“Get too the chopper,” I yell in my best Arnold Schwarzenegger too the others, flipping the lifeless girl -the girl I was here for; paid to come get- over my shoulder, just as a bunch of very pissed off Cultists, clad in a strange mix of robes and automatic weapons, pursue us from the temple and into the ceremonial square.
The blades of the Huey whip up dust, and toss the hair around the heads that sit atop the meter high stakes that line the way to the temple as she descends slowly, then hovers a mere feet off the ground. Our pilot ready too run at a moments notice; Steve unloads a torrent of bullets from the his mini-gun from the gunners position at the back of the troop compartment, cargo hold, or what ever the fuck you call it. Laying down a carpet of hellish lead at our newly made friends. The first row never saw it coming until they were being chewed to pieces. The others, unfortunately, were smart enough to take cover where ever they could find it.
I don’t brother to really look back, too take stock in the damage Steve caused. What I saw was enough to know that I didn’t have to run and shoot and dodge all while trying to balance the girl at the same time.
The team hit the Huey’s deck, two of my guys head to the other side and start to shoot widely out the that door into the jungle to keep the heads down of anyone trying to flank our LZ while the others turn and help cover me as I huff and puff my old ass towards them.
The guys help lift me and our package into the chopper, and we’re all barely in when the pilot decides that he’s had enough fun and begins to lift off.
The trees and foliage melt together, turning into one large carpet of green as we go.
“Fuck me,” I say too no one in particular, “Hell of a way to make a buck.”
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Friday, March 18, 2011
Monday, September 27, 2010
From “ROCK OF AGES” to “ROCK-N-ROLL FANTASY CAMP”. WTF? Why Don’t You Call Yourself Homer and Grab a Doughnut Already.
I was in a half of a Sunday morning coma, trolling through the Sunday Chicago’s Tribune, and I was like: “What the fuck?”. Wrapped around said paper was a full page ad for something that was supposed to be: “A Heck Of A Good Time!”, stated by the Trib’s own Jimmy Olsen for good times, a one Chris Jones (who ever that is).
“ROCK OF AGES”. A tour of 30 classic hair banging hits from that grand decade of decadence the 1980s -Or should I say late 80s, early 90s- brought to you by ‘Broadway in Chicago’. Note to them: Stop bringing me things. What happened to when the term ‘BROADWAY’ meant real plays and shit.
Now what really me going was not (not quite anyway) the fact that Dean Richards of WGN TV/Radio said that “It’s fun to see a theater filled with graying, balding middle-aged people singing along, transported back to their stoned washed, wine cooler sipping days of big hair and bigger shoulder pads.”
Close, but no. It was the fact that the headliner of this piece of shit was “American Idol” loser, Constantine Maroulis. Who’s that you ask? It doen’t matter. Just know that he’s now probably kicking himself that Aerosmith front man, Steven Tyler, is now on the show.
Okay, to address that ridiculous statement by the Deaner: A) As of writing this, I’m 39 years old -lived through that whole scene- and I’m nowhere fucking near middle-age, thank you. B) I’m not grey, nor balding (At least not much anyway). C) I didn’t wear stone washed anything -now or then. D) And I sure as fuck didn’t have big hair, or sip wine coolers. I don’t know what Bitchfest you attended back then, Dearner, but that wasn’t my scene. Mine was: Jeans, leather, and real booze.
Now to address this moron, Constantine. How the hell is that a selling point? I mean really. About the only thing that attracts are the Cougars that need to re-live some bullshit…okay, I’m a fucking idiot and answered my own question. But from a guys point of view, they could care less. Really. Have you seen most of the 80s cover bands? Looking a little rough. And dudes show up. Mostly I think to hit on the chicks that go to shit like that. I’m still trying to figure out why younger people go to 80s cover bands, because most of that music, well, let’s just say it sucked.
Not only that, but this stupid ass thing is coming right on the heals of some other stupid ass thing, what Chicago DJ for the radio station, the LOOP, called: “The greatest time and thing you’ll ever do.” I mean, really. Fucking “ROCK-N-ROLL FANTASY CAMP” will be the greatest thing I’ll ever do. Wow. Just fucking kill me now. When I think ’Rock-n-Roll camp‘, I not only think has-been losers, but Homer Simpson as well. Remember that episode? And not just that,. No. I hear it’s going to be a new VH1 show. Yeah, really. That term just conjures up visions of hell on earth; assholes standing around trying to reclaim whatever. But I bet dumb asses will watch it. Oh, look. There’s Bret Michaels- with his fake hair- doing yet another stupid reality show.
Please, just get on with your life. All because you topped 40 doesn’t mean old and decrypted. Not in the least.
I miss the days when a so called mid-life crisis meant you went out bought either a sports car, or motorcycle; got divorced to date younger people, only to realize you made a huge mistake because you can’t keep up with them. Ah, yeah. The days.
Now stupid horse shit like this. Family friendly stuff. Just remember though. They tried to make Las Vegas Family friendly once. That worked out well. Didn’t it. Now it’s: “What happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas“. Unless its: Marriage to someone you just met, pregnancy, or some sort of VD. That tends to follow you around.
“ROCK OF AGES”. A tour of 30 classic hair banging hits from that grand decade of decadence the 1980s -Or should I say late 80s, early 90s- brought to you by ‘Broadway in Chicago’. Note to them: Stop bringing me things. What happened to when the term ‘BROADWAY’ meant real plays and shit.
Now what really me going was not (not quite anyway) the fact that Dean Richards of WGN TV/Radio said that “It’s fun to see a theater filled with graying, balding middle-aged people singing along, transported back to their stoned washed, wine cooler sipping days of big hair and bigger shoulder pads.”
Close, but no. It was the fact that the headliner of this piece of shit was “American Idol” loser, Constantine Maroulis. Who’s that you ask? It doen’t matter. Just know that he’s now probably kicking himself that Aerosmith front man, Steven Tyler, is now on the show.
Okay, to address that ridiculous statement by the Deaner: A) As of writing this, I’m 39 years old -lived through that whole scene- and I’m nowhere fucking near middle-age, thank you. B) I’m not grey, nor balding (At least not much anyway). C) I didn’t wear stone washed anything -now or then. D) And I sure as fuck didn’t have big hair, or sip wine coolers. I don’t know what Bitchfest you attended back then, Dearner, but that wasn’t my scene. Mine was: Jeans, leather, and real booze.
Now to address this moron, Constantine. How the hell is that a selling point? I mean really. About the only thing that attracts are the Cougars that need to re-live some bullshit…okay, I’m a fucking idiot and answered my own question. But from a guys point of view, they could care less. Really. Have you seen most of the 80s cover bands? Looking a little rough. And dudes show up. Mostly I think to hit on the chicks that go to shit like that. I’m still trying to figure out why younger people go to 80s cover bands, because most of that music, well, let’s just say it sucked.
Not only that, but this stupid ass thing is coming right on the heals of some other stupid ass thing, what Chicago DJ for the radio station, the LOOP, called: “The greatest time and thing you’ll ever do.” I mean, really. Fucking “ROCK-N-ROLL FANTASY CAMP” will be the greatest thing I’ll ever do. Wow. Just fucking kill me now. When I think ’Rock-n-Roll camp‘, I not only think has-been losers, but Homer Simpson as well. Remember that episode? And not just that,. No. I hear it’s going to be a new VH1 show. Yeah, really. That term just conjures up visions of hell on earth; assholes standing around trying to reclaim whatever. But I bet dumb asses will watch it. Oh, look. There’s Bret Michaels- with his fake hair- doing yet another stupid reality show.
Please, just get on with your life. All because you topped 40 doesn’t mean old and decrypted. Not in the least.
I miss the days when a so called mid-life crisis meant you went out bought either a sports car, or motorcycle; got divorced to date younger people, only to realize you made a huge mistake because you can’t keep up with them. Ah, yeah. The days.
Now stupid horse shit like this. Family friendly stuff. Just remember though. They tried to make Las Vegas Family friendly once. That worked out well. Didn’t it. Now it’s: “What happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas“. Unless its: Marriage to someone you just met, pregnancy, or some sort of VD. That tends to follow you around.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
The Ol’ Celebrity IN & OUT
Ah, yes. Don’t you love it? What is “it’ you ask? Well, the “IT” being how celebs seem to time and time again skirt the law (mostly. Not every time) when it comes to getting into trouble and serving jail time.
Take the two recent celebrity news hounds (or should I say whores. But hey, whores need love too) that have seemed to fill the bill and find themselves yet again on the wrong side of the iron bars: Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan.
I mean what the fuck. Paris gets a slap on the wrist for a felony drug charge -a year suspended sentence and no jail time if she stays out of trouble for that year. And Lindsay, who out and out disobeyed the court during her trail (servers what? A little over a week), and now fails yet again another court order to stay clean, goes to jail and is out a day later. Oh, yeah. She might be facing a whooping 30 days. Big Fucking deal.
Now if it was someone like you or me -normal folk- who pulled shit like this, you think we’d get the same treatment? Hardly. Money and fame walk all the time, and not only in this country.
That isn’t to say that I don’t love to watch these over glamorous morons get into trouble. I hate to admit it but I do. Following the Train Wreck that is Lindsay is most enjoyable. Not that I don’t like her. It could be anybody, not just her. And there will always someone to take her place when that train ride finally comes to end either way. Redemption or the grave.
But the tears I shed won’t be because one of these fools we put on a pedestal end in tragedy; the train coming to a fiery end like most ‘Train Wrecks’ of life do. It’ll be because I’ll have to find a new source of entertainment. And sometimes getting good entertainment is hard to find even when there’s an abundance of shit to stroll for.
Can anyone say: “The Cast Of The Jersey Shore”? Or how about one the other endless reality clap traps that are out there. But with that said, reality stars don’t have the same mojo as so called real stars do, and it’ll be interesting in the least to see how many of them walk out of trouble as easily as the others.
Take the two recent celebrity news hounds (or should I say whores. But hey, whores need love too) that have seemed to fill the bill and find themselves yet again on the wrong side of the iron bars: Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan.
I mean what the fuck. Paris gets a slap on the wrist for a felony drug charge -a year suspended sentence and no jail time if she stays out of trouble for that year. And Lindsay, who out and out disobeyed the court during her trail (servers what? A little over a week), and now fails yet again another court order to stay clean, goes to jail and is out a day later. Oh, yeah. She might be facing a whooping 30 days. Big Fucking deal.
Now if it was someone like you or me -normal folk- who pulled shit like this, you think we’d get the same treatment? Hardly. Money and fame walk all the time, and not only in this country.
That isn’t to say that I don’t love to watch these over glamorous morons get into trouble. I hate to admit it but I do. Following the Train Wreck that is Lindsay is most enjoyable. Not that I don’t like her. It could be anybody, not just her. And there will always someone to take her place when that train ride finally comes to end either way. Redemption or the grave.
But the tears I shed won’t be because one of these fools we put on a pedestal end in tragedy; the train coming to a fiery end like most ‘Train Wrecks’ of life do. It’ll be because I’ll have to find a new source of entertainment. And sometimes getting good entertainment is hard to find even when there’s an abundance of shit to stroll for.
Can anyone say: “The Cast Of The Jersey Shore”? Or how about one the other endless reality clap traps that are out there. But with that said, reality stars don’t have the same mojo as so called real stars do, and it’ll be interesting in the least to see how many of them walk out of trouble as easily as the others.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Plumber's Crack: Today's Breast Implant
Remember the days when the thought of seeing someone with their pants hanging down the crack of their ass was almost enough to send you screaming; trying to gouge your eyes out with a rusty spoon? Or the horror of possibly your own that way? Then again, back in the day the people you saw that wore their pants that way were a horror show of their own. Usually fat, tubby dudes -or Buddha Bellies (guys that were skinny everywhere other than their stomachs who usually had no ass to speak of) in dirty white t-shirts and jeans to match who were there to fix the plumbing. Hence the term: "Plumber’s Crack".
Well thanks to the nineties teenage generation -and the fact that it seemed every other asshole (That wasn’t wearing a wife beater, anyway) on 'COPS' that got caught was because their pants were hanging down and falling off- all those preconceived notions are now a thing of the past. Plumber’s Crack Fashion was now the rage of all the cool kids.
Now I know what you’re thinking: ’Dude. You’re about a decade to late for this story.’ And you’d be right. The thing is, it seems now that everyone is into it. Not just the teens. Case in point:
I’m a photographer mostly. So I find myself at many events. Large and small. This particular one I was at recently was rather large. Now I’m just hanging out, minding my own business (for once) when I look over at this huge mural surrounded by class photos of the life of the school that was near me, where this woman was squatting down, ass all hanging out for the world to see. While I’m usually a fan of the old whale tail express the sight caused me to take pause a moment. This here was a woman who was closer to her early fifties than was to thirty-nine, who had to feel the draft coming through the backdoor and didn’t have a care in the world about it. And it wasn’t because she was older that gave me pause (Hell, I can give a shit), it was because I’ve been seeing this more and more. For whatever the reason I had just never really took notice before (maybe because there‘s so much of it). And it seems that Plumber Crack Fashion has become what breast implants where in the 1990s.
Is it because for the last decade or so we’ve become more and more a cougar nation? Where older woman who are still in their sexual peek, bored with the pot belly, beer gut husbands they seem to have to settle with that are more interested in sports than their wives. Or is it because they feel they need the edge over the younger ones that they catch their husbands ogling on the weekly trips to the store?
Whatever the reason it seems that older woman are joining the ranks of their younger peers when it comes to sporting ass cleavage more and more. Much to the determent of daughters everywhere who now not only have to compete with people their own age, but now have to with their undersexed horny mothers. Which could be plus in most men’s book. And who can blame them? Hey I’m all for it. As long as you don’t look like you stuffed a couple of eight year olds or a VW Bug down the back of your pants let those derrières fly free. And for all of you that are about to call me a hypocrite saying that when it comes to man-boobs the same doesn‘t apply, I say if your cup size is bigger than a B cup put a damn shirt on or a sports bra. Nobody wants to see man titties flopping around. That’s just disgusting.
Well thanks to the nineties teenage generation -and the fact that it seemed every other asshole (That wasn’t wearing a wife beater, anyway) on 'COPS' that got caught was because their pants were hanging down and falling off- all those preconceived notions are now a thing of the past. Plumber’s Crack Fashion was now the rage of all the cool kids.
Now I know what you’re thinking: ’Dude. You’re about a decade to late for this story.’ And you’d be right. The thing is, it seems now that everyone is into it. Not just the teens. Case in point:
I’m a photographer mostly. So I find myself at many events. Large and small. This particular one I was at recently was rather large. Now I’m just hanging out, minding my own business (for once) when I look over at this huge mural surrounded by class photos of the life of the school that was near me, where this woman was squatting down, ass all hanging out for the world to see. While I’m usually a fan of the old whale tail express the sight caused me to take pause a moment. This here was a woman who was closer to her early fifties than was to thirty-nine, who had to feel the draft coming through the backdoor and didn’t have a care in the world about it. And it wasn’t because she was older that gave me pause (Hell, I can give a shit), it was because I’ve been seeing this more and more. For whatever the reason I had just never really took notice before (maybe because there‘s so much of it). And it seems that Plumber Crack Fashion has become what breast implants where in the 1990s.
Is it because for the last decade or so we’ve become more and more a cougar nation? Where older woman who are still in their sexual peek, bored with the pot belly, beer gut husbands they seem to have to settle with that are more interested in sports than their wives. Or is it because they feel they need the edge over the younger ones that they catch their husbands ogling on the weekly trips to the store?
Whatever the reason it seems that older woman are joining the ranks of their younger peers when it comes to sporting ass cleavage more and more. Much to the determent of daughters everywhere who now not only have to compete with people their own age, but now have to with their undersexed horny mothers. Which could be plus in most men’s book. And who can blame them? Hey I’m all for it. As long as you don’t look like you stuffed a couple of eight year olds or a VW Bug down the back of your pants let those derrières fly free. And for all of you that are about to call me a hypocrite saying that when it comes to man-boobs the same doesn‘t apply, I say if your cup size is bigger than a B cup put a damn shirt on or a sports bra. Nobody wants to see man titties flopping around. That’s just disgusting.
Adventures In Doughnut Land
Okay. I wrote this piece back on January 10th, 2009. I recently went back to that Dunken Doughnut shop and realized that, unfortunately, this story still applies today as it did then.
Yesterday with the snow flying and my infinite morning laziness I decided to get the kids Dunken Doughnuts for breakfast. So I set out to one of the fifty that seem to surround my house.
Okay, I admit that I was on the phone at the time of placing my order ( rude I know. But it was my dear Mother talking about one of the things she seems to always be talking to me about: The woes of my brother. ).
As I was on said phone, I asked for a dozen long-johns. Easy enough.
Now, I'm quite lazy often on the weekend mornings and have a tendency to going to a Dunken Doughnuts near me ( Thankfully my children are still skinny ), so I know what a dozen long-johns look like in the box. So I said to the teller girl:
"Miss, I asked for a dozen."
"Ye-ah. And that's what I gave you."
"No. You gave me eleven. See" I quickly counted them out too her. 2,4,6,8,10...11."See."
Now up to this point I was nice and courteous. But when she gave me her look of 'And your point is.' Is when I said: "Last time I checked a dozen was twelve."
She stood there for a moment still not convinced that she was in the wrong and it seemed to me that she felt the I was trying to scam an extra doughnut from her. So I then said to her:
"If you don't believe me , why don't you ask somebody what a dozen is." Gesturing to one of her co-workers that were busily filling orders for others.
About this time the guy the came previous too me was still get his life in order started to chuckle at our expanse and I think that by this it actually dawned on her that she was wrong and not I.
So with a sigh of disgust, she turned her rotund body back around and grabbed my last doughnut and placed it with it's others and sisters.
"There. Happy now?"
"Yes. Very. Thank you for finally completing my order."
As I left shaking my head in disbelief, I was left wondering on how many people she screwed by not knowing simple math. Knowing full well that people who usually go to places like this for breakfast are in a hurry and are probably on the phone like I was when ordering.
I'm figuring quite a few. Gotta love that Illinois educational system.
Yesterday with the snow flying and my infinite morning laziness I decided to get the kids Dunken Doughnuts for breakfast. So I set out to one of the fifty that seem to surround my house.
Okay, I admit that I was on the phone at the time of placing my order ( rude I know. But it was my dear Mother talking about one of the things she seems to always be talking to me about: The woes of my brother. ).
As I was on said phone, I asked for a dozen long-johns. Easy enough.
Now, I'm quite lazy often on the weekend mornings and have a tendency to going to a Dunken Doughnuts near me ( Thankfully my children are still skinny ), so I know what a dozen long-johns look like in the box. So I said to the teller girl:
"Miss, I asked for a dozen."
"Ye-ah. And that's what I gave you."
"No. You gave me eleven. See" I quickly counted them out too her. 2,4,6,8,10...11."See."
Now up to this point I was nice and courteous. But when she gave me her look of 'And your point is.' Is when I said: "Last time I checked a dozen was twelve."
She stood there for a moment still not convinced that she was in the wrong and it seemed to me that she felt the I was trying to scam an extra doughnut from her. So I then said to her:
"If you don't believe me , why don't you ask somebody what a dozen is." Gesturing to one of her co-workers that were busily filling orders for others.
About this time the guy the came previous too me was still get his life in order started to chuckle at our expanse and I think that by this it actually dawned on her that she was wrong and not I.
So with a sigh of disgust, she turned her rotund body back around and grabbed my last doughnut and placed it with it's others and sisters.
"There. Happy now?"
"Yes. Very. Thank you for finally completing my order."
As I left shaking my head in disbelief, I was left wondering on how many people she screwed by not knowing simple math. Knowing full well that people who usually go to places like this for breakfast are in a hurry and are probably on the phone like I was when ordering.
I'm figuring quite a few. Gotta love that Illinois educational system.
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