I'll come up with something in a minute.

You know…

Adam West remains the only Batman who didn’t revel his secret identity to some floozy he picked up, something no other Batman has been able to manage.

And THAT is why he is the goddamn Batman.

He also beat 4 villains in one movie and used Bat Shark Repellant, but I would suggest these are side issues.

January 25, 2009 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment


Here are shots from the Sleeping bear dunes. We went up the Climbing the Dunes thingy. This would be July of 2007.


This is the first shot I took while walking up the big dune. If it seems hopelessly artless and pathetic, thats only because it is.

Top of the climbable dune. Only about 110 feet in the air here, climbing up a sand dune is a lot harder than you’d think.

I got up on another hill a little higer, and I was going to go up the second hill, but I got over done and fell over.

Starting down the hill I took some shots of the scrub grass.

This is the big hill I didn’t go up because the heat, wear and uselessness of my legs stopped me.

This isn’t me getting closer, this is the magic of zoom lenses.

This is what I saw when I turned around. The photo is no where near as nice as the real sight was.

Then tilted down a little.

A shot of the water, zoom lense again.

Sand and grass, a closeup

A nice barn, seen from the dune.

Some decent looking flowers. Remember kids, foreground blurryness is art!

I actually like this cloud

January 24, 2009 Posted by | Uncategorized | | Leave a comment

Wonderland (Part Four)


A Jack Collier Mystery

By Brett N. Lashuay

Look here for last week’s entry!



Part Four: The Surprise Egg


            I had expected the garage to be some fix-it place or chop shop. It turned out to be an ordinary parking structure though. The truck was parked in a marked slot and I was able to pull right up next to it. As I got out of the car, a small red import drove up along the other side of it. Mary Anne got out and smiled at us as she walked around the truck. Instead of the suit she’d been wearing before she was now wearing jeans and a sweater, with a jacket over it.


            “Can we get in?” she asked looking at it.


            “Doesn’t look locked,” I said and yanked the rolling door open. The boxes were haphazardly stacked, a few had fallen over, but otherwise they looked in tact. I climbed up into the truck and looked at the boxes, which I was sure weren’t filled with gold coins.


            “I could use some coffee,” Mary Ann announced. “Peter, do you know where to get some coffee around here?”


            “Yeah,” he nodded.


            “Could you get me a cup then?” she held some money out for him. “Just black with a little cream and sugar. You want anything?”


            “No,” I said. “I’m fine.”


            “Get yourself something too,” she told Peter and he smiled warmly, eager to help.


            “I’ll be back in a minute then,” he said happily and hopped off.


            “You know something Mary Ann?” I asked.


            “What?” she asked.


            “I think it’s time you showed me some I.D.”      I pulled out my pocket knife and slit the tape on one of the boxes. This was a process slowed by my need to do everything with my left hand. She looked like she’d been expecting it, but was still determined to fake me out.


            “I’m not sure what you mean,” she said, watching me with those big blue eyes.


            “You’re no business secretary,” I told her. “Someone puts a gun in your face and you didn’t even flinch.”


            “You work with the wrong people, you get guns put in your face,” she shrugged in a way that would have made me catch my breath if I wasn’t such a tough guy.


            “No,” I said, pulling a small box of chocolate eggs out. “You know guns. You know that kind of gun and you knew it wasn’t loaded.”


            “I saw the safety was on actually,” she said climbing up into the truck with me. “What are you doing?”


            “Confirming a suspicion,” I said breaking one of the hollow white chocolate eggs open. When I saw what was inside, I knew that I should listen to my paranoia more often. There was a white frosting like sugary substance and something solid inside that. “That’s what I thought.”


            “What?” she asked.


            “Motherfucker wasn’t putting coins in here.” I said showing her the small baggie of a white powdery substance that was coated with the frosting. “I’m not sure exactly what this is, but it’s not a gold sovereign.”


            “Heroin.” Her accent changed to an American one and she pulled a wallet out that had a badge in it. “Alice Liddell, DEA. Well, on loan to the DEA anyway.”


            “See?” I pointed my finger at her. “I told you that you weren’t a secretary.”


            “Your deductions went on kind of a rocket sled though, didn’t they?” Her voice was less soft and submissive, now it had a serious edge to it. Actually, I liked her real voice much better. It was the sort of voice that would urge you on to greater strengths in bed.


            “It’s only a short story,” I said smacking the fourth wall with a sledge hammer. “So what do we do about this? Do we bust Rabbit?”


            “Can’t,” she looked cute when she looked contemplative, she also looked cute standing perfectly still though. “I haven’t got enough evidence to put him and his people away yet.”


            “So we give him back his smack?” I asked annoyed.


            “For now, we put this bait back out there and reel in the fish,” she shrugged. “You know how this goes.”


            “Yeah, I know,” I said. “That doesn’t mean I don’t get annoyed by it.”


            “Well, we can get all the big guys if we let him take this back,” she smiled at me. It was a nice smile. It was the sort of smile that women like her usually use to get men like me to go see romantic comedies and mop the floor.


            “The thing is,” I said, calmly as I could, so as not to expose the fact that I wanted to pant, “there is a police inspector name Crammer who already is annoyed with me. See, I didn’t inform him of everything that happened during this thing in December.”


            “Yeah,” she nodded, trying to look like she understood my problem. “When Smith got killed.”


            “Right,” I said, “and I think he might be bothered by me not telling him about this.”


            “Well,” she smiled that smile again, “when I clear a big case, I’ve been known to do a bouncy little dance.”


            “Oh?” I asked, trying not to show too much naked interest.


            “Guys have been known to make sure that I get the credit for their busts just to see me do this dance,” she smiled and her eyes fluttered a bit.


            Now I’m a fairly liberal-minded guy, I’m all about women’s lib and stuff. I’ve read a good number of feminist writings and I’ve agreed with much of them. I do believe that women should be judged equally, and that they have as much to offer to the workplace as any man. All that being said however it was the thought of this attractive young woman, this young woman who must have inspired a string of wet dreams in the recruits at school, doing a little bouncing dance that did it for me.


            “You will of course call me before the dancing starts, right?” I asked as I tipped out the baggie of smack and started to eat one of the chocolate halves. I have no idea why, but I was suddenly worried about fingerprints.


            “Sure,” she said taking the other half and biting into it, “I might even set you up an appointment just to see it.”


            “Well, that would be nice,” I said grinning.


            “How did you know that these wouldn’t be gold coins?” she asked. “I mean you didn’t seem surprised, just annoyed.”


            “Peter’s better than a dog for a detective,” I said simply. “Did you notice the look of surprise on his face when Flopsy told me he was smuggling coins?”


            “I thought Peter always looked that way,” she said biting into another section of the egg and then wrapping her lips around it to prevent the sugary syrup from dripping.


            “You’ve got to look for the subtle changes,” I said finishing my egg and pulling out a handkerchief to wipe my fingers.


            “Hmm, probably,” she said and finished her section of the egg. There was a bit of the gooey frosting that had slid down her thumb and had made it nearly to her wrist. She placed her long pink tongue on her wrist and licked up the palm to the tip of thumb. She then proceeded to suck the chocolate off her fingers before taking my offered handkerchief and wiping. She even wiped at the corners of her mouth, like a proper lady should, before folding the cloth and handing it back.


            Had I been a lesser man, I would have memorized that action and played it back to myself on long winter evenings. I would have rhapsodized about her and thought about her perfect pink tongue for hours some days. I would have decided that someday I would have to convince her that I was the guy she’d been looking for all her life. Fortunately, I’m a tough guy and folded the cloth without even having to wipe drool off my chin or anything.


            “You know I already agreed,” I said as I stuffed the cloth away. “Don’t you think that display was a little over the top?”


            “What?” she asked, and then looked at her fingers and then blushed a very vibrant red. “I’m always doing things like that. I don’t mean to, but people always seem to be taking everything I do as something sexual.”


            “I can’t imagine how they manage to think what you’re doing is sexual in any way,” I remarked, trying to keep a level voice that wouldn’t reveal my level of arousal.


            “Well,” she said smiling, “I’ve got to get these back to the man who thinks he’s my boss.”


            “Okay,” I said standing up.


            I grabbed the edge of my coat and wiped at the places where I’d touched the box. Miss Liddell must have known what I was thinking because when she pulled down the door of the truck she yanked up her sweater to wipe off the handles of the truck. I’m not sure if she knew I was looking and meant to do that, or if she really didn’t know that men looked at her. She had pulled the sweater up so high that if I were an ungallant man I could report the color and brand of her brazier. I am not ungallant, so I will not be reporting those facts.


            “I got your coffee,” Peter said walking towards us with a cup in each hand.


            “Thank you Peter,” Alice said taking the one he held towards her. “You can drive the truck back to the warehouse. Your brother will be very glad to see that they barely touched any of it. We’ll see you Mister Collier.”


            I don’t normally shake hands with people, and particularly not recently, but I shook her hand when she offered it. Seeing that I’d shaken hands with Alice, I would have to shake with Peter as well.


            He smiled and got into the truck, which must have had the keys in it because it started right away. He pulled the truck out and drove away with it, leaving me on my own. I got into the car and decided to drive home, which of course meant a stop at the office first.


            When I pulled into my parking space that black car drove up behind me and blocked me in. I drew my Marley thirty-eight out of its belt holster and opened the door of the car. The door of the car opened and the young woman being called Miss Heart came out of it.


            “Hi Jack,” she said waving as she walked towards me.


            “You can just stay a bit back,” I said showing her the gun.


            “Oh stop it,” she put her hand over the barrel before pushing my hand away. She leaned in and gave me a kiss on the lips, wrapping her hands around my head. “How have you been?”


            “Miss Heart,” I started in a tone that said rebukement was coming.


            “Shut up,” she said and kissed me again.


            “When did you take up the name of Heart?” I finally managed to ask as I wrapped my arm around her waist.


            “Well, I couldn’t keep being called Amy Cook after what happened to the Duchess could I?” she asked with a shrug.


            “I seem to remember, you happened to the Duchess.”


            “Well, that’s one more reason.”


            “What’s the first name now?” I asked


            “Oh, it’s Amy,” she said smiling. “I don’t get so confused that way.”


            “So what are you and Mister Cat doing here tonight?” I asked looking at the car.


            “I needed to give you something,” she said reaching into her pocket and pulling out a paper envelope. “You shouldn’t leave these around.”


            I took the envelope, which felt like it had a stones in it. I opened it, shifted the opening into the light, and saw a pair of mashed up bullets. I had a feeling that I knew where she had found them and lowered the envelope to look at her.


            “You didn’t touch anything there did you?” she asked.


            “No.” I said shaking my head. “I don’t think so.”


            “Then you’re fine,” She said smiling. “Cat heard the shots, and I decided to look around for where they were.”


            “Well that’s quite nice of you.” I shoved the envelope into my pocket. “Jabber just let you look around for them and carve them out of the walls?”


            “You know what I do,” she looked back to the car behind her, “what we do.”


            “Are you saying that I should pretend like I’ve never heard of the Wonderland Gang by morning?” I asked.


            “Yeah,” she said nodding. “You’re clear. Rabbit has his stuff back, no problems. I’ll see you around.”


            She turned, skipping a funny step as she did so and walked back to the car. She opened the door, looked back at me once to wink, got in and they left. I touched the envelope in my pocket and then touched my other pockets, checking to see if everything was there. In an odd show of honesty, totally out of character for her, Amy had left everything in my pockets where they belonged.


            I wondered if there really was going to be no problems, since I did in fact know what Amy and by extension Mister Cat did. The fact that Mister Cat seemed to be on call, and was around soon enough to follow us to Wonderland didn’t help much. It was a tad troubling, but I decided to think about it in the morning. For the moment I would simply put the gun and bullets in the office and call it a day.


            I would consider all the implications tomorrow. As it would turn out, putting off the considering of implications is another one of those stupid things that I just wouldn’t do if I were any good at this detecting thing.


This is part four of twelve, come back next week for part five and every Thursday until we’re done to see what happens next. If you get lost, one of the tags here should help you. The Wonderland tag will take you to the story while the Jack Tag will take you to Part One of every story we post here.

January 21, 2009 Posted by | Fiction, Jack | | Leave a comment

Open Letter

Dear Nick Coles,

Having gotten a good look at you, and you’re not fooling anyone with front combing, it sort of seems like you calling Salma Hayek fat is… well… pretty lame. If you’re going to cast stones, you should sort of make sure you’re not doing it from a greenhouse, that’s all I’m saying. I mean most the girls on your little list won’t sleep with me either, and I’m cute and eminently fuckable, but I wouldn’t go insulting them just because they’d probably never sleep with me. Oh sure, we could both argue that none of them will never meet either of us, and I could also point out that they’re all seriously hot, but those a small points and we both know it.

I get it, you’re still pissed because the one time you tried to feel up Suzy Jenkins during the re-release of Empire Strikes Back she elbowed you in the crotch and you feel that all females must now be made to pay. I get that. You hate womankind because they don’t love you and your neck beard. They probably laugh at you when you wear socks with sandals and yawn when you talk about your anime figure collection and how many warcraft figures you’ve got*. However, calling a seriously hot chick fat just because no woman will ever open the lace gate and let you prowl around the grounds is just fucking lame. It would be almost as lame as if I’d suggested you were gay… you miserable little faggot. How is there room for you in that closet with all those pretty, pretty shoes? Seriously, you want to be a fat, balding, unattractive closet case, please don’t take it out on women who are delightful.

Hugs and kisses,

…Yeah, I don’t like the high horse ground**, I get vertigo.

Now if I may speak seriously for a moment, I like all kinds of girls. Trim and fit is delightful, but I also like girls with a bit of curve on the hip and enough on the chest to fill a good sized bra and I like chicks who pack a few extra pounds as well. Cute is cute, no matter what shape you’re dealing with. I like a good looking girl, a girl who looks good for her. And in fact, for the most part, fashionably skinny is actually way thinner than I like. Doesn’t look healthy to be frank. There is a difference between naturally thin and Paris Hilton. Healthy, that’s all I’m looking for in a physical being. That hardly matters though because what I’m really interested in, the thing I really want to be firm, trim, and in tip top working order is the brain. If the skull filling isn’t working at optimal speeds than I really do get bored and loose interest. I’d prefer to be able to have a conversation, it’s just how I am. So yeah, if you want to apply for a slot at my Home for Wayward Catgirls***, a resume of intellectual accomplishments would probably be more welcome than a headshot.

Seriously guys, at some point we’re going to have to sit down and give overweight guys who wear sockdals and refuse to perform even the most basic hygiene and yet still find time to talk smack about women a good hard smack in the head. I’m getting tired of a pack of fat, hairy, smelly guys who think socks and sandals are a good idea talking about a chick who has it all together like she’s not even worth looking at because she’s been known to have a hair out of place in the morning for 3 minutes. Not shaving for a week is fine if you look good or if the ladies love rubbing your sexy man stubble, but you’ve still got to wash up, make sure your body odor doesn’t qualify as a chemical weapon and brush your teeth after eating.

We’ll return to this subject later, right now I have a headache.

*Yeah, I fucking went there.
**High ground, not high horse. Sorry, got lost in my metaphors for a second.
***Long story, don’t ask.

January 20, 2009 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Part 12



January 20, 2009 Posted by | Uncategorized | | Leave a comment

Part 11









So THAT’S why nothing is growing in that pot!

Bald spot again! Odd, becuase this Charlie is the back yard Charlie. I wonder if he’s going all the way around the house or if this is a chipmunk thing.

Front yard Charlie, with bald spot.

Fancy, the ruler of the universe, sitting among her plants.


Folly, the eternal kitten, with some bags of mulch that should have been taken care of weeks ago.

Fancy looks at catnip

Then Fancy looks at me.


Bird that I can’t be bothered to look up, looking at the fish in the pond.







January 20, 2009 Posted by | Uncategorized | | Leave a comment

Part Ten


This is the big version of my first attempt

Tried to see how much I could get out of changing the contrast, tried to make it darker.

Just went crazy

I tried to make it lighter and then even lighter, I think this one really turned out well. In fact, this one is probably my favorite, which probably mean it’s the only one that’s even acceptable. If I create 10 things and discard nine of them, I’ve still got one really good piece. One good piece is better than no pieces at all.

Then I faded this one out as well, it didn’t do as well

This one looks more manipulated than some of the others, but then this wasn’t a great shot to begin with. I thought if I took a sort of crap shot I might make it better.

I ran this one back and forth through the blur and sharpen filters as well as all the other stuff, jsut to see what I’d get.

It’s a wheel! In high contrast!

What happens if I just turn the blur filter on and leave it?

I’ll end with a kitty, everyone likes kitties. Except total bastards of course.

January 19, 2009 Posted by | Uncategorized | | Leave a comment

Henry Ford Museum Pictures Part Nine


This is what you see when you go in the main entrance, which I rarely do now that I have a pass

If you turn your head to the right a little you see this.

An Autogyro that was once used by the Detroit News, as you can no doubt tell.

The front Propeler of said Autogyro

Some Ford Planes

The Fokker from Admiral Byrd’s Expedition

A copy of the Wright Flyer

Some bit of a wing

An old Northwest emblem, these would be the days before you couldn’t get on a Northwest plane because people thought you looked too Arab.

A plane from Ford’s own airline (they had one for a short while as I remember)

An Engine on the side of that plane

A small Ford Plane

Just a chandelier

Why did I photograph the chair Abe Lincoln was shot it? I dunno, seemed like the thing to do.

Civil War Map of Slave and Free States

I forget who sat in this chair. Someone who signed the Decleration of Independance.

Speaking of which

Old Copy of Common Sense

This was over something in that section


January 18, 2009 Posted by | Uncategorized | | Leave a comment

Henry Ford Museum Pictures Part Eight


The ugliest chair in Christendom



A boiler of some kind I think

A mock up of a cobbler’s shop (with lots of close-ups)

I love that I accidently got this “Object Removed” card. I didn’t see what I was getting when I shot this.

January 17, 2009 Posted by | Uncategorized | | Leave a comment

Henry Ford Museum Pictures Part Seven


Ooooh, I know what this is but I can’t think of it. A buick? Maybe

A Mercer hood ornament and front plate. I forgot to get the rest of the car.

A Packard

The front grill of the same Packard

A small box on the side of the Packard

You remember the generator from the Dearnborn plant from the first or second set? This is another side of it.

I just don’t remember, but it’s got something to do with fire.

A miniature of a boiler of some kind. I think it’s big brother is in the Village and I’ve shot it before.

A nice table

A painting of Mark Twain

An interestingly ugly chair that’s probably uncomfortable

This may be more comfortable, but it’s still wonderfully ugly.

Umm… it’s got to be some kind of press of some kind.

A nice table


Old TV in a living room set-up

January 16, 2009 Posted by | Uncategorized | | Leave a comment