I'll come up with something in a minute.

Semi-Connected Thoughts

Wow… NBC Universal Chief Executive Jeff Zucker is really butthurt over John Stewart huh? If he’s bitching like that, Jon must be doing something right.

If you want to argue that Jon Stewart is just a comedian, or more than just a comedian, that’s fine. I have a question though… how the seven day six night you and a friend package fuck did we reach a situation were stand up comedian is the most trusted source of news in the country? How could the media fuck up that bad? Argue how much weight he should have all you want, he’s a highly trusted source of news and commentary AND THAT SHOULDN’T HAPPEN! He’s a stand up comedian, he’s a satirist, why is there no serious journalist we can trust? Did the American mainstream media sell out that badly? It seems they did.

Related note

I’ve been thinking about this AIG thing and I’ve got an idea, people know it’s not a true blue scandal. People know these payoffs are contracted and that this is business as usual. I think that’s what has people so pissed off though, that everything is fucked up and these assholes are still playing business as usual. People are getting a good hard look inside an industry where you can completely fuck up everything, and still get paid massive amounts of cash. They had to go get government money and then turned around and used that money to line their own pockets. No wonder people are pissed! They’re only just now coming to the conclusion that the asshole who was always telling them that the system is set against us was right. We’re all starting to wonder if there really are black helicopters, aliens at Area 51 and a cabal of Freemasons who are in charge of verything*.
*Yes, the Freemasons do rule the country.

People may not understand credit swaps or debt buyouts , the complexity of mortgages, or any of the other crap that contributed to this situation, but what the do understand is that people who screw up shouldn’t get paid bonuses. It goes to the heart of our sense of fair play. And we’re talking more money in bonuses than many people will make as their real salary in their lifetimes. That seems deeply unfair to people who always did what they were asked, worked hard, kept their noses clean, then got fired anyway and was told there is no compensation package.

How long until someone decides to Robin Hood this situation? How long before some vodka swilling maniac with a black turtle neck starts up with “That’s YOUR MONEY they’re walking away with! They STOLE that money from you to take care of their buddies! Not one rich man in the nation has earned his millions. They all stole their money from the hands of the working classes!” And then they start using words like proletariat and quoting Marx and telling us that it’s time to storm the Winter Palace and then you’ve got blood in the street and children collecting scalps. If someone doesn’t realize how pissed people are quick, the only stocks I’d buy right now are those for companies that make axe handles & pitchforks frankly.

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


If you click this shot, you’ll get a bit 1290×1024 wallpaper. It’s the one on my desktop at the moment in fact.

What I found nice was last week Hol saw it and didn’t know I’d done that.
I took the photo, I adjusted it and made it the right size. It started life looking like this.

As I said, what made me smile was the fact that Holly didn’t know it was just another of my silly little adjustment jobs. I R LICK REEL ARTIST!

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

They say

They say don’t hate the player, hate the game.
But what if the player is a real asshole? Can you hate them then?

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



Messed with
Messed with
Messed with
Messed with


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

Random Mental Firings

I as reading this article, and taking a poll that a friend made (it’s locked so I can’t link it) and in the poll he made the comment that girls could take the poll too because girls date girls as well. That got me thinking about something though.

Okay, maybe some of you don’t know this and maybe some of you do, but I skipped college. Not ashamed of it, but whenever someone talks about “Just something I did in college” I have to just sort of nod and agree that I understand the process of being between 17 and 24 and doing things you might not do later in life. I get that part, but I missed the whole college thing.

HOWEVER! I have done the things you do in those days and I dated some variety of most the girls mentioned in the article, as well as a variety of others. But I did it while dating Syd and mostly it was FWB territory. The thing is, I caught myself thinking about that and thinking about girls and groups dating and a funny idea struck me.

In a poly relationship, unless things are kept completely chambered off, you are actually sort of dating your partner’s other partners aren’t you? Even if you’re not sleeping together or are romantically linked, there is more than just hanging out when you hang with them as a group isn’t there? I’d like to work this into a more definite post, but I can’t really because I’ve always been the central person in these situations. It seems like that should be written by someone who has been the one who has a partner dating someone they’re not with. Syd and Holly have never dated outside the group, as it were. There is likely more “are we dating too?” tension if the two unconnected people are bi or if it’s a gay relationship.

March 19, 2009 Posted by | Uncategorized | , | 2 Comments

The English

You know, I try not to resent the Brits, but what business is it of theirs if I decide I want a basement full of death rays? Do I send tuxedoed secret Agents to Number 10 every time they decide to illegally invade somewhere or destabilize a major world power? No! I don’t do it to the American government either. It’s not like I’m actually threatening anyone with them, I just like having death rays around. I happen to think they look pretty. I just like knowing that there are space based beweaponed satellites floating around the world that could unleash electric death at any moment.

And I need the small private army to make sure the death rays are kept in tip-top condition. Takes a lot of maintenance to keep a death ray in good condition, and I’ve got 17 of them (I’m looking at a new JX-7 on Ebay right now though) so we’ve got a lot of work to do. I’ve got my eye on an island in the mid-Atlantic, but I haven’t made my mind up yet.

So really, can’t these people stop sending guys in tuxes to try and kill me? I’ve bumped seven of them off just this week. I can’t imagine what kind of trouble I’d be in if I favored slow and interesting deaths that happen after I leave the room, instead of just shooting them. Can you fathom the trouble I’d be in if I decided to leave loopholes for them to jump through?

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

7 helpful hints for coping with your loved ones depression

Okay, you’re not depressed! Yippie! What do you want? A medal or a chest to pin it on?

But what if, and follow me on this because it requires you to have an ounce of empathy and understanding for the feelings of another human being, what if someone you love is depressed? What if your loved one is in pain and needs help? What can you do? Well, over the years of dealing with people who could be called depressed in one way or another, I’ve compiled a list. No, not really. I just decided to write this list out because I’m tired and I wanted to get this inspiration out before it vanished into the ether.

1. Shut up and listen
No really, shut the hell up and listen to what they have to say. If someone who is depressed can actually muster up the energy to tell you what’s bothering them, don’t interrupt, don’t start suggesting anything. Don’t try to tell that story about that one time when you felt down all afternoon but you snapped out of it with positive thinking and a good vitamin E enema. Frankly, very little that you have to say will be anywhere near as helpful as just sitting there and listening. What’s worse, if you start babbling inanities or giving them the same tired advice that every other dickhead on the planet gives*, they’re only going to shut down and not tell you anything from now on. You’ve really got to learn to just sit back, listen, make reassuring noises and just be there for them.
*People who don’t understand depression give dickhead advice. This is a fact. “Just cheer up” and “I remember I was once sad for a whole hour” is not only not helpful, it comes off as insulting and stupid.

2. Understand there is no quick fix and possibly no fix at all.
You might be able to distract for a moment, or level your loved one’s feelings for a while, but you’re not going to fix anything in a day. Someone who starts a crying jag for no reason at 3 in the morning doesn’t want to hear any Pollyanna bullshit anyway. Actually, if it’s a clinical thing, you’re not going to fix anything ever and you can only help with coping. No, really, they will never “snap out of it” they will never “cheer up” and they will never really “get better”… ever. Pretty much, the best you can hope for is learning how to manage it, but that’s not as bad as it sounds. Mostly management is okay, you can get by with a minimum of fuss and tears.

3. Watch for warning signs.
These are different with each person, but you’ve got to learn what their signs are. If you can catch a crash in the early stages, you might be able to at least help turn it into a controlled decent. You probably can’t stop it, but you can help cushion the blow a little. This might take a few cycles, and it will require a lot of trial and error, but there is a significant lessening of problems if you learn what to look for and how best to combat the crash before it starts.

4. Know when to walk away for a second.
Very important. There comes a point where you’ve got to disengage and take a breather. You’ve got to be able to get out of the room, take a moment for yourself and just let it wash out for a few minutes. You can’t help if you’re being dragged under with exhaustion. Know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em, know when to walk away, know when to run. I’m serious about this, you never count your money when you’re sittin’ at the table. There will be time enough for countin’ when the dealin’s done. There are times when you need to get up, walk away, have a moment to yourself and take a deep breath. Optimally this should be after you’ve got the situation stabilized for a moment, but you do need to do it once in a while.

5. Know who to talk to for help.
Your loved one very probably has some kind of professional therapist. Go to a session or two with them, ask the therapist a couple of questions, learn from the expert so you can better help at home. Find books or online resources that might offer helpful hints and advice. And of course, ask the person themselves what you might do to help.

6. Understand that you have an influence.
There are people who say things like “Only you can decide how you feel” and “No one can influence your emotions besides you” which I’ve always sort of thought was retarded frankly. That sounds nice, but that sort of denies that we are social animals and fails to explain mass hysteria, mob behavior or why someone yelling puts us on edge. I’m guessing those people are psychotic and you should avoid them because they’re probably planning on wearing you as a skin suit. Seriously, you’re dealing with a person who, for want of a better term is a bit fragile. Your indifference or understanding could help push them in on direction or the other. That’s not to say you’ve got to be a slave to their every mood swing, but you should really try to understand that you can help or hinder the situation. Support is very important in any relationship and here it’s even more so. That’s not to say you can just snap someone out of it by being understanding and cheerful, it doesn’t work like that. Remember, this is more management than it is any kind of problem solving.

7. Don’t Ever Belittle Their Pain
Very important this, can’t stress it too much. Unless you just want to end the relationship right there and ten, don’t ever tell the person that they’re not really depressed. Once you start with that, there is no point talking and they might as well leave you. This isn’t like being sort of sad that one day because your goldfish died, so please don’t ever try to compare it like that. You’re often not even talking about a mood that can be dealt with using Earth logic. Trying to tell this person you’re supposed to care about that you think they’re just doing it to get attention or something is just going to make them think you don’t care at all about them. It’ll end all conversation because once something that stupid comes out of your mouth they know there is no point talking to you anymore. Nothing is worse for them than thinking they’re entirely alone with no hope of solace in the entire universe. As much as it may sound unhealthy to say it like this, they depend on you for support. Of course, you also depend on them for some support at well. It’s a mutual system and even without the specter of depression you’re going to have the support thing hanging over you.

There you go, seven points, written by someone who should have gone to bed an hour ago. But I wanted to record a couple of radio shows and then I had this idea so I had to type it out, then I had to spell check it, read over it and make sure it made sense (A dodgey prospect at best since I’m both tired and dyslexic) and now I’m getting around to posting it. That’s the big difference between your journalist and your fiction writer. The journalist actually has to think and work on a story, not turning it in until it’s properly researched and doesn’t read like a drunken scribble*. Your fiction writer is used to just jotting down whatever gibberish comes to mind and flinging it out the door. If no one can understand it, you can claim it’s art and they should be cleverer if they want to get it.
*In a perfect world

March 19, 2009 Posted by | Uncategorized | 1 Comment

Wonderland (Part Twelve)


A Jack Collier Mystery

By Brett N. Lashuay

Look here for last week’s entry!


Part Twelve: Settling up


            As a post-script I should add that I really need to learn not to insult people before I know everything about them. As I was getting ready for bed my cell phone rang, which is odd because Debbie would never call me like that. I got up and saw Alice’s number.


            “Hello?” I asked, deciding to be civil if she was going to call.


            “Hi,” she sounded sad and tired. “I’m sorry about Peter.”


            “Are you now?” I asked, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “Don’t know why, you’re the only person who knew where he was.”


            “Can I?” she started and stopped.


            “Can you what?”


            “Can I explain?”


            “You can try,” I said.


            “Can I do it face to face with you?” she asked. “I think that’ll make it easier.”


            “Okay,” I said. “Where would you like to meet?”

            “I’m outside your place now,” it sounded like she was having trouble talking.


            “Would you like to come in?” I asked.




            “Come to my front door then,” I said and hung up.


            It was raining and her coat was swept about her from the rain, which showed off her legs when she walked. She had a large red rain hat that she was holding to keep the wind from taking off with it. When she got to my door and took it off, I had a pretty fair idea of what had happened.


            The left side of her face was pretty badly bruised, and her left eye was badly swollen. She’d been slapped around on her right side too, but the person who hit her had been a righty with a thing for punches.


            “How badly?” I asked.


            “Just my face and some in my sides,” she said, looking like it hurt to talk. “Nothing broken, my jaw isn’t dislocated or anything. I’ll be fine in a week.”


            “You want to sit down?” I asked, taking the hat and helping her with the coat.


            “Thanks,” she said, walking to my living room couch.


            “Would you like something to drink?” I asked. “I think I have some rum or something.”


            “We could go out for a drink,” she said, turning to keep the left side of her face out of view.


            “I want to hear what you have to say first,” I said, poking through the cupboards and not finding anything. I went to the fridge and grabbed a couple cans of pop, opened them and put the liquid into glasses.


            “Thanks,” she said taking hers as I handed it over. She took a sip and then looked at it. “You make them kind of weak huh?”


            “I’m all out of booze as it turns out,” I said sitting down on the couch across from her.


            “As you can see, they caught me. Flopsy was listening in on the line when you called. Cat and Heart decided to finish it. Actually, now that I think about it, it was Heart who announced Peter was more trouble than he was worth when they left,” she said pushing her hair into her face to cover the bruises. “Could you take me out if I had my hair down? No one would think you beat me up then.”


            “Can I test something?” I asked setting my glass down.




            “It’s just…” I leaned over and put my hand on her knee. “It’s just I was promised a dance when you took Rabbit in.”


            “I don’t think I could quite manage,” she said shifting closer to me. “I could manage when I’m feeling a little better.”


            “Yeah?” I said shifting closer and placing my arm around her and pressing my hand into her side.


            The yelp of pain was involuntary, as far as I could judge. She reached down and grabbed my hand, which had let go by then and she tried to smile at me again. She must have seen something in my eyes, because she stood up and started to unbutton her shirt.


            “I don’t resent it,” she said, “but we’ll have it out now.”


            She pulled the shirt up and showed me the near black and purple bruises that were huddled around her shoulders, the one on her neck that I should have seen, and the bunch by both her kidneys. The face she might have been able to do on her own, the others would have required help. She let me look and then slipped her shirt back on, which was an injustice and a relief all at once.


            “I didn’t mean…” I started.


            “You knew right where the most tender spot was,” she said smiling at me. “But I understand.”


            “How did you get free?”


            “I suspect it was you,” she said sitting back down, as near as she’d been a moment before. “Crammer and his boys showed up while they were still at it. He said there was a tip that there was a dead body and a head there.”


            “Did they still have the head?” I asked.


            “Yeah, they hadn’t figured out what to do with it yet,” she nodded. “Body was behind the warehouse in a couple of garbage bags.”


            “And has Rabbit offered any kind of deal?” I asked.


            “He’s singing like… what sings a lot?”


            “Birds?” I asked.


            “Yeah,” she looked confused for a moment and then nodded. “That’ll do.”


            “So you brought the case to a successful conclusion?” I asked.


            “More or less,” she picked up her drink again and took a sip. “If you count seven dead people a success.”


            “Yeah, well, we’re still alive aren’t we?”


            “I guess,” she said.


            “So no dance huh?”


            “Not with this pain,” she said touching her jaw. “Unless you got me drunk, but then I’d try to take advantage of you.”


            “Oh well, let me get my coat then,” I said, standing.


            She was all too ready to drink and didn’t even notice that I wasn’t having a drop myself. So while I did get to see the dance, but I didn’t get anything else. While my inviolable rule about psychos can get bent on occasion, the absolute law about drunk chicks never has. We went back to my place and I spent the night making sure she didn’t drive or take my chastity. It’s sad really, because by the time she was tipsy enough to do the dance for me, she would have been putty in my hands. I’d like to think she’d have been putty anyway, but I couldn’t test it while she had been drinking.


            In the morning she gave me a real and genuine kiss for not taking advantage of her. She gave me another for making breakfast for her, and by the time she had decided it was time for her to go, she’d managed quite a lot of kissing but was too sore for anything else.


            “I do have to go,” she said kissing me as she put on her suit jacket and grabbed her coat. “I’ll see you?”


            “I’m going to Peru on Friday,” I said.


            “Call me when you get back then, by then I’ll have my strength back.”


            “So should I,” I said grinning my most delicious grin.


            “I hope so,” she said, opening the door.


            A bright stream of white light bathed her as she walked out of the door, becoming a washed out image of a beautiful woman. She looked like an old photograph, where you can only make out slight shapes but none of the details. She pulled the door closed behind her and the light faded, leaving only the memory of her image on my retina. Her face had been photographed forever in my mind though, even if it was a washed out photo had been taken the morning after the worst day of her life, it was still beautiful.


            She had walked out though, and I had said that we’d speak after I returned. I think she would have expected a week or two, but I hadn’t told her that the trip was going to be nearly four months, but I didn’t think it would really matter. She wasn’t expecting me to call anyway. Women like that never really expected guys like me to call. She was going to be called by a guy with a nice classic car and lots of money in his pocket. She’d date a guy with a real business, with lots of employees and not just some guy with a single office. Let’s face it, that girl was quality and I am a small time gumshoe with hardly enough money to rub two nickels together.


            I picked up my cell phone and called the office, letting Debbie know I was going to be a few minutes late to the office. She said she had expected that and would be there when I got in, she also said that she’d booked a ticket and if I wanted we could go get some of the supplies that the professor had put on the list.


            I told her that would be fine and then sat down at my table and finished my orange juice. I tried not to think of poor Peter, sitting at the café while Amy walked in and put that silenced Rutthower against the side of his head. He’d probably not even connected her with a threat, she would have come that smoothly and quickly. He probably thought he was going to live to a ripe old age.


            Still, it was a filthy job and it was done now. I finished my orange juice and went to work.



This is the end of Wonderland. Next week we begin Liberty’s Child.

March 19, 2009 Posted by | Fiction, Jack | | Leave a comment