If you’re wondering what to do with your extra bubbly, try the following…
And of course, the Grumpy Champagne
The Return of Jack Collier
A Jack Collier Story
By Brett N. Lashuay
(This chapter by: Jill Piper)
I knew that today was going to be the day. I was waiting in the white room, where all the objects were white or had been painted white, and counting the hours. I knew what was going to happen, I’d been told all about it in graphic detail. I was going to be raped, and it would be videotaped so that I could watch it later while I was being raped again. I was to be broken, and made into a supplicant. That was their plan anyway, I knew what was really going to happen.
I had been wearing the only thing that was left in my clothing drawers that day, a cotton dress with light tan accent lines on a few spots like the hem and sleeves. It looked like someone had bleached the dress to take out all the color they could. I knew they were going to make me change, they’d already brought the two bits of fabric they were calling a sacrificial gown, even though it was really just a thin toga sort of robe thing. I would have to wear it, or they would drug me long enough to put me in it. I didn’t want to be drugged, because I wanted to be ready for when Jack came.
Jack came earlier than I thought he would, and not how I’d planned.
The door opened and the guy who wanted to be Buddy Holly when he grew up came through the door. He had a nasty look on his face when he came in, smiling at me and making me tug at the hem of my skirt to try and pull it over my legs so he couldn’t look at them.
“I’ve brought you a present,” he said, licking his top lip in a way that made me uncomfortable. “Something for you to look at.”
Then they dragged him in, one of them on each arm and his feet barely touching the ground. He was covered in blood, and he looked like he’d been beaten with a baseball bat. His eyes were moving around though, and his movements were only a little dazed. He looked at me and his face broke into a wide grin, showing me that he still had all his teeth in place.
“Hi Jill,” he enthused at me. “How you doing girl?”
“Jack?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he grinned a lop sided smirk at me and tipped a wink. “I’ll be back to get you in a little while, will you be ready for me?”
“Yes Jack,” I said, nodding to him.
“Don’t worry about this situation,” he cleared his throat and moved around a little. “I can handle this, this is nothing.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” the Buddy Holly look-alike winner said.
“You bet I am,” Jack said. “Don’t you worry about a thing kiddo. Once I sort these guys out, I’ll be right with you.”
“Okay,” I said trying not to sound like a stupid little girl, but failing. “I’ll wait Jack.”
“That’s a good girl,” he said. “I’ve got to go with these guys and then I’ll be back for you.”
“Okay Jack.” I nodded at him.
“Oh shut up,” Buddy Holly said, giving him a kick in the side. “Take him for a ride, I don’t want to see him again.”
The two big guys took him away and the skinny guy with glasses snapped his fingers. Another two big guys brought a girl into the room and threw her down on the floor. One of them gave her a slap when she tried to get up, which sent her spinning and falling to the floor.
“What?” I asked.
“Get to know her,” he said as he walked out the door. “You’re the main course, she’s going to be the starter tonight.”
The door closed behind him and the girl sat up and started to cry. She put her fists against her face and shook her shoulders, and that was all. There wasn’t screaming or wailing, just the shoulder shaking. I guessed she must have known what was ahead for us, but not known that Jack really would be rescuing us just like he promised.
“It’s okay,” I sat down and put my arms around her shoulders. “Jack will come back for us, he always comes back.”
“I’m going to kill that little shit,” she said suddenly.
“What?” I asked.
“I’m going to kill that little Elvis Costello look alike.” she said wiping her face. “He killed Dale. I’m going to kill him.”
She got up and walked to the door, smacking her hand at the place where the knob had been removed. She looked at the spot and then smacked the door with her shoulder a few times. The door didn’t move though, it just sat there while she banged into it. She fell to the floor again, and this time she really did start crying for real.
“Goddamnit!” She snapped as she hit the floor and began to sob in earnest. “Damn it!”
“It’s a locked door,” I said. “Even if you broke it down, there are a dozen guys on the other side.”
“Damn it,” she said again and swiped at her eyes. “I should be able to handle this.”
“Why?” I asked.
“I should be able to do something,” she said.
“There’s nothing to do,” I shrugged. “We’ve just got to wait for Jack.”
“Just wait for the man to come to the rescue?” she asked.
“No,” I said, wondering if she’d ever actually seen him in action. “We wait for Jack.”
There wasn’t much to say after that, so we did wait. And we waited. And waited. I started to get a little worried because after a while it started to get late. The clock was turning around, marking out how much time we had left. The door opened and two of the big men came back in.
“Time to get dressed,” one of them said throwing something at her. I could tell, just by how it landed, it was another sacrificial gown.
“What if we don’t?” she asked.
He didn’t look annoyed or threatening or anything. He just shrugged at her.
“We can do it easy, or we can do it hard,” he said pulling a syringe from his coat pocket. “It won’t matter either way. You’re going to be in that dress and you’re going to do your part. You can either be paralyzed, or you can go willingly. Coming down from this stuff isn’t pleasant though, I’ll tell you that.”
She didn’t say anything, she just pulled her shirt off and started to undo her bra. They walked out and left us to it, giving us a few moments of privacy before we were to be abused. She had a nice body, just the sort of girl I liked. If things had been different, we could have had a nice weekend together, but there wasn’t going to be time for that. If I was lucky, I would just pass out in the first few moments.
We got dressed, we waited until we were called for, and we just looked at each other. I could tell she wanted to talk, but she had clearly decided that sitting in silence was the way to go. When they did come, they looked meaner than ever. I wanted to ask her what her name was, but I didn’t get a chance when we were led from the white room towards the place where it was going to happen.
We were walked into a room where two tables had been set up. No, not tables. They were, well, racks, with stirrups on them. We were each grabbed by a dozen men each and tied down. Our hands were tied over our heads and our legs were tied into the stirrups, putting us in an easy position to be used. They just used strips of cloth, not even leather or anything, it would have been so easy to cut through those with even a small knife.
I looked at her, noticing how she seemed to be taking all this in stride and realized I still didn’t know her name. Whatever moment of weakness she’d had was gone, and they weren’t going to be able to do anything to her because she wasn’t going to be broken. She looked strong and angry and waiting for a moment to attack. I wished I could have been strong like her, but I was getting scared. Jack should have been here and he wasn’t.
Then the talking began, and the ritual began, and I started to cry because I knew I’d been forgotten. They were sprinkling me with water, pouring oil down my legs and I knew he wasn’t coming. They started chanting, and I couldn’t help the tears pouring down my face. I was in that chair for ten minutes, waiting for them to just start and get it over with, before they started the count down.
“Fifteen seconds brothers!” one of them called and pulled open his robe, exposing his erect penis. “Ten seconds!”
They all cheered together as the last few seconds rolled down.
“FIVE! FOUR!” one of them started to crawl on top of me, his breath reeking of booze and something that smelled like pot. “THREE! TWO!”
And I knew I’d been left behind.
Do you suppose Queen Liz 2 (Liz Harder*) actually likes swan? It would be shame if she’d rather just have a Big Mac wouldn’t it? You sort of want her going “Ooo! Swan! I get the good bit! Philly, you can Chuckles can fight over the neck. Neither of you will ever actually rule, so it doesn’t matter! I;’m going to give the throne to Harry! He at least has a fucking sense of humor! HA HA!”
I suspect it’s like the diamond encrusted royal butt plug. Sure, a diamond and gold butt plug sounds impressive. HOWEVER! I have it on good authority (Liz Harder herself) that once you actually try to insert it, you discover that diamonds are some jagged motherfuckers and it hurts like hell. She said Philip was shitting blood for a week.
*Electric Queenabo just didn’t sound right.
The problem I have with using the time machine is the paradoxes. I never know whether any given memory is real or not.
I have the same problem, with drug induced hallucinations, but I can usually discount anything with dragons and nurses with massive rows of sharp teeth jutting from the mouth on their chests.
(P.S. If you get the joke in the title, bless your little heart)
The Return of Jack Collier
A Jack Collier Story
By Brett N. Lashuay
Chapter Twenty-Six: Trouble
Chapter Twenty-Six: Trouble
It may be irresponsible of me, but I’m not going to describe the next three days worth of work because it’s boring. The problem there is that it always makes detective work seem more exciting than it is because storytelling conventions require taking out the hours, days, and sometimes weeks of mindless grind that goes with the job. Still though, I’m telling the story, not you, and I get so bored even thinking about it that my eyes cross. So you will please excuse me while I ignore the three days of ground pounding and foot flattening we performed while looking for the place where Jill was most likely kept away in a dark room.
It was a frustrating and increasingly hectic few days, with me checking the clock every fifteen seconds on that last day. It was the last day after all, only a few hours before zero hour and we had only just decided on what was probably the best bet. When looking at a situation like this, you look for who looks shifty, who looks paranoid. Who has extra security, who has too much coming in or out the door? The problem is that just about everyone out there had too much security going on. Legalized pot had made the entire state paranoid. What’s interesting is that if I hadn’t made a few mistakes, and they hadn’t made a few mistakes, I probably wouldn’t have found her in time.
The house was in the hills. Don’t ask me which hills, because I can’t remember. We’d more or less come to the conclusion that this one house was probably the place because it had seen an increase in security in the last few hours. We’d been watching half a dozen properties playing the old 47 Ronin game, and I got to be the mad man, and this was the place. I wasn’t sure though, so we were harmlessly trespassing on the grounds when we spotted the suits walking toward us. Shiri, Dale and I were standing together, looking like two gay burnouts and their annoyingly out of place dealer. I just didn’t get the memo that we were going to be street kids that day, and I’m ten years older than the both of them so I wouldn’t have fit in anyway.
“We’ve been spotted,” Shiri said as she looked over Dale’s shoulder.
“We’re being fenced in,” Dale said as he looked over her shoulder.
I kept looking at the house and didn’t look at either of them. I was trying to decide what I was going to do while slipping the leather persuader out of my back pocket and sliding it up my sleeve. I was pretty sure that we were in trouble by the way Dale’s arms tensed up and the way Shiri’s legs moved as they came close.
“We were just looking for a place to hang out till dark man,” Dale started. “Sorry man, we’ll just…”
Someone hit Dale across the mouth and I finally decided to look at the group that had approached us. A little runt who looked like he worshipped the ground Buddy Holly walked on was adjusting a pair of brass knuckles on his hand. I looked down and saw Dale spit out a mouthful of blood and what looked like a tooth.
“No,” the little Buddy Holly look-alike said succinctly. “You were snooping, weren’t you? Shall we try again? Were you snooping?”
“Of course we were,” I said.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” he snapped at me. “I was talking to the faggot.”
“Well you should have been talking to me,” I said.
“I was talking to him,” he pointed the hand with the knuckle dusters at Dale.
“Well talk to me instead,” I said, sounding just a little too arrogant. “It’s more sporting if you hit me.”
“Oh yeah?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m more used to being hit with illegal weapons. We’ll both enjoy it more.”
“Oh these,” he gave me a prod in the stomach that bent me over a bit but didn’t do much more than let me know we were both there. “I’ve got lots more than these.”
“Good to know,” I straightened up and looked down on him, which is unusual because I rarely tower over anyone.
“So what are you three doing here?” he asked.
“Snooping,” I told him. “I thought we’d established that.”
He swung his fist, but it was in such a big wide arc that there was no effort getting out of the way. I blocked with my left arm and tapped him in the belly with my right fist, just enough for him to know I knew how to hit. He staggered back a few steps and looked like he wanted to leap on me. He didn’t though, not matter how much he wanted to, which was an important note for both of us. Something looked broken in his eyes, like a dog that was raised wild and wouldn’t ever be completely tame.
“Who are you?” he asked, after regaining his composure.
I looked behind us and saw that while this fellow had come with three guys, there were another four that had come up the other path. If I ran down the hill, I could get into the house and check to see if that was indeed the full compliment of security staff. Heck, they might even shoot at me to show me if they were armed or not. I looked at the little guy and his large companions and thought of how best to answer that.
“I’m Jack Collier,” I said. “These two said they lived around here, so I asked them to show me this place.”
“Collier?” the little guy asked, tilting his head from side to side, bringing little cracking noises from his neck. “You’d be the private eye from Michigan then?”
“That’s right,” I nodded.
“We thought you people were in Georgia.”
“Some are,” I said. “I came out here.”
“Would you be the Jack Collier who was part of that big Seven With One Blow thing a few years ago?” his face looked cold, implacable, and very cold.
“That’s right,” I told him. “Although it was really six with one, the seventh came a lot later.”
“You killed a good friend of mine,” he pulled out what at first looked like a slim pocket knife, until he hit a button and I realized it was a switchblade. This boy was full of illegal weapons today, this one was one of those fancy out the front types that pops straight out and then flicks back in with a touch of the button. “I’m Steve Quale. Chester Cat was a friend of mine.”
“Well, he wasn’t easy to kill,” I told him, waiting to see if I couldn’t get him to stab at me. “That should make you happy.”
He snarled at me for a moment, which was not an attractive look for him. His eyes flicked to the left at Dale and then back at me. I should have jumped then, I’ll admit it. I should have seen what that flick in his eyes meant, but I’m not as smart as some people. His hand moved with a flash of speed that would have left a cobra gaping and the blade slashes across Dale’s neck.
Dale’s eyes bulged, his hands went to his throat and he started to stumble as blood began to run down his chest. I caught him halfway through his fall and pressed my hand against the large wound on his neck, trying to staunch the blood flow. It was pointless because keeping the blood in his body only meant there was more to go into his lungs and drown him. I sat there for a moment or two, while blood soaked between my fingers and dropped onto my pants and into the dusty ground around us.
“You killed a friend of mine, I killed a friend of yours,” Quale said.
“He wasn’t a friend of mine,” I said looking up at him. “I barely knew the guy. He just worked in the office out here.”
“So he was one of your little faggots,” He sneered. “This would be your pet dyke then.”
I started to stand up, intent on giving him a good hiding, but he was faster than me. In fact, Mister Quale was faster than lightning. Somehow he’d gotten his brass knuckles back on his hand and smacked me in the face with them. Then hands were on my shoulders and arms and another pair of strikes hit me in the stomach.
“You’ve got your little army of sodomites, and I’ve got an army of righteous men,” Quale said. “You people don’t know what you’re up against. You think this is some little gang of punks? We’re the soldiers of God, we’re going to sweep our hands of fire across the land.”
His fist hit me again, and my head was filled with the songs I’d never bothered to hear. My brain was still rocking from side to side when Quale announced it was time to go see someone he called the bitch. Or maybe he was going to let me see her, or let her see me, something like that. I wasn’t too terribly clear on the details because at that moment I was trying to keep my brain from leaking out of my nose by concentration alone.
I was in trouble though, that much was clear. I had clearly screwed something up because I was being dragged along by two guys about the size of Belgium into a house where I was thinking Jill might be kept. If I was being taken to see her, it was not so I could pick her up and take her home. I was sort of thinking that I was about to be taken for a ride, the sort you don’t come back from.
This would have been a time to come up with a plan, or attack with sudden violence and save the day. The problem was that my guns were back at the hotel, because I didn’t think I’d need them just yet. I had a pocket knife, but my arms were being held by the two guys who could each stand in for Belgium. I couldn’t come up with a plan anyway, because I was distracted by all the pain. If I didn’t think of something soon though, we were all going to be in a lot of trouble.
Why can’t it ever be following a guy around to see if he’s really broken his leg or is just faking it to get the insurance benefits. No, it has to be adventure, excitement, and really wild things. Someday I’m going to get my head caved in, and this was starting to look like the day.
Okay, download this song called Figgy Puddin’
Now for a minute it sounds okay, but at 1:03… a drunk walks in. The crazy bitch just starts screaming about wanting her Figgy Puddin’, and that she won’t leave until someone gives her some figgy pudding.
This goes further than wondering if you can trust your senses, this is like… I think I’m going to be visited by three spirits or some shit.
As tomorrow is Buddha Day, I thought I would remind you of some important gift giving things.
Sometimes, people actually WANT socks. Some people would hate the idea of getting an official Red Ryder carbine-action, two hundred shot Range Model air rifle with a compass in the stock and a thing which tells time and other long for a pink jelly butt plug. Please remember to think of the person while buying the gift. Also, remember that gifts are not a requirement but rather a way to show affection. It’s not a competition, it should just be a nice thing you’ve decided to do.
It is Buddha Day after all.
Tomorrow is Buddha Day! In remembrance of that, let’s have an essay I wrote a couple of years ago!
Let me explain this for those of you who are Christian or live in primarily Christian areas as to why many non-Christians get fed up with Christmas and the forcing of Christmas upon us.
Let us imagine for a moment that you live in an alternate Universe where the Chinese used all those inventions that they came up with first and that Eastern Culture took over the world instead of Western Culture. Now let us imagine that there is a holiday at the end of December called Buddha Day. Now imagine that for two months solid, every store you went into, every ad circular, every commercial break on every TV and radio station had tons and tons of Buddha Day reminders. The Buddha Day music starts in mid November, the little red resin Buddha statues start being sold before Halloween, the big light up Buddhas start showing up before Thanksgiving. You start seeing Buddha Day things in August and the rumble becomes a huge blaring noise that just builds for four god damn months. By December you can’t go out of your house without seeing all sorts of Buddha Day decorations and being told to “Be Peaceful, Buddha Day is coming” and even when they don’t mention Buddha, you know that’s what they mean. The thin man in the green robes who delivers cakes on Buddha Day Eve might be an old throw back and more commercial than religious, but you KNOW what day he’s for. All the specials are for Buddha Day, all the commercials are for Buddha Day, all the “Holiday Editions” are always sold with traditional (if non-religious) Buddhist symbols on them.
And now here is the clincher, here is the part that gets you. No one knows a thing about Christmas or Christianity, in fact, they’re kind of dismissive about it. You tell people you don’t celebrate Buddha Day because you’re Christian and they say things like “Oh, but you must do something for it, right? I mean, for the kids at least.” Or they say things like “Oh, Christmas right, that’s the one where Moses comes back from the dead after being drowned in the big flood right?” and then they change the subject about this great gift they got their brother for Buddha Day. Anytime you try to say “Merry Christmas”to someone they give you a dirty look like you’re tying to corrupt their children with your evil Jesus thing, or they complain about these filthy minorities always having to have their own stupid minority holiday that’s just a cheep rip off of Buddha day. No one outside your little community sells anything (and I mean ANYTHING) for Christmas, you can barely find a little statue of Jesus for the dashboard of the car outside of the “Jesustown” shops. You felt lucky in the mid 90s when multiculturalism was hip and a Nickelodeon show did one (1) special just for Christmas although you can’t find it on DVD because Christmas isn’t very popular.
Under this system, you might get a little sick of Buddha Day after a while, wouldn’t you? I mean even people who celebrate complain about feeling worn down by it. It might even feel a little galling when you discover that half the Buddha Day celebrations are based on (you guessed it) Christmas celebrations that were in place before the Chinese took over Europe. For all their bitching about “The War On Buddha Day” its really been a war to squash the truth that Christians started this in the first place and are still out there. In fact you come to the conclusion that the whole “War on Buddha Day” is really an excuse to shove Buddha Day down your throat even more and to remind you that as a Christian you are a small minority in enemy territory. When anyone tries to be inclusive and says “Happy Holidays” instead of “Happy Buddha Day” small groups of religious loonies stir up a huge stink and act like Buddha Day is being erased from the calendar despite the fact that the one day holiday now covers fully a third of the year.
With all this in mind, don’t you think you might get a little hyper-sensitive about Buddha Day?
Maybe those who celebrate Buddha Day should confine it to December, at the very least?
I mean, I like Buddha Day, but I also like Christmas, Hanukkah, Dogbert Day, Yule, Kwanzaa, and all the other early winter holidays as well.
Respect for others and an understanding that not everyone celebrates Buddha Day would be nice at this time of year when we’re supposed to love our fellow humans.
Let’s not let Buddha Day take over and destroy all the other holidays, okay?
I have little to say today…
Have a bunch of links!
Silent Night Deadly Night, Part 2 Garbage Day!
Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
McDonald’s “Totally Toy Holiday” Happy Meal! Yummy and time wasting!
Movie Review: Scrooge (1951) This is the Alastair Sim version!
Santa Fu! Video Game!
Movie Review: Morozko (Jack Frost) AWESOME RUSSIAN MOVIE!
Don’t Open Till Christmas Woo!
Cartoon Review: A Garfield Christmas Less awesome!
4 Bad Lessons ‘Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer’ Teaches Kids