are according to your measurements and according the detail plans you have placed in my head. I don't mean to question your plan but I am concerned about the boats. They are tight like a dish. How are we to breathe? There are no rudders; How are we to steer?

Voice of God (off stage) - Mahon, my faithful servant, put a hole in the top and one in the bottom. When thou suffers for air, simply unstop the hole. However, when water comes in, plug the hole again. I do not wish for you to drown in a flood in the boat. As for the steering, you will be as a whale in the midst of the sea. The waves shall dash upon you and I will bring you back up. The winds have gone forth out of my mouth and shall send your boats to the promised land.

Mahon - I have one other concern. Will thou suffer us to cross these great waters in darkness or will you give us light?

Voice of God - You can have no windows because the waves will destroy them. You can't have fire because the smoke will suffocate you. I have prepared the waves and the wind. What can you prepare to light the way in your boats to the promise land? What, Mahon, will ye that I should prepare for you that ye may have light when ye are swallowed up in the depths of the see? What will ye?

(black out. Clear stage of boats. Next scene starts with Mahon sitting [and only lighted] SR at a desk. Scattered on the floor are various crumpled up papers and a wastebasket over flowing.)

Mahon - Maybe that would work.

(Mahon reaches for the bottom drawer of his desk and grabs some tools. As soon as he has what he needs Mahon springs up from his desk. The lights fade as he crosses the stage and the lights come up on him ascending a hillside. When he reaches the top there is a sign with the name Shelem and an elevation marker. Mahon works quickly to "molten" 16 stones out of the hillside. Grunting and other signs of exhaustion can be heard. After the 16 have been "molted" Mahon carefully carries them down the hill to the beach. Mahon lines them up 16 in a row, kneels and prays.)

Mahon - Lord, I call upon you today, humbled by my task. I know we are to be encompassed by floods as we journey to the promise land. Please be not angry with me because of my weakness. I know I m unworthy before you. I know we came to the beach and settled without continuing inquiring of you. I know because of our fallen state that we are not as holy as you, for thou dwellest in heaven. But thou has commanded us to call upon you, so I do. For these many years, despite our sins, thou has been merciful unto us. As we traveled from the fallen towers to this beach though has looked with pity upon us. Please at this time, continue to look upon us with pity and suffer not that we should travel the raging waters in darkness.

Voice of God - What would thou have me do?

Mahon - Touch these stones with your finger and prepare them that they may shine forth in darkness.

(a sudden flash of white light and then other white lights from various sides of the stage and the black out. The next scene starts with Jared and a few of the families on SL near one of the boats. Mahon runs in from SR)

Mahon - We have light! We have light!

(Mahon spills out his backpack and 16 stones filled with bright light tumble out onto the stage.)

Mahon (looking at Jared) - All we had to do was have faith, and He gave us light. He gave us His light!

(the stage dims but the 16 stones continue to shine for two seconds after black out and then they are gone as well. The curtain closes and house lights come up.)

The End

This play was inspired by these scriptures
found in the Book of Mormon.

This interpretation is my sole content and does not
reflect the opinions or doctrine of the Church of
Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Furthermore, this story was not inspired by this person
though he does light up Cindy's eyes
when he enters a room

our hero jack: episode one

Jack did not intend to be a hero. In fact, on the day when this all started, Jack was actually planning on doing the most unheroic thing he could. He had been planning it for weeks and was sure that his plan was the best it was going to be. Plans had been checked twice. Three times. Some days even saw four checks. Every aspect of his plan had been scrutinized and developed. It was not going to get any better than this plan.

On the day chosen, Jack went down to the pawn shop. He sorted through the options of knives that were available. Each blade was tested for sharpness, easy of opening and difficulty in closing. Some knives were as dull as butter knives. Other knives were a struggle to get open. Many of the knives sprung close with the least amount of effort. Eventually Jack settled on a knife that was sharp, the size of his palm, that came with a black handle and a locking blade. On the blade was a little nub that Jack could flip the blade open with little care. After haggling with the pawn shop owner, Jack forked over the last few dollars to his name and left the store.

Jack stuck the new to him knife in his pocket and was running his finger along the closed blade's ridge that bounced against his leg as he walked along the sidewalk. He was only a few blocks from his destination and was anxious to put his plan into place. If everything went according to the plan, money would never be a problem for him again. The excitement and nervousness ran through his body. It was such a distracted feeling he almost did not hear the screeching tires. Just in time, he not only heard the tires, but he saw the car slam into the side of the building.

Somewhere in the course of veering off of the road and colliding with red brick, the car snapped a fire hydrant off of its mount and a close resemblance of Old Faithful was now spewing from the pipes below. The water reunited with gravity and began fill the car through the windshield.

Jack could see at least two occupants fighting ferociously against seat belts and other restraints holding them to the metal coffin. Jack ran over. Quickly he propped the driver door open. The woman was shouting and flaying around. Jack grabbed his knife from his pocket, flipped it open and cut away the safety restraints and pulled the woman from her Venus fly trap of a seat. As he dragged her to a safer, dryer location, the woman screamed in his water soaked ears, "My baby! Save my baby!"

Jack left her with some people who had also stopped to help. He rushed back to the car that now resembled a water slide with water pouring out of every window but the one where the car seat was located. Jack inhaled a short breath and dove into the cascade. He found that the baby seat, too, had stopped releasing the restraints on its tiny occupant. Using the knife still in his hand, Jack carefully cut away the tiny straps and attempted to grab the child. But the child proved too much to handle and Jack had to drop his prize knife.

Now gliding with the exiting current, Jack floated out to the waiting audience. As they reached the mother, the baby let out a scream - with a gathered crowd cheering with joy. Within moments emergency and news crews arrived to mop up and report. Pictures from cameras and cell phones were swapped with reporters and at least one person had video taped the daring rescue.

Jack was taken to the hospital with the family from the car. Because of the amount of water he had swallowed, Jack was kept for over night watch. His hotel filled quickly with cards and flowers from well wishers thankful for his heroic act.

Meanwhile, Jack lamented the loss of his knife and the fact that tonight he would not be able to slit his wrists.

A dog's healer

Once there was this dog. He was a beautiful golden lab that glistened in the sun as it ran and played. He was discovered at the pound by this beautiful woman who thought he was perfect for her and so she took him home. This woman loved this dog. She took him to the park, and on walks and fed him all of the right treats. He loved this woman and did as much as he could to make her happy. He thought he was being the best dog for her. One day this woman decided she wanted a different dog. She took a knife and cut the dog's stomach open and put it outside.

Surprisingly, the dog didn't die. It limped away wounded. Over time, this dog started to heal. He was able to walk normally, bark normally and give kisses only a dog could give. And even though the dog had a wound on its belly, it resembled a dog you would want to take home - and various owners did just that.

However, it never worked out.

Some of the dog owners want the dog to bark more. Some wanted him to bark less. Some wanted less slobbery kisses. Some wanted slobbery kisses all the time. One owner already had a dog, and so a that owner had a hard time balancing her feelings between the two dogs. (She was a one dog owner at heart.) And even if all of the playtime, cuddling, and dog kisses were worked out, eventually the dog would cuddle enough up with his new owner for the new owner to see that jagged scar. Some found it disgusting and too difficult to deal with. Some saw that it was healing, but not the way they thought it should heal - so some owners would cut open his belly again.

As other owners were cutting up, shunning and discarding this dog, one beautiful black haired woman watched from a distance. She had never owned a dog before and wasn't quite sure how to handle him. Not only that, but she wasn't looking for that type of dog. She had always wanted a Jack Russel Terrier. However, that aside, she watched this dog from a distance.

One day, after his last owner had thrown him out and moved far away from him, this beautiful black haired woman came to the dog and sat near him. Eventually the golden yellow lab came and sat next to her. Feeling courageous, the dog gave the woman a soft puppy kiss. She didn't reject him or tell him he was a bad dog, nor did she demand more from him. She merely looked and him and smiled. She patted his head and stroked his side.

The lab scampered off, but came back later. Each time the lab came, the woman welcomed him with open arms. Each time he scampered off she would not worry. He wasn't really the dog she was looking for. Then one weekend the dog came and stayed by her side all weekend long. She petted his head and sides and stroked her his belly. When she got to the scar she wasn't put off. She didn't try to recut it so it would heal differently. She didn't try to ignore it and pretend it wasn't there. She merely just worked around it. And the dog loved her for it.

As the weekend drew to the close, she took the lab in her lap. She scratched it a little more. She turned down to it and said, "You're not the dog I'm looking for and I know I'm not the owner you are looking for, but you are welcome to stay as long as you need. I will tend to you just as you are tending to me." At that point she pulled up her shirt a bit and revealed a scar across her belly that was jagged and healing. And then the dog realized how lucky he was. This new owner won't cut him for she knew the pain that came from the cut. And so the dog remained, for as long as he needed, with this new woman. He wasn't the dog she was searching for and she wasn't the owner he wanted to be leashed to for eternity. But for now they were perfect for each other as they healed one another.

Princess Olivia

On Sunday I was at the Milwaukee Children’s museum. My niece pulled us over to the small stage and asked me to narrate a story for her. It is what follows.

--
Once there lived a beautiful princess named Olivia. Olivia’s castle was on a hill not far from a little valley. When the weather was nice, Olivia liked to go down into the valley and dance, ballet and interruptive style.

One day a big growling monster named Chad came to the valley. Monster Chad was mad and he growled at everything and everyone. He even growled at princess Olivia. Olivia was scared.

Olivia called for her mother, Queen Liz. Queen Liz arrived in the valley and immediately went to the Monster Chad. Queen Liz was able to calm Monster Chad, who turned out to be King Chad but just in a very bad mood.

Once everyone was calm and happy, Princess Olivia was free to dance in the valley again. And so she did. She danced and danced and danced and everyone lived happily ever after.

The End.

the sumo wrestler

I knew someday, somewhere, someone would come along and beat me. I have known for some time that I was not unique – just very very lucky. In fact, some days I prayed to be honestly beaten. Maybe then the cameras, with their crushingly loud flashbulbs, and the reporters, each talking at their cameras as I tried to concentrate on the match, - maybe they would all go away once I was soundly beaten. I was tired of being their frog in a jar. Especially because this is not what I wanted to do.

I had started out with a stirring desire to go into fencing. I loved the sound of the sword as it swished through the air. I loved the feel of the impact when your sword made contact with the shoulder of your opponent. I loved, more than anything, the reaction of my muscles as my sword and my opponent’s sword would meet and the opponent would attempt to strong arm my sword out of the way, my wrist trying to spring one way as my arm fought to keep the direction of the sword moving in an opposite direction of the where the other sword was sending it.

But just like why I can’t enjoy Wednesday night Country Dancing in town, I could never get my feet work down. Every instructor I knew told me it was just a count. You count in and you count out. Each step, each lunge, each retreat was a count. Just like every step at country – slow slow fast fast. How ever was I going to enjoy the girl I was with if the whole time I was in my head counting. How ever was I to know what my fencing opponent was going to do next if the whole time I was counting in and counting out. For a lunge I had to count three, but if at two I heard my opponent breathe in sharply, I knew I had to be defending, not attacking, so I would count out, but only to the point that I was sure I was clear of the opponent’s lunge. Then I would need to start again. But I often forgot where I was in my counts and so I would misstep and down I went.

Each time my feet would lose me a match, I would get depressed. Each time I got depressed I would eat. With the added food, came added weights and my fencing game slowed down. Eventually, I was too fat to fence. So my thoughts turned to the question “What do fat people play?” One day the thought occurred to me – Fat people sumo wrestle. So I started researching Sumo wrestling. It is played in a circle and the circle is raised up some how so you always knew where it was. There was a white line on the ground where you stanced as you prepared to throw the other fat guy out of the ring, but beyond that the rules were pretty simple. So I put my shift that way. Every day I ate and I trained. Some days I trained and I ate. But either route was a way to prepare for the first time I stepped into the ring.

Because I was not a Japan raised sumo wrestler, and because my training was not done in one of the Japanese stables, I was ignored by the international sumo wrestling championship. The media referred to me as the “Sumo Cowboy” or as “Sueme Sumo.” (Evidently America’s lust for lawsuits had been picked up on by the foreign media as well.) For my first match – I was on the losing end. The guy moved so quickly and just tossed me out of the ring like I was a rag doll. I was shocked.

But I also learned. I learned to pick up the clues. As I replayed the tossing in my head over and over again, I tried to focus on what sounds my opponent made right before he attacked. I listened for the point that his hands touched the mat and the point the ringmaster commenced the attack. I listened for the tightening of his muscles or the grunt as he projected his one ton weight toward me.

Much to the annoyance of my trainer, I refused to step into the ring again for months. Instead I had him gather up all of the videos of sumo matches he could find and we sat and studied them together. And I learned, and I learned and I learned.

The next time I was in a ring was 9 months after that first match. As the ringmaster commenced, I focused on all of the clues. As this opponent attacked I could tell he was heading to the left. I moved right, grabbed him by the arm and threw him as much as I could over my left shoulder. Before I could turn around to make a second attempt – the crowd erupted with applause. The ringmaster grabbed my hand, flung it in the air, and announced me the winner.

And that was the first of a long winning streak. Each time the opponent was bigger or stronger and each time I crouched before him in my sumo stance, closed my eyes and focused on the sounds that clued me in to this man before me. I knew how to stand up tall and then quickly drop on an opponent that did a full on attack. I knew how to move from one side to the other if the opponent tried to lean and get around me (For some reason they all thought they could sneak past me when my eyes were closed). After six months of winning, rumors started to pour in of other sumo wrestlers trying my technique – closing their eyes for the match. No one could duplicate it though because they were only closing their eyes and not widening their ears.

After 9 months of wins, The Cowboy Sumo was the main attraction. People in the U.S. put aside their basketball, baseball or football to make sure they got a chance to watch me. And I never disappointed. I was also doing cereal ads, car commercials (where I was allowed to stand by the car or ride in the bed of the truck, but never drive the vehicle), and other product endorsements (of course – as a sumo wrestler – restaurants were always trying to get me to promote their food). I was riding the wave. So I of course was not expecting last night.

Last night seemed like every other night. I never paid attention to the hype and my trainer was really strict about me not doing interviews in the weeks coming up to a match. All I knew about this opponent was that he was virtually unheard of and that he had challenged me on his online blog. His cult following of loyal readers promoted it and it got scheduled. I figured I was better because no one had ever heard of this guy. I was wrong.

As we got into stance I quickly realized this was going to be different. Other opponents were breathing through their noses like they were hyperventilating. Not this guy. He was relaxed. His muscles weren’t cracking or pooping with building tension. No – instead he was just relaxed. I made the wrong assumption that he was unprepared and would be an easy take, but when the ringmaster granted us on, I got taken.

Unlike others, I was the first off my mat and at him. Every other had attacked first and I had defended. He waited for my attack and then he defended. I found out quickly that I didn’t know how to attack – I only knew how to defend. He used this to his advantage and tossed me out of the ring. I was shocked, and devastated.

It wasn’t until a few hours later that the match loss really took on much meaning. I knew he was like me, but to the extent that he was like me was amazing. It turns out – the only way to beat a blind wrestler was with a man as blind as I am.

Sara's Choice - The Introduction

The day Kyle Murphy Fuller stabbed Gerald Smith, and shot Carrie Smith killing her and her unborn child – that was the day Fuller envisioned his perceived tragedy was extinguished, but it was a catalyst for a day that no one really saw coming and a day that would end bad for Fuller, his lover and every one who professed any type of desire to live that lifestyle. Gerald Smith had been the mayor of San Francisco at the time of his murder. For eight years, Smith had fought for the right of people in California to get married – whether they are gay or they are straight. Twice the people of California had voted that marriage was between a man and a woman. After the last loss, Smith drove his argument to the steps of the State Supreme Court. There he was given a definitive answer: No, not in California.

Many, including Fuller, looked to Smith as the reason why they would never get married in their home state. Every few years the number of registered voters that feel gay marriage is not a bad thing grows. If Smith had been more patient, some speculated, then the law wouldn’t have been so definitive. But Smith, and his damn political aspirations damaged the whole process. However, in death, Smith eventually went from Traditional Marriage foe to their hero. Old Fashioners (as they soon became known as) propped Smith up on a stick and used him as a poster of what gays are “really are like.” Old Fashioners, who had lied about a need to keep gay marriage out of the schools, now had a reason why gay marriage needed to be kept away from their children. Bumper stickers began to plaster cars “When a Old Fashioner wakes up on the Sabbath they go to church. When a gay wakes up – they destroy the mayor’s family.”

Using the death of Smith as the best example of what was wrong with the Gay community, being anti-gay took on a life of its own. Soon there were protests outside gay owned businesses and “straight sit-ins,” which was really just a place for straight couples to go and make out in front of news cameras. Straight people that helped out a gay were called “Straight Betrayers.” As this polarized both sides, Gays that helped a straight person became known as a “Gay Traitor.” It became socially acceptable again to single out gays. Billboards started to show up around the state with catchy slogans such as “Fear Queer,” “Man on Man be Damned,” “Girl on Girl make you hurl,” and “Choose Straight Every Time.” The billboards often showed what ever the undesirable activity was with a circle around it and a hash through it, like being gay was as bad as smoking in your hotel room or in a bar.

Politicians who were liberal began to fear for their lives after Kyle Murphy Fuller exterminated Smith. More and more conservative came out of the woodwork and took over the process of writing laws. Rather quickly, different aspects of homosexuality were outlawed. The first to go were gay kissing and sex. This was followed by new rules about only mixed gender massages. As the conservatives grew more powerful, their laws grew that much more stringent. Patting a ball player on his butt after a great play was gay. Dressing men in pink was gay. Guys going shopping for anything but power tools were gay. Women who hugged each other for longer than four seconds were lesbians. Women who bought power tools were lesbians. Some senators proposed women were only allowed to wear dresses, but their wives banded together and refused to give them sex, and that law never made it to fruition.

With each new law, homosexuality activities was driven deeper and deeper underground. Men were never gay in public. To convince anyone who might get suspicious, these men went through elaborate rituals to prove they weren’t. Surfing for straight porn on their work computers, spanking the fannies of the ladies at work (and then going and washing their hands afterwards), or (worse of all) telling a gay joke during a staff meeting – all of these were done to prevent people getting any other ideas.

The final act of injustice came on the eve of Kyle Murphy Fuller’s state ordered execution. Signed into law, while standing in front of a San Francisco Catholic Cathedral, the local congressmen inked an extermination order on all gays and lesbians. Just like when the Mormons were victims of an extermination order in Missouri a hundred years ago, it became legal to shoot a gay onsite with no prosecution. However, unlike the Mormons who ran to Utah, the gays turned to the days of alcohol prohibition to give them clues for their future. Instead of speakeasies, they created Slys. Slys were in a different place and only those who were told, word of mouth, knew where they were. A password was required to get in and one usually had to appear with someone of the opposite gender to get into the building but then had to touch someone of the same gender to get pass the sentinel guarding the door.



A group of people who hunted down these palaces of pleasure became known as Homo Hunters. It was the one profession that allowed for both genders to be in a police state. “Guarding our virtues and our children” was their motto, though really they were just marshaled hate groups bent on the destruction of every last gay in California.

Sara's Choice Part 2

Sara admired the jade green eyes that sparkled in the sunset. Her mind flashed images of those same eyes shining forth in horror as the people at the Straight Realign Center beat the gay out of this Krista. Krista’s brown hair glistened in the sun and reflected bright beams of sunlight, and Sara saw the images of the same brown hair being pulled while they raped the gay out of Krista at the SRC. (That’s not what a bottom like that should have done to it.) The lips of Krista drew Sara in momentarily before the violent kisses Krista would have to endure from old men, “expert kissers” as they were called, flashed across the cortex of Sara’s mind.

Sara had watched Sly detainees be put through the courses, their needed reformations to help them get back on a straight path. Sara herself had gone to the stocks and forced her lips onto Gay Men, in an effort to help them change their ways. She knew the violence those men faced day in and day out as the Medical staff of the SRC gave beatings and medications “necessary” for the convincing of these Sly participants to choose straight. For the hardest hearted, the last course of action before being banished to Arkansas, some were given Electro Convulsive Therapy. Electrodes were attached to each side of the brain causing the brain to have a seizure. It was called rebooting, when really Sara just saw it as reprogramming. The seizures caused the brain to have an amnesia state. During that amnesia state, the “patient” was told over and over again the joys of being straight over the horrors of being gay.

For some reason she couldn’t state clearly – she didn’t want this for Krista. She didn’t want to arrest Krista to have her beaten, raped or electrocuted. Suddenly these actions at the SRC didn’t seem like the humane sensible thing but instead the cruel thing to do. Instantly Sara’s mind flashed the idea that gays and lesbians were people first and inappropriate lovers second, and Sara wasn’t even sure that they were inappropriate when all they were trying to do was love.

Sara knew what she had to do. “Krista. Go hide behind that trash can. Right now.” Krista hurried off, quickly, although a bit confused of what was going on. To her surprise she saw Sara upholster her taser. Sara turned it on herself and fired. Instantly two electrodes shot out and attached to Sara’s chest. Within mere half seconds she was on the ground.

Any time a taser goes off, the taser emits a siren. Running from the house came all of the guys in Sara’s crew. “What happened? Are you Okay? What is going on?” The questions flew at her as the remnants of electricity drained from her heart and body.

Sara started, “I thought I had him. I thought… I thought…didn’t see him grab for me…damn fag!…” It turned out she had to act through this pain – her chest was on fire and she was actually struggling to get the words out. “He has ran off…over there…” she said as she pointed in the opposite direction of Krista. Several members of the crew jumped to there feet and were off. No one tazed one of their own and got away. Sara’s captain remained.

“Let me help you up Sara.” He gave her his hand and helped her to sit up. He squawked into his radio calling for all available Homo Hunters to seek out a gay on the run. “Sara, do you need anything?”

“A hug?” Sara responded.

“Sure Sara.” As Sara was being hugged, she motioned to Krista to run. And like that Krista bolted from behind the garbage cans and as far away as possible.

--

Eventually the search for the gay was called off. The captured Sly participants were gathered up and taken to the SRC. After being treated in the Ambulance, Sara’s Captain offered a ride home.

“You know Sara, I used to worry about you,” he started, “but after today I don’t worry any more.” Sara was so sore she was barely listening. He continued, “I saw you taze yourself.” Sara instantly shot up in her seat. “I’ve seen the way you force yourself on the gays in the stocks. I’ve seen you beat and mercilessly taze those that step just a bit out of line. I thought maybe you were completely heartless, but today you proved me wrong.”

Sara was suddenly shocked and frozen. She didn’t know what to say or do. Having sympathy for a gay was as bad as being gay and was punished the same way. Was her captain to take her somewhere and beat her or rape her? Was she going to have to be electrocuted too? It would be with in his rights to do what ever with her. So she sat frozen.

He finished up, “I saw how you looked at that Lesbo. I know those eyes. I know them because occasionally I see them in my own mirrors at home. I know you aren’t a lesbo and I know this won’t happen again. I figured you went through enough, tazing yourself, so I won’t even report you. More than anything I’m just grateful to see those eyes of yours today. We need more compassionate people like you.”
And with that her captain patted her leg and she felt finally at ease. Sara never saw Krista again. 8 months later she quit her job so she could marry her captain. Their first child was a girl who Sara insisted be named Krista – to help remind Sara to always have a heart.

Bob and Fred at 4th of July

I’d like to dedicate today’s Fiction Tuesday to Cindy. She helped inspired the following.

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There once lived some guys named Bob and Fred. Bob and Fred were from Idaho and they loved to show their patriotism by blowing things up on the 4^th of July. For one Independence Day, Bob and Fred were in California. California has very strict rules against fireworks. This saddened Bob and Fred. They had brought all of their explosives with them for their stay in California.

One night at the bar Ted suggested to Bob and Fred that if they really wanted to use those fireworks in July, they should rent a boat and go out into the ocean a few miles. They thought this was a great idea.

On the Fourth of July, Bob and Fred rented a yacht and loaded it up with all of their fireworks. They took the boat out into the Pacific Ocean a few miles and waited for night to come. While they waited, they drank a good portion of alcohol. Before Dusk was upon them they decided they couldn’t wait any longer. They lined up the first round of bottle rockets and shot them up into the air. This was really cool to watch. For the next 20 minutes Bob’s and Fred’s eyes were directed toward the sky and not toward the ocean below them. So what happened next really surprised them.

Suddenly, as Bob was trying to hold his beer in one hand and try to light the second line of fireworks with his other, a shark jumped into the boat. Immediately it went after Bob and started biting his foot. With every bite the shark was moving up his leg. Bob dropped his lighter in his hair accidentally as he tried to get away from the shark, which lit his hair on fire. Then Bob got really scared and dropped his beer as well.

Behind Bob was Fred, who was really freaking out. He wanted to help his friend Bob but was very scared of the shark. Fred grabbed the flare gun and fired it at the shark, but he missed and instead hit the crate with all of the left over fireworks in it. Suddenly the back of the boat lit up as an amazing show filled the rudder and stern area. One benefit of this show was various embers burst onto the shark. This brought the shark’s feast to an abrupt end as the shark tried to get away from the fire on its belly. The shark flopped around until it eventually was able to flop out of the boat and away from that firestorm. While the shark was making its escape, Fred was attacking Bob’s other crisis. Fred took the fire extinguisher and started spraying Bob’s head and shoulders (as the fire had spread to Bob’s t-shirt as well.).

The second benefit of the fireworks show was a passing Coast Guard helicopter had seen the boat and come to the rescue of Bob and Fred. The Yacht was too far-gone and was left to burn and then eventually sink. Bob was taken to the hospital where he had the rest of his leg amputated.

Fred and Bob (once he was all better) returned to Idaho. For the next 4^th of July they were invited by some friends to return to California, but after the previous year when Bob had been being eaten by a shark and was on fire at the same time – Bob and Fred decided to stay in Idaho and drink beer and light off fireworks. This year went much better – until they got eaten by a bear. Oh well.

The End

of whoppers and runners

Sean eyed the runners as other men eyed power tools or nice cars and big trucks. Instead of oohing and ahhing over torque, attachments or versatility or instead of paying attention to the details in the signature fender or custom interior or even the 72-point surround sound system – Sean watched those people run. Each step coming down just in front of the other; the calf muscles flexing and then relaxing; every inch of fabric in those short shorts and skin tight shirts moving in sync with the body of the runner. While other men listened to the revving engine of the 8 cylinders rotating in order and humming a symphony of metal on metal, Sean listened to them panting, breathing in short quick breathes and yet never to be seeming out of breath.

Sean took another bite of his double Whopper with cheese as he watched the pack of them start to turn the corner. As he squeezed the cheese between his teeth and his molars obliterated any form that beef had to being at one point a living creature, Sean contemplated the diet of a runner – yogurt, berries and granola. Sucking on the straw of his extra large Pepsi, he admired the physique of those rushing by the window: Arms up and half fisted swinging back and forth against those shirts, rotating at the shoulder cuff. Stomachs flat and trimmed, with the breasts of the women runners strapped close to the body. Sean looked down at his physique and noticed a bit of ketchup his belly had caught as it had drooled out of his burger. Using his index finger, he wiped it up and then licked it off his finger.

As his gaze left his belly he found himself watching their shoes. Scientifically designed to be light, airy, aerodynamic and comfortable. Each step coming after that shoe had glided through the air with the most advanced technology moving it along. Each shoe breathing out the sweat, heat, and exhaustion. Every step proving the rise of greatness is in simple leather and laces.

And that’s when it suddenly dawned on Sean. Like all of those men before that have lied to themselves about how one more sub woofer or a new attachment for their less than adequate drill win bring them from the world of admiration to the world of being admired – Sean told himself that he needed new shoes. And he promised himself that after he finished his fries and fresh hand scooped vanilla ice cream shake, if there was time left in the lunch break, he would go to a shoe place. And when he is there he will ask the sales person for the best, top of the line quality running shoe. He promised himself he would slip them on in the store and use them right away – running out to his car. And he promised himself he would run every day and he promised and he promised and he promised. And he spent so much time promising, that he ran out of time and went back to work without the shoes that were going to project him into greatness. Because surely it was in the shoes that that group out the fast food restaurant window that made them who they were. What else could it be?

training

“In the mornings as a youth I would get up with Mama and get the day going for the boys and my papa. There would be eggs to gather, hens to let out for the day and cows to milk. I wasn’t supposed to be out milkin ‘til I was 10, but when we lost my brother to the tractor, well then they needed me out milkin’ more that they needed my braided head in the house scurrying under mother’s feet getting the coffee on.

“Truth be told, milkin was my favorite part. It was always cold as I walked from the house to the barn but the barn was warm inside. And milkin for me wasn’t as hard as milking for daddy or grand daddy. Theys told me they had to actually grab the cow and squeeze. Then they had to grab again and squeeze. It sounds awfully disgustin and yucky to me.

“I just have to go into the barn and turn on the sucker. And then I have to run as fast as I can. The better I run, the better it sucks, the more milk we be getting. That’s what papa is always telling me. So I run and I run and I run. Some times my legs would start to hurt and the treadmill would slow down and the sucker would slow its suckin. That hurt the cow pretty awful and it would cry out in loud moo. If papa be near by, he’d rush in and start yelling at me. “Stacy what are you doing?? You better get running girl. We need that milk and you need to get it for us.” Some times he’d threaten to whip my butt and other times he’d threaten to not give me any milk, but either way I was off and goin again.

“When I was 12 papa won another cow in a poker game. He woke me up in the middle of the night and told me to get plenty of rest because in the morning I’d be runnin twice as much. And he was right. First I’d hook up the sucker to our first cow and then to the other. I ran all morning long.

“By the time I made it to high school, I was the fastest girl in school and I was only a freshman. I nice man in town offered to buy my papa a sun powered sucker macheen if papa would keep me in school and let me run. I miss the cows, but I loved having people cheerin for me when I ran. The cows only moaned and never cheered. When I turned 18 last year a big man from the city told my papa that I could make him big money. So now I’m here.”

“That is an amazing story. Thank you for joining us. We have just heard from Stacy Watson, who last night won her first gold medal in the 10K long distance race. This is Sean O’hara reporting. Back to you in the studio.”

eggstatic

“Carton eight eight five seven is now departing. Eight eight five seven is now departing”

Ted settles into his carton and looks over. “Well hello there Bob. How have you been?”

“I have been doing great. What life are you on now days?”

Ted thinks in his head and figures out, “10 I think. How about you?”

“I always lose track; probably the same number. Are you getting better or are you in a slump?” Bob asked.

“I was in a cake yesterday. Prior to that I was a scrambled egg. Did you hear about Fred? He came out of the Mother Ship, but just then a family dog came and scared the Mother Ship and he got stepped on. So far he has been reincarnated as a rotten egg and as an egg with a cracked shell. He is not getting any better in his reincarnations. I feel so bad for the guy.”

“Oh man that is horrible! Did he take up a plea to The Rooster?”

“He did, but The Rooster told him he should have rolled out of the way.”

“Ha Ha. That’s funny. Rolled out of the way. Man that Rooster has the greatest sense of humor. So Federation of Destination is just screwing with him at this point…?”

“Yeah. Fred has one more reincarn before he will go back to making it up the progress ladder. He gets to be a green egg first though.”

“Too Funny!” Ted remarked.

Suddenly there was a shake of the carton, the lid appeared open and a man’s head hovered over. The man checked each one of the 18 passengers before closing the lid and giving the carton the first flight, presuming into the shopping cart. A few moments later more shaking, followed by more before finally hearing the start of an engine and the feel of continued drive.

“With a guy you never can tell.” Ted whispered to Bob. “We could end up as a cake, or scrambled or something else.”

“I hope we aren’t scrambled. That would be a step down the reincarn ladder that’s for sure.”

Suddenly the car stopped, but the engine kept running. Aggressively the carton was grasped and the lid flung open.

“No way! Can it be? We have reached the top rung??”

“This is so exciting!” Ted yelled back. “If it is what I think it is we’ll be in egg heaven in moments.”

“It is. It is. We’re egging a car! We’re going to Heaven Ted! Yippee! Yipp---“ and suddenly Bob was grasped and thrown at a big truck with the license plate saying “Captain Bolton.”

Getting to the sunrise

“One foot in and then the other.” Jim thought. He hated this part. He proceeded anyway, slipping the shorts onto one leg and then onto the other. He rocked back and forth and inched his the shorts over his calves and eventually let the waistband snap onto his hips.

He looked over at his chair. He growled in his head. He didn’t enjoy this part.

Once transferred to the chair he unlocked the brakes and rolled out to the garage. “How many people are going to ask me questions today?” He pondered. It never ceased to stop. He has lived in this neighborhood for going on three years now. He thought he could have told at least every person by now.

Down the ramp he slid, steering and sliding up next to the trike. Jim locked his breaks. “One more transfer.” He slid out of the chair and got onto his knees and crawled over. He got situated on the trike and backed it up. On the back seat of the trike’s chair was the garage door opener and with one click the world opened up to him.

He started cranking. With each crank he felt the muscles in his arm scream out in complaint. He always felt like a Texas oil rig as he brought the pedals around pushing the crank down. As Jim took the corner he felt the right back wheel pop up. “Need to slow down.” He thought. He hurried down the block. “Oh Crap!” he mumbled. The light turned red at the block’s end. Waiting at the corner was a family out for a morning walk. Let the interrogation begin.

“Whoa Kids, check out that cool bike!” The father starts. The children all turn and look. “That’s right – start the freak show,” Jim thinks.

“How fast do you get on that buddy?”

Jim assumes he’s talking to someone else. This guy ain’t no buddy of his.

“Maybe he can’t hear honey. Maybe he lost that when he lost his leg.” His wife says quietly into the husband’s ear – but still loud enough for Jim to hear. It’s not bad enough he’s the crippled on the cycle – now he’s the deaf. “I hope I don’t become a mute as well.” Jim thinks.

“I say there Buddy, how fast do ya get on that thing?” The husband says louder. If you talk louder to a deaf person that doesn’t make them any more hearing – not any more than buying a pair of socks for him brings his leg back. But to play along “I can get up to about 60 miles per hour on a good day,” Jim yelled back at him, as if he was riding a hog and not a tricycle.

“Do you hear that kids? He can get as fast as your momma on a freeway.”

“And they call me disabled.” Jim thought. He was going to respond, but gosh darn it, the lights green. Jim drops the pedals down and puts the trike back in motion. The next two intersections are green and he whizzes through. The bike path is on the right halfway down the last block. As he took the corner and this time the left wheel picked up. “Need to slow down.” He reminded himself one last time.

About a quarter of a mile in he noticed a woman running from the parking lot right for him. “Not that woman! She always tries to talk to me. Pedal faster Jim,” he told himself.

All of a sudden she is standing right in front of him and he is slamming on the breaks to avoid taking out her legs. He would find the irony in that if he wasn’t so angry at her jumping in front of him.

“What are you doing lady? I could have killed you!” He shouts a her.

“I …needed…to ask… you a … question.” He tells him as she tries to catch her breath and talk at the same time. Between her pants she’s trying to get her words out.

“What do you want to ask? Do you want to know how I lost my leg? Do you want to see the scars where they sawed the rest of my leg off? Do you want to know how I do it? How I get up each morning, slide on these damn shorts and eat? Do you want to see if I need help? Or do you want to try to carry on small talk while you try to catch glimpses of my legs, my fake leg and the one the damn Iraqi’s didn’t get to? Or maybe you thought it was a drunk driver and you want me to join MADD. Well? Well? What is it woman? What did you want to ask?”

He fires questions at her as he releases it all on her. He tried not to but he just couldn’t hold back this time. Every morning she watches him. Every morning her accusing eyes follow him as he attempts the trail. And surely she’s just like everyone else. They all want to know how it happened. Then they want to tell him how grateful they are that he served. He didn’t go for them. He didn’t pick up arms and try to kill insurgents because he wanted them to pat him on his head and say thanks. And he sure as hell didn’t want this – the crippled in the special tricycle getting a million questions when all he wanted to do was ride.

“Actually none of that,” she started, “I wanted to know if my daughter could ride with you.” She points over to the parking lot where he sees a beautiful brunette sitting on a similar trike putting on her gloves and helmet. “She doesn’t like to ride next to me because I’m on a bicycle. She says she feels like I talk down to her. Anyway – she’s tried to stop you a few times but usually by the time I see you to try to stop you you’re going so fast I just watch you go by.”

Jim hadn’t taken his eyes off of the brunette. She was the most stunning girl he had seen since he got home.

In the background he could vaguely hear her mother carrying on about Afghanistan and both - right above the knee, - but he wasn’t listening. He was just watching the beauty oilrigging her bike closer to his, as each stroke was taken in slow motion and he could just capture each snapshot image in a carousel of slides to be recalled later. In not enough time she slid up next to his trike and came to a stop.

“Hello Captain. I’m First Lieutenant Susan Watson. He began to question her but then he realized his shirt said “Army Captain.” "Do you mind if I ride with you this morning?” She continued.

Jim didn’t know what to say and simply nodded. She took the lead and started pedaling away. He followed, as a voice in his head screamed at him “Marry her.” That’s not a bad idea” He said as he followed her, the sun rising higher and brighter over that once dark park. As the sun shone so did a smile that most thought was cut off in Iraq with Jim’s leg. And it was a good day.

Poor Boy

They lowered the casket into the ground ever so slowly, careful not to drop it. The wet eyes and endless sobs echoed throughout the cemetery. How had he been led to his eternal resting place? Why had the gates of heaven swung open so eagerly? His friends sat silently reminiscing about how great he was. They remembered the calls to service he had more than filled. He was always there to help them with their chores and activities. He loved this service. He was so unselfish, they reminisced. He was their tutor when they needed help or their ride to the weekly dance when no one else would drive them. He had been their friend and they loved him. What had happened?
The casket gently rested on the dirt beneath it. The Pall Bearers backed away from this sacred ground to go stand with their families. Over four-hundred people had come to see the boy go to his final resting place. The local flower shops were all out of flowers. These flowers covered the grounds of the cemetary like a colorful carpet. The bulk of them were roses, his favorite to give to others. So many people he had lifted from sadness with those, they couldn't be counted.
His brother sat by the hole gazing down. This would be the last of his immediate family he would bury. His parents had died in a hit-and-run two years earlier. He had kissed his brother good bye moments before he was lowered down. He was alone now; very alone.
This tragedy came unexpectedly. No one had been able to foresee this. It just happened. He was doing a service, pulling weeds the day before and was found dead the next day. It just happened in a flash, then he was gone. Many began to wonder why it had happened to such a boy as he. This boy had good grades, a blessed heart, and a spirit of love for others. To many he was the ideal boy. He tried to never say a cruel word to people, though he did slip once in a while. He never cursed and was always one to open the door for the women of all ages. Few got the opportunity to go on a date with him, but those that did would say that he was a perfect gentleman. Never a better boy, many said.
The Pastor began his words of peace for the ground that this boy would rest in. Many drifted back, remembering what a great speaker the boy was. They remembered the talk he had given the week before, during church. He had talked about how much everyone should remember to always cherish life, because one never knows when it will end. Never was any part of America cherishing what they had had, more than this group today. The fall leaves had never looked so great nor the air smell so good. Many were inhaling deeper than usual.
Many students from his school had attended out of respect for him, because of the respect he had always shown for them. He was always willing to share his worldly possessions with them, such as binders, pencils, pens, his locker and other things. In fact at one time he had seven different occupants in his locker because the school was out of lockers. He also almost always gave smiles to strangers in the halls if they looked weary or sad. For these rare acts of kindness from others, these students came.
His swim team also came to see him buried. He had never won a race, but he never stopped cheering for his teammates. He was always there when they lost, with a good word to keep them from getting down. He was always the first one at the meets and the last to leave, once everyone had gotten safely home. After training all Summer, he was a contender for the championships this year. Oh how they would miss him!
The Pastor finished his remarks, followed by a moment of silence. Many of his friends thought back to a time when the boy's turtle had died. This turtle was his favorite among all his others. The friends began to giggle as the silence lingered. When the turtle had died, a ceremony was held. At the end the boy had asked for a moment of silence. The boy was the first to burst laughter, followed by his friends. The thought of looking down at a pile of bricks that covered the final resting spot of a turtle had seemed somewhat funny. Who would ever pay tribute to a rock that moves? The "moving rock" was becoming fertilizer. As the friends giggled about a last moment of silence for fertilizer, they noticed the disapproving looks of those around them. They quickly hushed themselves.
When the seemingly long moment of silence was over, the Pastor walked over to the open hole and threw his own flowers in on the casket. The Pastor remembered how great the boy was. He thought about how the boy would come to church early just so he could sit by the door to welcome the crowd. He would offer to help the elderly with their wheelchairs so that they didn't need to use up their scarce energy. He remembered the boy, also, saving seats for the elderly and the disabled so that they could see and hear the speakers during church.
The Pastor asked his brother to talk. The deceased's brother stumbled to the microphone and opened up a book. He flipped it to an already marked page. He began in a quiet, calm, mourning voice, "I was reading my brother's journal last night, looking for a reason for his death. I found this page:


'I woke up today still crying. I miss Mom and Dad. They seem so far away now. I try to feel them near me, but all I feel is pain. I watched the old video tapes last night. I looked at the old photos last night. I saw how much they loved my brother and me. Oh how I miss them!
'I miss the nights of games and mom-made dinners. My brother tries to cook but is constantly messing up. I wish that alcohol would have never been invented. That way I could still be with my parents. I miss their love. I don't feel very much love, now, except from my brother. I go to church early so I can meet new friends and grow new love. I try to help the elderly so that they might love me. In both situations, I feel that I come up short. Most of the elderly are too old to remember me; just a boy who pushes their wheelchair and gets them good seats. I yell and scream for swim team, but it seems like when I enter the waters the yelling comes to a close. I try to help them feel better when they lose, but I only do this so my tears of failure don't show. I don't feel the love even from my friends. I give them rides places and when they're at their destination, I'm lucky to get a thank you. I'm going to take one last effort to find love.'

"It goes on." His brother said. He flipped the page. Then he flipped another. The whole cemetery remained silent. Almost all the four-hundred people were examining their shoes and the leaves on the ground below them. It began to sprinkle, but not one person's thought went toward the umbrellas next to them. His brother began again, "This next entry is from a few days later and also a few days ago:"

'The day has once again come to end. I went up to at least twenty people the past two days, asking for a date for this weekend. Not one said yes. It's amazing how many people wash their hair on Friday nights. I never realized a date was so much to ask for. This was my last-ditch effort to find love. There is none. The world is lost. I doubt they'll miss me. My brother is the only last love. God bless him. I hope he may live, still loving, without me. This world will need him if it is to survive. I don't think it will. I only hope that people have enough love that the few that come to my funeral will remember my request to have Amazing Grace hummed as they leave. Where I'm going, I think that will be the only thing I'll be able to smile at. Dearest journal, I love you for listening to me as I complained and now I must leave you. I have some bullets to load and fire.'

His brother closed the book and set it on the pulpit. He walked over to his chair, picked up a single white carnation and threw it on the casket. He then started to his car. As he walked, the crowd at first hummed, then sang, "Amazing grace how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now I'm found...". It was heard through out the town and for about three-hundred miles around.
Never, was another act of kindness forgotten or unnoticed.

Advertising that scent of urine and Cheerios

25. Sometimes I think pee smells like Cheerios. - Time Magazine

About 6 weeks ago, Time published an article where the author shared some of the things he had learned about his friends from their lists of "25 things" on Facebook. The last one was the above fact.
Ever since that day I have been trying to figure out a way to help Cheerios use this in a marketing campaign. Every time I thought of one, I would write it down. I think I finally have the time to combine my lists.

"Cheerios and Urine - same great scent, just one tastes better."

"In considering where to get your scent from, remember that of Cheerios and Urine - only one doesn't require you to dig a whole and squat in the forest."

"Cheerios - same great scent as Urine without the need to hold yourself."

"To achieve that great scent of Urine and Cheerios, use Cheerios. A bowl of cereal takes less effort than a big brother holding your child down or having your child watch a scary movie near bed time. "

"Cheerios and Urine - both can be done at a ballpark to get a great smell, but only one do you have to share with a bunch of icky men in a trough."

"Childhood Cheerios Cereal - Brought to you by EPT. The scent on our sticks will lead to the scent your toddler will be clamoring for."

"Cheerios and Urine - Same great scent both only one bowl away."

The Battle Within

Peon – Captain we are under attack!
Captain – Where?
Peon – In the throat. A patrol group first discovered red and white mines this morning and now we are getting reports of other occurrences.
Captain – Immediately deploy a battalion of whites and reds to the battlefront. I’ll see if I can get a message to Central Intelligence to bring in the Fly Fighters.
Peon – Right away Sir.

(a little later)

Captain – Peon what’s there to report?
Peon – The Battalions of White and Red are on their way. The Flyer Fighters have yet to arrive, but we have new a new problem.
Captain – What now?
Peon – The throat has received new damage. Overnight a group of their fighters flew in and laid a stretch of mucus just like pilots in Viet Nam with Napalm. The mucus is everywhere. It’s turning into a slippery situation.
Captain – Right. Get on the horn to CI and tell them we need immediate action. Have them send in bombers with Vitamin C and Sudafed. Have the White Cell Troop send up flares for drops and have them start dropping, Tell CI to get those bombers in there every four hours until I tell them otherwise.
Peon – Yes Sir. Right away Sir!
Captain – What is the status with the white and red celled troops?
Peon – They arrived late last night but they were fatigued. So they rested this morning and are on the attack. It is a hard battle. There seems to be a lot of cell to spot combat. The air war is helping but this is a hard fight.
Captain – Well give them time. Have them work in shifts so that no group gets too tired. And then -----

(All of a sudden the grown beneath them begins to shake and they hear the noise of a wounded duck quack.)

Captain – Oh crap! A Cough! A cough! We are in trouble now. Ignore everything else. Get ahold of CI and get the cough syrup dispensing fighters in the air now. Now!!!

(Later)

Captain – Report?
Peon – We are taxing the carrier but we are getting much done. The Syrup Dispensers went on full alert a few hours ago and are flying hourly drops into the mouth and throat. Additionally, The bombers are making 4-hour rotating flights into the throat. Lastly, the Flyer Fighters are dropping soup and water whenever they can get a flight in (and not get in a mid air crash with the Bombers or the Dispensers). The white and Red cell troops are still battling it out on the ground level and are making process. The mucus is breaking up and our troops are getting a stronger hold. They are still running into the occasional mine and we have lost many, especially from the white celled troops. But we are seeing progress.
Captain – Good. Very Good. Keep me informed.

(A Voice comes over the PA)
This is the Central Intelligence. We are declaring Victory at this time. Good work to all our troops and air force. We fought a hard fight but we won and are better for it. We mourn those red and white celled troops that perished in the fight, but we will continue to live and go out as a way to honor their memory. A very much thank you to our Captain and his Peon. We have been victorious.