time for something completely different part 3

more nom de plume stuff.

jmh

 

East Wind Go Away…

And come again some way way other day.  It hasn’t been a whole lot of fun around these parts since…what?…Monday morning?  The Santa Ana winds have been blowing off and on for way too long.  Blowing all kinds of annoying stuff up around and into our breathing spaces.
 
Dad woke up Monday morning sneezing and all clogged up.  His nose.  Not the other kind.  He was miserable.  He didn’t even have much fun playing with me because he kept sneezing and blowing his nose.  Finally he told mom he was leaving.  Hoping his sneezing and blowing and thumping headache would go away if he went to his place where the wind wasn’t as bad. 
 
Well, he says it did though he still has the headache off and on.  I wonder if I have sinus headaches?  Or allergies.  Now mom has what ever it is the wind is blowing around.  She isn’t in any mood to hang with me.  Or do any of our other stuff together.  She’s miserable.  Stuffed up with a sneezing sinus headache too.
 
I’ve heard her talking on the phone with dad and they wonder if they have become allergic to me.  Oh, my goodness!!!  I certainly hope not.  Though dad is fairly certain it’s just something from somewhere that the devil winds have stirred up and deposited here in Cucamonga and our house in particular.
    
Mom was sorta feeling better this morning but not really.  Dad was supposed to come over and they were gonna hang some new pictures and I was gonna play with dad and have lots of kitty fun.  Well, mom wasn’t in the mood for picture hanging let alone me or dad. So he’s over where ever he is still and I’m stuck here with a crabby mommy.  Oh, well.  I know I’m loved any ways.

I heard mom tell dad if she isn’t better tomorrow she was going to hang out with dad at their other place all day.  Yeah, where ever it is.  Which means I’m stuck again and probably won’t get to see dad till Super Bowling Sunday.  That’s when they are gonna grill hot dogs and watch the big game.  Maybe I’ll get some canned food.

Boy, I sure hope that’s still the plan.  I miss everybody. 
 
Meow for Now!!

Kwayla

time for something completely different part 2

Here’s some more of the nom de plum stuff.   

jmh

 

The Week Plods On 

I’ve been a big pest around these parts for the past day or two.  Mom asked dad if he would take me to their other place with him.  Dad said no.  Mom said she would help me get the request in writing and make it more official for dad to take me away from mom for a few days.   Dad still said no.   Plus he’s been very busy playing his new wii nine ball pool game.  No time for cleaning up after kitties.  Or so he thinks.

See, I make throw-up messes and other stuff around the house and dad wants no part of that action in his still new place.  Or my mom’s other place.  What I don’t understand is they have two places to hang out.  Me?  I’m stuck here.  In fact stuck here at times with no one to bother or other wise piss off with my kitty type antics.  Is it any wonder I’m a big pain in the neck when some one is here at this place?  I’m thinking probably not. 

 
Dad is coming over here for tonight and the next night.  I would bite him as soon as he gets here but I miss him and he’ll probably play with me or other wise chase me around the house for a while after he gets here. I also heard mom and dad talking about some big deal outing this coming Friday morning.  I need to make plans.  Big kitty plans and some sort of stow-a-way deal in dad’s car so I can go with them.   Shhhh!  They won’t suspect a thing.

Meow for now.

Kwayla

 

A Kitty Road Trip(?)

If you recall mom and dad were going to go on a visit this past Friday.  They were going to go visit a famous painter’s studio and look at his paintings.  Mr. John Budicin’s work to be exact.  Well, I of course needed to tag along but I wasn’t invited.  That’s pretty much standard for any and all outings my folks go on.  The last thing I hear when they leave is: “You’re in charge Kwayla.”  Harrumph.  Not this time.

I had my little knapsack packed and ready to go.  All I needed was to get into the garage and hide out until mom and dad got in the car.  I would sneak into the car and hide in the back seat keeping very quiet till they got to Mr. Budicin’s studio.  Then I would be like:  “Surprise!!! Here I am!!! Let’s go look at the paintings! 

Getting into the garage is pretty easy.  I do that all the time because they always leave the big screen door open when they go out there.  It’s a sorta no brain-er to wander through the garage smelling all the cool smells and stuff.  That is until someone notices me and yells for me to go back inside the house.  This time that wasn’t going to happen.  No one would see me until I wanted them to see me.

It was getting close to the time for mom and dad to leave.  I was sitting on the back of the couch looking outside and pretending not to notice anything.  Dad went out to the garage and left the screen open as usual.  Mom was in the bedroom finishing her make up stuff.  The perfect opportunity.  I grabbed my knapsack from behind the magazine rack and headed out into the garage as well.

Dad didn’t see me and I hid behind one of the trash cans.  It was hard for me not to start sniffing around because all the smells were sorta over powering me.  Not unlike Homer Simpson and donuts.  I resisted the urge to sniff around and just sat there sniffing the back of the trash can.  It was pretty good smelling so it wasn’t too hard to wait there.
 
Dad put some stuff in the car then went back into the house.  But I didn’t get a chance to sneak into the car.  A minute or two later mom and dad came out after telling me I was in charge.  Dad got mom in the car and closed the door.  I was beginning to realize that I hadn’t actually thought the whole deal through.  I was about to be left behind.  Again.  Left behind this time in the garage and in the dark for who knows how long.  Something I hadn’t counted on. 

I was about to have a panic attack.  Something that happens when I hear odd stuff or dad makes this weird noise and I come running thinking I may have to do CPR on him.  He and mom think it’s funny.  I don’t.  But that’s another story.

Anyway, how could they just leave and not check around to see if I was still in the house?   How could I be in charge if I wasn’t even in the house?  Suddenly going on a kitty road trip became a very very bad idea.  Things were spiraling out of control.  They were leaving and I was going to be stuck in the garage.  Sure, I had my knapsack but it was the first time I’d ever packed it and I only put in a couple of pieces of dry cat food.  What did I know about stuff?  Not much obviously.
 
The car was leaving and the garage door was coming down.  I came out from my hiding place but they didn’t see me.  The door was almost all the way down when I barely made it outside.

Now what?  I’d been outside a few times and it was sorta ok.  Ok because I knew I could just go to the front door and somebody would let me back in. This time was different.  If that stupid poodle from a few houses down was out I’d be in big trouble.  I had to do something fast.

Thankfully, the house next door had the garage door open a little bit.  I know the lady who lives there and she has a key to my house so she can take care of me when mom goes away for more than a day or two.  So I just went into her garage and sat by the back door and kitty cried until she found me. 
 
I was never so happy to see her.  She was pretty surprised to see me too.  Especially when she saw my knapsack.  She thought I was running away from home and I just got scared and came back.  I let her believe that.  I didn’t want her to know exactly what was going on.  It was better that that way.  She’s a nice lady and I made her promise not to say anything to mom and dad.  She said ok and took me back to my house.  Boy, oh boy.  I was one happy kitty after that.  I made myself a sorta promise not to try that again.  Well, not anytime soon.

Mom and dad had a nice time at the painter’s studio looking at all of his nice oil paintings.  Mr. Budicin told them to come back anytime they wanted to.  That was very nice of him.  To bad I didn’t get a chance to meet him.  Maybe next time.

J. Filippi Winery,  an oil by John Budicin. 

The rest of my weekend was just the usual.  I left some throw up for mom and dad on Sunday morning.  Just to show them how much I love them.  Aren’t I good kitty? 
 
Meow for now,

Kwayla  

Kwayla kitty

jmh

belinda and her friends

i’ve tried to write at least three other blogs today with no luck.  i’ve been distracted.  like i’ve taken care of friends other than myself.  no, i’m not looking for sympathy or whatever.  i’m just sayin’.  at any rate, my writing stuff has more or less taken a backseat to other stuff.  all that being said…

‘belinda and her friends’ a book of poetry by my friend, puma perl, is something you all should consider and buy.  in my humble opinion, she is the finest poet  here  or anywhere else at the time.  sure it’s high praise.  however, i speak the truth. 

heroin and alcohol memories.  a sorta charlie bukowski of the female gender stuff.  nyc.  junkie alkie nyc.  mean street nyc.  by a lady who was there and is still there.  but only writes from those hard edged vivid memories of her past junkie alkie sodden dreams of nyc street life. 

after she cleaned her act up she paid some more dues by trying to help the aids inflicted street life folks she left behind.  no, she doesn’t have aids.  she got lucky. 

you’ll get lucky if you buy her most recent book of poems, ‘belinda and her friends’.  trust me.  go to: http//www.erbacce-press.com and find her book.  you won’t be sorry.  you’ll be doing yourself a favor.

jmh

say what(?)

liquid space
keeping pace
triple images
dance in place.
if you blink
or stop to think
they all
counter clockwise
down the sink.
the sewer system
thrives on them.
nothing but wisdom
and alligator phlegm.
problems come
problems go
nothing much left
of this show.
its maybe that
or maybe this
usually just
hit and miss.

jmh

memories of phil collins(?)

there was something in the air alright.

she was a bit short but lovely

with legs to die for and a set of feet

that matched the gams like perfect crystal

tumblers filled with single malt scotch.

a little acne but nothing that wouldn’t

clear up after a time or two

in between the sheets.

i thought i was being discreet.

apparently not.

or was it something else?

you caught me looking at you.

i caught you looking at me.

the situation was awkward at best.

a lovely short pink skirt and those legs.

just divine.

the pink was perfect against the asian olive tones

of your skin.

i thought only of sin
 
those almost perfect feet.

it became a sorta open i’m lookin’ at

you deal going back

and forth.

sexual tension in the air.

oh, lord.  oh, yeah.

sadly, the wrong place and the wrong time.

so it always seems. 

time to go. 

you just stood there alone.

full on face.

staring.

smiling.

i was radiant.

the timing so bad i ached.

i just wanted to take your hand

walk someplace and talk.

to see if it was real

or just another phantom

in the night.

 

jmh

oscar night

yeah, oscar night, it’s tonight.  it ain’t what it used to be.  then of course just what the hell is?  i don’t go to movies anymore.  the whole experience is just annoying these days on all sorts of levels.  i buy em instead.  cheap.  watch em at home.  very seldom anything new.  for the most part the old stuff of my youth or somewhat newer stuff.  yeah, even the stuff from before i was born.  movies i can watch.  movies i can relate to.  movies that might even mean something to this old scarred and pissed off lion.  all that being said, i have something for this used to be, sacred evening.  something sad and tragic.  my take on one of the last sad acts of the original king of cool, steve mcqueen.

the dust and heat…

hung in the tijuana air like a freeze frame from hell.  cars honked and clamored looking for an inch in which to move.  nothing ever did.  in sunglasses and old clothes he moved through it all.  no one knew him.  he moved slowly looking for the place.  if you looked at him closely you could see the disease at work.  taking what was left of his life and mocking him with each painful step.  finally the place.  the earthly waiting room for hell. 

the bell above the door tinkled when he opened it.  as the door closed the hell from the streets outside stopped and the smell of the office over came him.  a small greasy headed man got up from behind an equally greasy desk and spoke.

ah, senor bullet, you have come.
yes, on the phone, you said you could help me?
si.  yes, i can.  por favor, follow me.

through the cluttered outer office and into the dank dismal treatment rooms they went.  a strange but familiar odor growing in the man’s nose.  the small mexican finally stopped at a dirty examination table.  he turned and said.   

please, senor, you must deesrobe.
ok. the man replied.

he was resigned to it.  it was all that was left.  this final sad humility of an approaching death.  a last chance stop on the road of life.

hokay, meester bullet, now you must assept these enemas of the coffees to cure you cancers.  por favor, on the tables.  you must spread you nalgas for
me.

a tear formed in the corner of his eye as the man moved to comply.  only to be used as substance by a very large nasty house fly.

outside the dust, heat, and noise, for that moment, stopped.  something had gone from us all.  forever.  in an instant they all began to move.  again.  to oppress.  again.  moving us closer to this hell on earth.

jmh

SoCal Madness, the Final Chapter

the two men in the car full of glass, dead bodies and blood hadn’t said a word until they stopped.  ‘what the fuck?’  ‘no shit, what the fuck?  we’re covered with blood and no windshield is gonna get us pulled over in a heart beat.’   ‘yeah.  ok. i was gonna suggest we drive it up into the foothills and push it off some cliff and down into a ravine but i dunno now.’  ‘that still might work. let’s check the trunk.’  inside the trunk the men found some beach towels and a blanket.  ‘ok.  we are in luck. we wipe the car down and stick the dead ladies in the trunk.  we just have blood on our backsides.  if we make it without getting pulled over and don’t have to get out of the car we will be ok.’  ‘man, if we get pulled over we are off to the lethal injection room faster than you can say the lapd planted all this evidence on us.’  
 
the men had been very lucky so far.  no sirens sounded in the night other than the normal stuff bit it was off in the distance.  nothing anywhere close.  they had been lucky indeed.  one of the men walked out to the street and told the third man to follow them and if they got pulled over to just keep on going.  no sense in all of them going down.  the men had decided to take the freeway and hope the late hour wouldn’t have many highway patrolmen out or if there were they would hopefully be busy with drunks.  plus it was the quickest way up to the foothills.   as it turned out their luck held and they made it up into the foothills in no time. 
 
the road was deserted and they wound their way up into the san gabriel mountains unmolested.  they found a good spot after about 15 minutes of driving.  a turn out with no guard rail.  they pulled in and wiped down the car once more making sure there were no fingerprints or shoe prints in or on the car.  even with gloves it paid to be careful. they left the two bodies in the trunk and pushed it over the edge of the ravine.  the car fell several hundred feet and landed on it’s roof.  thankfully, no explosion like in the movies.  with that they all got into the other car and made their way back home.  by the time they got back to their homes it was almost 2am.  the two bloodied men showered and bagged up their clothes for later disposal. 
 
the insanity of a summer saturday night continued unabated as the men went about taking care of their business.  one of the men phoned the other two and they met again near the dumpster.  ‘look. i say we do some more of these bastards.  we may never get another chance.  if we get popped.  we get popped.  we been through this before.  screw it.’  ‘ok. yeah, why not?’  ‘alright. let’s do it.’ 
 
almost 3am and the parade of human stupidity was still in full swing out on the street.  perhaps even more so at that late night or early morning hour.  a night of drinking and drugs having taken control of the already stupid assholes vapid minds.  the men were loaded up and ready to go once again.  they didn’t have long to wait.  the car was moving down the street with more noise than they had heard in some time.  the plan worked again perfectly.  two more dead and disposed of assholes. 
 
on their way back from the disposal of the last bodies and car.  the men decided to do one more job and make it a statement.  they would leave the car in the street with the radio blaring and the dead left were they died in the car.
 
simple enough but would anyone figure out their insane statement?  the three men didn’t care.  they were high on all the adrenaline and death.   ‘only thing is we don’t do the last one on our street.  to close for comfort.  we can’t take that chance.’  ‘ok.’  ’sure we should be able to find something just about anywhere.  and they did find something very quickly in the next town over.  it hadn’t taken any time at all. 
 
they had pulled to the curb when they heard a car coming from behind them.  radio blasting.  4am on a sunday morning and the soon to be terminally stupid were still working at being the assholes they were.  the three friends decided to just stop the car and waste whoever was in it.   they got out of the car and stood in the street.  3 abreast.  blocking the road with their bodies.  the car approached and slowed to a stop.  the two shooters went to each side of the car and the third held his ground holding a tire iron he had pulled from the trunk. 
 
the three men had hit the jack pot.  the car was full.  the two shooters emptied their weapons into the car.  it was over in a few seconds.  though amazingly one of the occupants in the car made it through the killing zone and ran from the car.  the friend with the tire iron went after the kid and caught him with a flying tackle.  army training kicked in and he broke the kid’s neck with the simple technique he had been taught many years before.  he picked the dead kid up and brought him back to the car and laid him out on the hood.  the other friends were in their car and had it ready to go.  he picked up the tire iron from the street and joined his three friends.  they left the scene and headed home. 
 
the car sat there in the street with it’s stereo blasting and the dead kid on the hood for five minutes or so before another car load of assholes came down the street and found what had been left there.  the police were called and they spent well into the the daylight hours of sunday morning trying to figure out just what had happened.  
 
of course they never did.  they thought it was this or maybe that but it really wasn’t any of those things.  then the other cars started turning up.  or more precisely parents started to finally wonder where their stupid children were and called the police.  all the cars turned up and the dead bodies found.  the last to turn up was the car in the ravine.  it took several weeks before some one pulled off into the turnout, got out of their car, and actually looked down over the edge.
 
all the killings made a big splash in the media.  there was the usual tsk tsking, along with smirking feigned outrage at the carnage but it was good for ratings and the sharks that they were kept it up for as long as they could.  the late development of the car in the ravine added fuel to their sanctimonious eye brow raising.  however, in the end, the story just faded away like they all eventually do.  the police gave up and went about their business of trying to quell the turning tide of insanity that seemed to have a death grip on society.
 
the three friends?  they never spoke of that night again.  not even when it was just the three of them sitting and sipping a beverage out on the patio during the patio drinking season.  they had made their point though no one actually got what the point was.  but they knew and that after all that was all that really mattered. 
 
fini
 
jmh

SoCal Madness, part 4

several days later the the car and dead body were finally found when  someone passing by noticed a strong odor emanating from the parked car.  the death of the asshole barely made a blip on the tv or radio news.  though it did manage to grab a few inches of space in the local fish wrap.  the police made a cursory attempt at trying to find any witnesses to the crime and the whole matter was seemingly dropped soon after. 
 
the 3 desperate friends were buoyed by this turn of events.  ‘it’s like i told you guys.  the cops have their hands full.  just another dead body among lots of dead bodies.  they don’t have the time or the manpower for any of this.’  so with that the next night they shot out three consecutive street lights on the street where they lived.  it was a wednesday night and they planned to carry out the next mad part of the plan late saturday night and early sunday morning of the coming weekend.  that is if the electric company didn’t fix the lights before then.  
 
saturday came and the lights were still out of order.  they caught a break as their wives or girlfriends had gone out of town and off to vegas for the weekend.   a simple enough plan and worth the money it cost the three men to send them away.  the three men met for their final meeting before the insane rampage was set to begin.  ‘i’m still the shooter.’  ‘yeah, fine.  but i’ve been thinking we may need another piece.  just in case things go sideways.’  ‘hmm, maybe.’  ‘he’s right. no problem, i’ll bring my .22 auto along for fire support.’  ’shorts only.’  ‘yep, and i’ll attach the stocking to the ejector.’  ‘good deal.’  ‘ya know we may need a heavy piece if things really go sideways.’  ‘too much noise.’  ‘if i tape a plastic coke bottle to the barrel of my .357 i can get one good heavy round off with about as much noise as the .22.  we might need it.’  ‘ok.’  ‘alright set it up and bring it.’  the three men spent the day as they normally did.  however, late that night around midnight, they all crept quietly and unseen from their homes.  they met near one of the trash dumpsters not far from the street. 
 
the shooter was dressed in light clothing to make it easier for the cars to see him as he stepped off the curb and into their path.   the other two were dressed in dark clothes.  as a prop, the shooter also had a six pack of tall buds in cans.   they stood around not saying much while they waited for their first victim.  they didn’t have too long to wait.
 
like always they heard the car coming several blocks away.  the shooter and his friends got ready.  the shooter on one side of the street and the other two along with their fire support pieces on the other.  as the car drew closer the loud music thumped and banged like concussions from an explosion.   when it was about 30 yards away the shooter stepped from the curb with the six pack in his hand.  the .22 in his other and at his side.  he wobbled into the street and stood in the car’s path.  
 
the car slowed and stopped.  there were two occupants.  both males in their 20’s.  they stopped and began yelling at the shooter to get the fuck out of the street and out of their way.  the music still blared.  the shooter walked up to the driver’s side and quickly put two shots in the driver’s face.  as he pushed the dead body to the side he put two more shots into the head of the passenger.  it was over before it began. the other members of the mad group came out of the shadows and dealt with the vehicle and it’s dead passengers.  as planned, one drove the car several blocks away and the other followed.  the shooter stepped back into the shadows to watch and wait. fifteen minutes later the other men were back and reported no problems.  the car and bodies were left to be found at a later date and time when the smell would make them visible. 
 
not long after their return the familiar blare of another car stereo was heard, this time from the other direction.  just like the first time the shooter stepped in front of the car.  the car stopped and more yelling for him to get out of the road.   he walked up to the driver side window and put two shots into the startled face of the driver.  then 2 more into the passenger’s head before he realized there were two more people in the back seat.  he got off two more shots into the chest of the third victim as the fire support .22 took care of the last passenger in a similar fashion.  they all quickly secured the dead bodies and the car was driven off in an other direction to be parked and abandoned with it’s dead cargo still inside.
 
when the three insane friends met again, by the side of the dumpster, they were amazed and happy at what had gone down.  it had been fairly easy.  even their cold blooded murder had been easy, they said.  no regrets or sadness at what they had done.  they also agreed the fire support pieces had been a very good idea.  in the midst of all this happiness a third car was heard.
 
the three went to their positions and waited.  this car had the stereo at levels even they had not heard before.  it seemed as if they could hear the studs vibrate in the homes on the street as the car approached.  it was one thing to hear them vibrate inside a house but to hear them vibrate while standing out on the street gave them all pause.  this car was probably waking the dead.  the shooter knew he had to be quick with this one.  someone might look outside to see just who this asshole was as he passed by.  
 
there were only two people in this car.  the driver and her passenger, another young woman.  as the car neared him the shooter stepped off the curb and in front of the car.  this time instead of yelling the driver laid on the horn and kept coming.   the shooter stood his ground and the car barely stopped before it hit him.  he knew time was short.  so did the fire support shooter.  the main shooter emptied his magazine into the front window.  the support piece emptied into the passenger side of the car.  the 20 rounds did what they were meant to do.  though it was the one round from the silenced .357 that killed the driver.  however, the shattered windshield presented them with a major problem.  
 
without saying a word the shooter joined the driver in the car and they drove away from the mad scene.  the other friend followed.  none of them was sure if anyone had looked outside with all the horn honking and general loud insanity coming from the street.  they would know soon enough if sirens were heard.  the stereo had been turned off and the shooter, who was in the passenger seat, quickly broke out what was left of the windshield.  that took care of the obvious problem.  the other problem was there were four people in the front seat.  two of them being dead.  the driver pulled into an alley behind a small strip mall.  fortunately for the men it was a very dark alley.  the third friend knew they were in a fix and didn’t follow them into the alley.  he pulled to the curb, shut off his lights, and waited.   
 
jmh
 
 
 

SoCal Madness, part 3

the early spring and summer passed with little change from any other early spring and summer.  the three friends sat and drank each evening in the soft summer evening light of southern california.  the summer progressed into the hot damp nasty dog days of august.  the time when sleep was fitful and restless at best.   the thumpity thump of the weekend car traffic made it even worse.  sleep became a rare and precious commodity.  for the three old friends the lack of sleep, once again, became a part of their daily evening conversation.  

‘man, this heat and humidity is killing me. i can’t sleep. when i do doze off the chumps and their car stereos jolt my old ass wide awake.’   ‘yeah, it’s a never ending cycle this time of year.’  ‘you boys had enough?’  ‘enough of what?’  ‘oh, shit, he’s back on that again?’  ‘what do you think?  of course i am.   you think i want to end up like my old man and piss my pants every time i take a leak?  stuck with wearing a kotex in my underwear for years, until i finally die?  no, thanks.  i’m not going to out live my future. i’m not doing that.  there comes a time when what’s the point?  it’s quality not quantity.  i mean to take some of these assholes out.  if i die, fine.  if i get caught the state can buy me kotex till i die.  fuck it.  the state ain’t gonna catch me.  no way.  i’m fucking doing this.  if you guys help, it will be a piece of cake.  if not, well, i’ll manage.  somehow.’ 

as usual the other two friends just sat there and looked at each other.  neither saying a word for what was probably half an hour.  finally one of them spoke, ‘ok.  yeah, pants pissing.  jesus.  i hear you.  life just sorta gets worse and worse.  daily shit goes down the tube faster than an unassisted hard on disappears.’  ‘ain’t that the truth?  it’s not like we have much going for us.  i mean other than this.  and this is just, well, getting to the point of, sorry, just some sort of sewing circle type shit but with drinks.’  ’sad but true.  ok.  looks like we are signing on to this madness of yours.  what the fuck?’  ‘i guess we are.  seems like we may as well.  i don’t want to end up stinking of piss and shit in my really golden years.  fuck that.  either a blaze of glory or the state can deal with my sorry ass.  either way, i don’t care.’  ‘yeah, seems like that’s the case.  ok. count me in.’  they rose as one and touched bottles or glasses together and sealed the insane mad plan.

to saner men, this pact, seemingly dredged up from the bowels of hell would have given them pause.  why should lack of sleep and the stupidity of the young, along with the fears of the old, make anyone want to kill?  indeed,  why?  to those three men the answer would be, why not?  why not, retaliate against the rampant madness all around them?  why not take out something that is nothing more than a cancer on the breast of society?  take out something that is abhorrent to any civilized man.   yes, so it seems, the mad plan had some legs.  madness, seemingly coming to a head.  the one who’s original plan it was, shook his head and said, ‘finally.’  

several days passed until the madness was spoken of again.  ‘ok. look, we need a rehearsal before the harder stuff goes down. i have someone in mind.  you guys know who it is.’  ‘yeah.  tell me about it.  i know.  ha ha.  the asshole who every morning before 6am has his car radio blaring for 5 or 10 minutes in the garage while god knows what the hell is going on in his house.’  ‘right on, my brother.  it’s that dumb fucker.’  ’ha ha.  i’m with you on that.  sure, we should have done him long ago.  sorry ass inconsiderate fuck that he is.’  ‘ok. look. we do this guy first.  it ain’t gonna be easy with the early morning light but we have history going for us.  we have the real early morning assholes  then there’s a break until this dick rolls out to work.  we have a window of maybe 5 minutes, way more than enough time for the deal to go down.  i say we go monday morning.  agreed?’  ’ok.’  ‘yeah, sure.’  ’solid.  we go monday morning.’

sunday night the three now totally insane friends met for the evening patio drinking.  ‘alright.  the asshole starts his car and has the car stereo blaring.  he goes back in the house for 5 or so minutes, doing god knows what.  he comes back out and leaves.  when he comes out i’m in the garage and i double tap him.  we toss him in the car and drive away.’  ’ i like it.  man, like you said the car stereos covers the .22 shorts.’  ‘yeah, we should have done this piece of crap long ago.  what were we thinking?’  the reply came in unison, ‘damned if i know.’  ‘one thing though.  we need to police the brass.’  ‘oh, shit.  yeah, we sure do.’  ‘piece of cake.  i’ll just attach some nylon stocking to the ejector and let it catch the brass.  lots easier than fumbling around on the ground trying to find it.’ 

so, the next morning the three friends were up even before the rat bastards and their car stereo insanity began.  ‘ok, first thing.  we all wear gloves.’  ‘yes.’  ‘right.’  ‘i cap him.  we toss him in the car and you drive him a couple of blocks away.  you follow and bring him back.  remember to lock the car and be sure the windows are rolled up.  you guys drive over to the super wally’s mart and toss the keys in one of the dumpsters out back.  or down some drain someplace as you drive by.  don’t matter, just get rid of them and make sure no one sees you.’   ’solid. no problem.’  ‘i hope so.  if we pull this one off, we are in.  the late night early morning stuff will be a piece of cake.’  ‘right on.’  ‘let’s do it.’

thirty minutes later the man who did the same thing each and every morning started his car in the garage and left it there with the radio blaring.  it was only a few minutes before 6am, but of course he, being an asshole,  was totally oblivious to his own rampant stupidity.  it was to be his last morning of such utter disregard for his fellow neighbors.  as he stepped from the house and into his garage two barely audible shots rang out.  the dumb ass was dead before he hit the ground.  the two other friends quickly gathered him up and tossed him into the front seat of the car.  with the gatage door closing one of the friends drove him off with the radio still at ungodly levels for any time of the day.  the other friend followed.  three blocks to the east they found a quite residential street and left the car with the dead asshole stuffed down on the floorboards of the passenger side of the car.  locked it up then dumped his car keys in a storm drain two blocks further east. 

the whole sad affair was over and done within 10 minutes, tops.  the three friends gathered at a local ihop for breakfast to celebrate and discuss their mornings work.  ‘boys, like i have been telling you.  simple easy. right?’  ‘yeah, easy as pie.’  ‘ok.  when do we start for real?’  ‘let’s don’t get too greedy.  we wait for a day or two and see what happens.  then we go for it.’ 

jmh

ya know, i try and try to edit this shit to look like somethig that’s more or less ok. no matter what the fuck i do wordpress can’t deal with it. sweet.

SoCal Madness, part 2

it hadn’t always been like this, the dim witted borderline imbeciles driving around trying to be cool with their car stereos blaring at ungodly levels.  as a mater of fact, the whole damn thing just more or less snuck up on the saner of the population.  oh sure, back in the late 80’s early 90’s, some cities passed ordinances concerning loud car stereos and such.  those ordinances got buried in the crime wave of drugs and the general stupidity of the general population causing local cops more trouble and work than they had cops on patrol.  plus even the dull and stupid have to work at some point in their dull and stupid lives doing dull and stupid work.  so the ear shattering rancid music wasn’t particularly bad during the work week.  at times, it could be but for the most part it was on the weekends when the dull and stupid got even more dull and stupid.   the spring and summer months meant weekends full of bad music played at levels that could probably be heard on mars.

the next evening the 3 nam vets met again for the second night of the season of patio drinking and chatting.  they had been doing it for so long they had forgotten just how the whole deal had begun.  it didn’t matter, as it was really just time to get away from their wives or girlfriends.  a time for some booze and no female asking them dull insipid questions like why they needed to drink every day with their weird and or loser friends among other things.  ah, yes, like most men they had bid farewell to the simple life long ago.  the evening, being a monday, and of course, a work week night meant for a relatively peaceful evening for outside sitting and sipping.  the peace and quiet was only broken at odd intervals by the ear shattering so called music. 

  

‘you know i don’t think i’m going to make it.’  ‘make what?  are you sick or something?’  ‘no, nothing like that.  i mean, i don’t think i’m going to make it through another summer of this blaring car stereo shit.’  the other two friends gave each other a look.  the other friend continued.  ‘you know it could be done.’  ‘the man is talking in riddles this evening.  now what?’  ‘killing the dumb ass kids as they drive down the street.’  ‘man, you are crazy. there’s no way you are gonna get away with that action.  it’s just plain crazy.’  ‘i don’t like it any better than you do but he’s right, ain’t no way.  none of us do, but man, that’s just crazy.’  ‘i don’t think so.  i think it could be pulled off.  actually fairly simple.  you want to hear about it or not?’  the idea made the other two men uncomfortable but they decided to listen to their friend’s crazy idea.  they had nothing better to do and it was a nice warm spring time evening.  ‘alright. go ahead.’  ’ok.  the really annoying shit goes down on weekends late in the evening or early morning when the really stupid crazy ones are out being annoying and probably stoned, drunk, or both.’ 

he noticed he had their attention so he continued.  ‘there isn’t much traffic on the road other than them.  you can hear them coming from blocks away.  now remember, they have the windows down.  we could use a simple…’  ‘now hold on, sport.  what’s this we shit?  don’t be dragging us into your murder one conviction.’  ‘you gonna listen or what?  just hear me out.’  ’shit.  go ahead.’  ‘thank you.  we take a page from the viet cong tax collectors.  we just step out into the road and stop them.  instead of asking for tax money, we cap them with two behind the ear or where ever.  see, we have several things in our favor.  night time, rolled down windows, and the loud music to cover the gun shots.  which wouldn’t be that loud anyways.  a .22 auto loaded with shorts.  pretty quiet even without the help of the music.’   

the other two friends sat there in a stunned silence.  they realized he wasn’t kidding and had seemingly thought things out enough to the point, where he knew he would need their help if he wanted to carry out his insane plan.   one of them spoke.  ‘yeah, ok.  it might be night but what about the street lights?’  ‘we shoot a couple of them out.  it takes edison weeks to replace a broken street light.  if they ever do.’  ‘you really think some stoned out drunken asshole kid is gonna stop just cause you jump out in front of him?’  ’sure with a few props.  they need to see you in the dark so some sorta light colored clothing needs to be worn, and most importantly, you are carrying a six pack of beer.  they think you’re just some old drunken vato and at the least they slow way down or stop in hopes of snagging a brew off your drunk ass.  the .22 auto is in your hand but out of sight.  they aren’t gonna see it anyway.  they will be looking at the beer.  they stop.  you walk up to the window.  the music is still blaring.  you stick the gun in the car and pop pop.  it would be over before they knew what hit them.’ 

            

more stunned silence.  ‘alright.  what happens if there’s a car load of the fucks?’  ‘plenty of ammo in the clip to pop them all.  they will be to stunned to manage much of any kind of response if you hammer down fast enough…no real problem.’   ‘man.  you are talking about cold blooded murder.’  ‘yeah. i guess so.  i don’t care anymore.  things are just too out of control.  the stupid breed like rabbits and then don’t even bother to half ass take care of their kids or teach them anything half ass useful.  it’s every man for himself.  the fuckers don’t care about anything.  you’ve seen them out at the mailbox.  they open it it up and just toss the junk mail out into the street for the wind to take away.  they think it doesn’t matter or they are just to important or stupid to be bothered with throwing away trash.  they are oblivious to any normal human decency when they are out in public.  you go to a store, you better give them a wide berth or you are asking for trouble.  especially if they are fucked up, which is pretty much all the time.  yeah, i know we got fucked up too.  but we didn’t try to get into a fight just because someone wandered by and we didn’t like the looks of them.  i’m sick of these fuckers and it’s time to deal with them.’  the second night of the patio drinking and chatting season had come to an abrupt end.

jmh