I'll come up with something in a minute.

In all the excitement, I forgot to post these.

















February 10, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | | Leave a comment

Candy dénouement

So I looked out the kitchen window, right? Now yesterday I never looked, even though normally I do. The kitchen window looks at the back door, where we normally get deliveries. I noticed a box and said “What the hell?” as we weren’t expecting anything. So I went out and what did I find? Well, I’ll show you…

I would like to blame Alex, since he’s only 4, but I know better. My sister doesn’t need a 4 year old to encourage her to buy me candy.

Look at all that. Continue reading

February 10, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | , | Leave a comment

I hate the weather

I really, really hate this time of year.

Above everything else, the weather is giving me a sinus headache that feel like someone put a Ceti eel up my nose instead of in my ear. Now the poor thing is all confused and it trying to wrap itself around my left eye instead of my brainstem.

February 10, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Well… we saw it.

Six things to say.

1. I can see why they called it Avatar, “Dances with Pocahontas’s Last Smurf on the Dunes of Fern Gully” wouldn’t have fit on the poster.

2. The 3D was a detriment to the storytelling. It yanked me out of the movie every time they turned on the wow factor. The wow factor didn’t really impress me by the way. I don’t know, it was pretty and all, but it didn’t trill me.

3. Actual quote when the guy started shooting at the Helicopter. “Because that’s how you get to be a Colonel in the Marines. You act like a hot headed asshole who just wants to get everyone killed.”

4. It didn’t need to be three hours long. Could have clocked that in a 110 minutes and done the same job better.

5. You don’t get to have floating mountains in a Sci-Fi. And if you do, how did they get the water up to the top for there to be a waterfall?

6. Trireme doesn’t defeat battle ship. No matter how much you believe or how hard you clap your hands, no matter how many good-looking white Americans you’ve got on your side, when a fairy goes against a space ship TINKERBELLE DIES!

February 6, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Jack & Jill (Part Five)

Jack & Jill (A Love Story)

A Jack Collier Story

By Brett N. Lashuay



Read last week’s entry here.


Part Five: King, Cole & Fiddlers Three


            I went back to my office, because one needs the first things first. If I was going to go chasing a possibly kidnapped girl out of state, I was going to carry my weapons with me. I also wanted Debbie to know what was going to be going on for the next couple of days. So to the office I went, ready to face any disapproving glances she might send my way.


            “I’ve got to go to Georgia tonight and I’m not sure when I’ll be back.” I said as I came into the office.


            “How come?”


            I quickly explained the situation with the cell phone and the pepper plantation. She looked unimpressed, but she didn’t glare at me or anything. She nodded and went back to the typing she was doing. I dismissed myself and went into the office heading for the safe.


            The safe in my office is big and old fashioned. It’s touchy and difficult to open, but it wouldn’t be for an experienced safe cracker. That’s not the point though, keeping others out isn’t as important as keeping me out. I ran my hand over the smooth, heavy green door of the safe as I started to work the knob. Two tries later I’d actually gotten the combination right and swung the door open. I used to keep a single fire safe in the larger safe, which is were I kept my two guns, but now there was a second fire safe in there. I took both safes and walked to my desk with them.


            I got my keys out and opened the older fire safe, which was just big enough for my Marley thirty-eight and the Webley Automatic Revolver along with their holsters. I took them from the safe and closed it, locking it to release my keys from it. I then sat back and looked at the second safe. This was about the same size, but it had a different cargo. I fiddled with my keys as I considered the contents.


            I opened the second fire safe and pulled the cloth off the pair of twenty-two caliber automatics. A twenty-two is not a horrible thing, in and of itself, just not very good for killing unless you are practiced with them. These were killing instruments though. The fact that each gun had been modified with a fixed single piece silencer had made it clear what these guns were for. They weren’t legal, not in any way shape or form. It’s not just that suppressors aren’t legal in Michigan, these guns weren’t legal anywhere. The guns had been stolen, they’d been used in at least a few murders, and these two had been taken off a man I’d killed. A State Trooper had given them to me, thinking I might need them when I’d killed the hit man who carried them.


            I’d never used them, not once, but I was going into a place I didn’t know and the situation looked murky. These were exactly the kinds of guns I absolutely couldn’t get caught with though, which is why they’d just sat in the safe until now. I did know how not to get caught with the wrong type of gun though, and the materials on these weapons resisted the notion of finger prints for obvious reasons. I picked one of the guns up and checked it, noticing that it was not only loaded but had a round primed should I want to start shooting people right now.


            I set the gun down on the desk and thought about it for a moment. I put it back in the fire safe and closed the safe. If I was going to do something with them, I wanted to pack them in a less public place than my office building’s parking lot. If I decided not use them, I could bring them back to the office and no harm done.


            I went back to my place and packed up a few things, putting the car in the garage to protect it and my privacy. It was there that I decided what I would do with the silenced pistols. I would pack them, but I would do so in a way that a paranoid person would do it. So I’m paranoid, it’s the only thing that makes me even a little bit smart.


            Most people wouldn’t be able to tell this from just looking at the Hudson, but it’s not a stock car. The old man who sold it to Tom Freedom had begun his criminal career running booze for the Purple Gang. When prohibition ended, he came to the conclusion that there was still a need for a fast car filled with illicit booze so he kept it up. The Hudson had more horses than the Grand National and more places to hide things than any car should. If you knew where to look, there were hidden panels in the back of the seats and under the dashboard that were just big enough for a bottle of whisky or a silenced Drexel automatic if that was what you had in mind. I decided on the spot under the dashboard because behind the seats were hard to reach since this car was made before bucket seats were standard.


            I packed up the rest of the car and was off within the hour, starting south and heading for Banbury Cross, Georgia. I’d fielded one call from Piper, telling me they would expect me, and another from Debbie asking how long I thought I’d be. I left a little while later, knowing that I would be drawn inexorably back to Michigan again, no matter what. I must be safe outside the state because Michigan wouldn’t let me get killed anywhere else because it wants the pleasure of crushing me itself.


            I drove a long way, but somewhere around ten at night I decided to stop and get a room. There was a time when I would have driven the whole way in one go, but I wanted to be daisy fresh when I got there and besides I wasn’t twenty anymore. I didn’t go for anything fancy, just stopped in a holiday inn located some where that looked like a nice enough area that my car wouldn’t get stolen. That worked out well, because the car was unmolested when I came out the next morning.


            I drove the rest of the way, following the instructions that Piper had given me. There were fields and fields of peppers, waiting to be picked by the workers who were bent over the fields, working at something. I pulled up to the large house, which was more like a manor than the farm house I’d been expecting, and saw the four of them sitting on the large white porch. One of them, the second from my right, was wearing an old west holster with a big pearl handled revolver sitting in it. The other three didn’t show obvious guns, but they might have had them.


            “Howdy.” The fattest of the group said as I got out of the car and started towards them. “You must be the detective.”


            “That’s right.” I said, pushing my hat back and looking at the group. “Are you Mister King?”


            “You can call me Cole.” Cole said smiling, and I thought I caught a false note in his Texas accent. “These are my boys, the Fiddler brothers.”


            “Hi.” The oldest looking one said. “I’m Daryl Fiddler.”


            “I suppose this is your brother Daryl and you other brother Daryl right?” I asked.


            Daryl Fiddler’s face darkened though I can’t say why. After all he can’t have heard that joke more than ten thousand times in his life, it had plenty of giggle left in it. Cole laughed and slapped Daryl on the back.


            “Don’t get mad at him Daryl.” Cole told him. “This is the guy who once popped a guy’s eye out for bothering him.”


            “There was a little more to it than that.” I said.


            “I’ll bet.” Daryl said.


            “I’m Joe.” The one who looked like the middle child and wore the holster said. “This here is Dave.”


            “Hi there.” Dave’s voice was soft and rasping.


            “So you’re gonna find out why we’re getting raided so much huh?” Cole asked.


            “That’s right.” I nodded. “Has anyone come to you guys suggesting that they know how they can make it stop?”


            “What’d you mean?” Joe asked.


            “I mean, has anyone said that if you pay someone or get out of town or something all the problems will go away?”


            “Naw.” Cole said. “Nothing like that, should there be?”


            “Maybe.” I said. “Tell you what. Call all your laborers together. Maybe one of them knows something.”


            “Sure.” Dave rasped. “We’ll get them together for you.”


            “Who are your competitors?” I asked. “Has it been the same INS people every time?”


            “He sure do ask a lot of questions.” Joe growled to Cole. “Shouldn’t be asking so many questions.”


            “He’s supposed to be asking questions.” Cole turned his head to Joe and the look on his face was enough.


            There was something that didn’t need to be said, because Cole had said it a thousand times. Joe clearly wasn’t the smart type, but Dave might have been. I saw the look on Dave’s face, even though Joe couldn’t see it. Dave probably didn’t know I could see his face, or I suspect he wouldn’t have allowed the look to cross his face like that. Cole continued to look at Joe for a few seconds too long, until Joe looked down at his shiny cowboy boots. Cole then looked back at me, trying to smile.


            “We got competitors.” Cole nodded at me. “But I can’t think of anyone around here who wants to put us out of business by hassling us.”


            “So no one who might want to do anything else?” I asked, putting my hands on my hips. “No vandalism? Nothing like that?”


            “Naw.” Cole smiled. “Just the INS been cracking down on us.”


            “Shit.” I said looking out at the field where the green plants were starting to grow. “Is the old man just being paranoid?”


            “That’s right.” Daryl agreed, and smiled far too wide. He liked the idea, but it hadn’t occurred to him before. “He don’t know about how all the farms have been getting hassled lately. All that bullshit about illegals and stuff.”


            “Yeah.” Joe smiled, and Dave looked like the only thing that prevented him from stabbing Joe was that they shared a mother. “He don’t come down here much. Don’t know nothing about what goes on here.”


            They were doing this all wrong, and Dave could tell. Cole knew something was wrong, but it was Dave who was really the smart one there. Cole pushed his cowboy hat back, smiled down at me and then looked out at the field. He looked out at it for a long moment and then looked back at me.


            “Tell ya what.” He drawled the fakest accent I’d heard him do yet. “Why don’t you unload your car and put your things in the guest room? We can gather up some of the workers, you can maybe talk to them. I suppose you can ask if any of them are actually illegal or anything.”


            “Yeah.” Joe smiled way too big again. “Make it look like you really tried to figure out what’s going on and then tell old man Piper that it’s just how things are going right now.”


            “Yeah.” I agreed with a nod. “I could probably do that.”


            “Dave, you show him the guest room and we’ll get the hands together.”


            “Sure.” Dave said.


            We went up to a smallish guest room, which had little more beyond a bed and a set of drawers with an old Panasonic TV on top of it. It would be comfortable enough, but a hotel would have been better really. At least at a hotel I would have an actually private room, but the price was right here and it was probably helping that I would be where her phone was last.


            “I’ve heard about you.” Dave said as I put my suitcase down on the bed. He didn’t have the hick voice of his brothers, but the sort of sweet drawl that made me want to avoid turning my back on him. There was something dangerous in that voice, something educated and knowing.


            “Oh yeah?”


            “I heard that you killed seven people in five minutes once.”


            “Six.” I said as nonchalantly as I could. “I killed the seventh later. It was all in the same twenty four hour period though.”


            “Still.” He raised his eye brows. “An impressive number.”


            “I got lucky.” I said. “Catch me out on another night on a lonely road and I might not be so lucky again.”


            “Have to see sometime.” He smiled and walked to the window. “They’ve got the workers assembled. You should probably go talk to them so they can get back to work soon.”


February 5, 2010 Posted by | Fiction, Jack | | Leave a comment

5 things (Linky edition)

Here are five things I think you should see…

1. 17 facts about cats You need to know about kitties

2. 50 Inspiring Vintage Advertisements Neat.

3. Gospel of Eve The bible could have been way sexy.

4. The ‘Ningen’ FREAKY!

5. Hark! A Vagrant A good comic, read it!!!

February 3, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | | Leave a comment

With a Time Machine…

If I had a simple time machine, I could gather the best minds ever. More than that, I could gather together a super group! Like the A-Team… only even more AWESOME!

My All Time Historical Bad-Ass Team

The Main Hero Type (I couldn’t think of a better name for the “Just Plain Heroic type Hero” distinction)
James Butler Hickok (lawman, gunfighter, gambler, scout, Civil War soldier, stage coach driver and abolitionist)
Sir William Marshal (The greatest knight that ever lived)
Wong Fei Hung (Martial artist, Doctor, revolutionary, righteous dude)
Ṣalāḥ ad-Dīn Yūsuf ibn Ayyūb (He kicked ass, took names, and wasn’t a dick about it)
Hone Heke (Frankly I just like his “I said FUCK OFF!” style)
Spartacus (Because some of these should be the excepted answers)

Bi-sexual/bi-curious Prettyboy Asskickers (the girls seem to be really into these guys these days)
Alexander The Great (Never lost, fucked everything he could get his dick in)
Richard the Lionheart (Gay as Springtime!)
Horatio Nelson (He did ask Hardy to kiss and banged Emma Hamilton like a screen door. And look at him! That is one pretty motherfucker)

Charming Asskickers (the kind who could fuck your wife from across the room)
George Custer (Loved his wife too much to fuck yours)
Billy Bishop (Too busy flying to fuck your wife)
Lord George Gordon Byron (He probably did fuck your wife, and if you check he probably fucked you too. I should have put in him the Bi group.)
Harold Marshall (Cause he looks like Errol Flynn with an attitude)

Sexy Russian Agent (I’m a product of the 80s and the cold war as a whole, there was ALWAYS a sexy Russian Agent in the mix)
Catherine The Great (With Cathy on our team, we don’t need another Sexy Russian Agent)

Beautiful and Deadly Girls of Action (Oh fuck off! Get over the feminism for three minutes and enjoy these babes!)
Tomoe Gozen (Best Samurai chick I could find)
Lyudmila Pavlichenko (The most kick ass girl sniper like ever)
Boudica (Don’t mess with her daughters)
Æthelburg of Wessex (Because she burned Taunton down… by herself)
Yim Wing-chun (She invented a kind of Kung Fu, what more do you need?)

Engineers (someone has to make the gadgets and the vehicals which will be turned into toys)
Hero of Alexandria (invented everything, even the stuff he didn’t)
Isambard Kingdom Brunel (He could engineer the fuck outta any problem)

Bad Boys (the brooding outsiders)
Ned Kelly (He made himself a suit of armor and went to fight the law, and the law still won)
Miyamoto Musashi (Like Wolverine, only real)
Nathan Hale (We’ll need spies)
James MacLaine & William Plunkett (Gentlemen Highwaymen)

Tough as Nails Boss (The Boss, the one who’s tough as nails)
Ulysses S. Grant (He’s the boss applesauce!)

February 3, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Vicky and Bert – Royal Boning

When people talk about the Victorians being stuffy, repressed, and terrified of sex, they tend to forget that Vicky and Bert fucked like mad weasels. Seriously, look it up. The Queen of England and her Prince Consort did the nasty no less than 86 times a day. You’ve got to eat right to keep up that level of activity. I have no idea how she found time to sit on the throne what with all the time she spent sitting on his face. I must assume the way a Prince Albert got its name must be false. I can’t imagine he kept it out of her long enough to get it pierced frankly. They must have needed a hell of a lot of creams to keep from chafing as it was.

I’m saying they did it on a fairly regular basis.

February 2, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Isambard Kingdom Brunel (a poem)

Isambard Kingdom Brunel faked his own death so he would have more time for his true passion… engineering the perfect doughnut!

Every word I’ve ever told you is true.

Even the shit I made up.

It’s all true.

Isambard Kingdom Brunel MAKES it true.

Isambard Kingdom Brunel engineers the fuck out of problems.

The only thing greater than Isambard Kingdom Brunel, is Fancy.

Fancy runs this show bitches!

And don’t you forget it.

February 2, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | | Leave a comment