Tuesday, July 10, 2018

Harry's Comedy Corner (Blogophilia 18.11)

Hey, Heidy and Howdy!. It's your ol' buddy, Harry live on good ol' WOFT. The marketing weasels have been crunching the latest Nielsen numbers and they saidgolden oldies aren't cutting it anymore. That's right! Fewer and fewer of you Geritol kids have it in you to keep up, or worse have joined me here in the wind. Well, as public service (and a craven attempt to keep my job), I have taken it upon myself to give you, my listeners, the strength to carry on. Hey! Isn't that a song lyric?

I read somewhere that laughter is the best medicine, so tonight's show is all COMEDY!

We'll start with Happy Hour. Now where I'm from the Killjoys in the State Revenue department no longer allow for drink specials, but I am aware of a few places you can pong for your beer...

By the time you've played a round or three, you get really happy. So happy, you don't care what silliness is on TV.

But some jerk decides cartoon Wrasslin' ain't real since there ain't any drama. Well, my go to is the fabulous Dusty Rhoads, now performing in the Heavenly Ring.

Ain't no way any of that's real...What's in those beers, anyway?

Sometime during the night, work and bosses will get brought up. And you thought you could get away from all that...

It makes you wish you were some Hollywood anti-hero that could say anything you wanted. Maybe this guy.

Finally, after all that, you are ready for something completely different

Which is what you look like after losing at Beer Pong.

Just don't blame me in the morning.


Topic-Tyler Myth

Pic- Colleen Bruening

Pic guesses: Beer Pong (in blog), Happy Hour (in blog), Party, Frat,

Sunday, July 8, 2018

Ballgame v2.0 (Blogophilia 17.11)

What if there are no superheroes?No hopeJust dumb luck.Against the machinations of life?
What if there are?Someone to take the responsibility away,Benevolent and all seeing. Willing to protect and take the blameA scapegoat chased out of the city.
I don’t take drugsI am drugsBlowing visions across the skyConfusing the flockGuiding them to be sheared.
Best Friend Park hadn’t changed much in twenty years. The copper infield was smooth as glass and the emerald turf immaculate thanks to Old Man Johnson. Life was simpler back then. Lt. Walter Murray was here to see his grandson play T-ball for the first time this season. The first three Saturday mornings he had to work. He was happy not to think of dead people and grieving victims. Robbery and Major Crimes, the shifts were consistent. Coaching ball and playing with his kids was possible.
Homicide was another animal. No two cases were the same. Dealing in death was a 24/7 on call position. When Friday night’s damage was found early Saturday morning, his world stopped and he had to deal with everyone else’s issues. It was like being Batman, but without the cool tools. Mornings like this reminded him of what was missing in the civilized world.
Coaching fundamentals made him think of the street kids with on patrol. Trouble always found the bored, lonely kids. Most needed strong adults and there just weren’t any for them. He managed to get a few interested in the Police Athletic League but he couldn’t save them all. Faces, both white and black, reflected in the faces of the children here on the field. The sun blinked over the trees in right field. Murray rubbed his thighs. One thing hasn't changed. Damn bleachers are hot. Swiping a stained handkerchief across his shaved head, he looked around.
One group of parents sat to his left. The parents for the opposing team sat on the other side of the backstop. A gaggle of girls had gathered behind the fence on the first base side to play zoo with some toy animals. They took turns playing shepherd. One would march the flock up one side, while another would bring them down the other. One deliberately put a zebra high into a bush and screamed it was lost. All the other animals rushed into the imaginary forest to help the shepherd girl find it.
A smile came. Such drama. A small bit of string found and was used as a rope to pull it to safety. Hooray!
Little Wally was his grandson. Sitting at the end of the bench playing with a blade of grass, his mind didn't look like it was in the game. He looked so much like his father at that age,sandy blonde curls and not an ounce of fat. A bundle of energy bounding from place to place, his red streaked uniform hanging off thin shoulders. The kid didn’t always pay attention, but he did seem to have fun. A little brown kid kept hitting him in the arm, but Wally just kept at the blade. He put the end in his mouth and began to chew. The other kid made a face and slid down the bench.
There was a clink from the field. The kid batting flied out. It was almost Wally's time to bat.
“Hey, Superman.” Murray yelled out, “It’s almost your turn. Go get ‘em!”
The little boy turned toward him and smiled. Tossing the chewed blade away, he walked to the end of the bench. Big Wally double checked his helmet with quick tug. The small gray and orange bat felt good in his hands. He waited at the edge of the dugout for the kid at bat to finish.
A shout for the kid to buckle down.
Another parent yells to try again.
Cheers and exhortations for the kid to run fast. With absolutely no speed, the ball dribbled towards first and was grabbed by the opposing fielder. The out was made. The parents groaned and the kid slouched dejectedly back to the bench.
It was Wally’s turn.
The little man strode confidently to the edge of the batter's box. Mimicking the older boys on the adjacent field, he swung the bat through a couple of time, testing the feel. Murray tensed with anticipation, wondering what dreams were going through the little mind. Satisfied, Wally stepped up to the silver stick.
With one swing, the ball flew high over the second basement and past the right fielder. It came to rest at the fence about 150 feet away.The crowd cheered. Afternoons with Grandpa paid off again. Little Wally rounded the bases with ease and was met with the high fives of his team mates. The game ended and everyone went to the parking lot for snacks.
Ms. Scalini was the team Mom. Everyone gathered next to her Suburban to be served. An invisible woman handed out juice boxes and cookies to the suddenly hungry team. Murray smiled at the little brother in Spider-man pajamas with the leaking box. Mom's got a clean up job.
Wally ran up with a juice box and asked excitedly if he’d seen the big hit. Murray took a sip and rubbed the curly head. He assured him he had.
"Grandpa, can we play catch later?"
His cell phone buzzed.
They both shrugged. Another case to deal with.
At least it wasn’t a completely ruined Saturday.
Murray slouched to the black Crown Vic opened the door. With an involuntary duck, he felt the blast of air go over the top of his head. Wincing as he slid on the hot vinyl, he dialed back to headquarters to get the location.
Let me guess, he thought. It’s here in Norcross. He thought about going home and changing into more professional clothes, but that would take too long. Baseball shirt and shorts will have to do.
“Gwinnett Homicide. Jackson.” Even after all these years the donkey voice still grated at his nerves.
“Murray. What’s up?”
“Sorry to bust up the ballgame Lieutenant, but we just got a call out of the Graves. I knew you were in the neighborhood and I figured you could field this.” Murray heard a suppressed bray from his partner.
There are some days I think I'll die from an overdose of satisfaction, Jackson. But, the game is over. What do we know so far?”
“Not much. Male. Latin. No age or I.D. yet, but pretty young. Found by one of the residents at the bottom of the hill a little while ago. Patrol has secured the scene, so you should be ready to roll when you get there. Crime Scene is also en route and may beat you there. I’m finishing up a report, so I'll be down about 20 minutes.
“Take your time. I doubt you’ll miss much. See you there.”
As he clicked off, Little Wally came running up, curls flowing in the breeze.
“You going to work, Grandpa?”
“Yeah. Somebody is hurt and needs my help.”
The little boy nodded and grinned, flinging his sticky arms around his neck.
“I love you. Maybe you’ll get home in time to play some catch.”
“We’ll see, Superman.”, He patted him on the shoulder. “Now get on back to Mom. She’s waiting.”
As the little boy ran to his parents, Murray sighed. Did his deceased had left anyone behind? Probably a Mama, maybe a girl and kids. Living a “Fuck the Future” life, with no plans for the future past Friday. They are surprised when Universe fucks them back and leaves their corpses littering the landscape.
He cranked the car and turned the air conditioning up to full. It didn't make a difference.
Turning on to Jimmy Carter, he frowned. While Three miles to the cesspit of sin. A distance made longer by worst designed road in the State of Georgia. Five hundred yards later came gridlock, drivers cursing in ten languages. Things sure have changed the last twenty years, Murray thought as the sweat poured down his face. He wondered what was at the scene.
Was this the third or fourth case from there this year? He had worked a domestic and Jackson had drawn a bad drug deal. Both of those closed pretty quickly. The folks involved were known and there was enough physical evidence not to need much testimony. Last he had heard, both were negotiating plea deals. This was helpful since this was a neighborhood where snitches got stitches.
One case was still open. A young girl was found naked in one of the dumpsters with her throat slit. Two months later they didn’t have a good I.D, just her tattoo, Bella Paloma. The ME report stated the deceased was 18-20 and had had a hard life. Cold words for what looked like a warm woman. Murray had seen her once or twice working one of the busy corners for tricks, but never had any reason to talk. The other hookers knew nothing other than she had shown up maybe a month or six weeks before she was found. Now she was just another used up piece of trash.
Working the scene was tough. She had been killed somewhere else, very little blood anywhere around. The dumpster itself was out of the direct line of sight from the other buildings, so when the neighbors said they didn’t see anything, they may have been right. But the detectives didn’t even get that. Everybody claimed they were inside and it wasn’t their business. Nobody wanted the attention of some SureƱo Trece pimp.
The only lead was a tire tread in the clay next to the dumpster and a beige Toyota seen leaving about the time she was found. Of course, no one had a description of the driver.
So, would this new body be connected to that one? Jackson said he was Latin. Nah. Nobody promised me magic in this job. Almost everyone else in the complex was.

Tuesday, June 26, 2018

I Always Wanted to Be in a Elmore Leonard Novel (Blogophilia 17.11)

It was raining in Pretentious Acres.
Yeah, I know. You aren't supposed to start a story with a weather report. So sue me.
It could be worse. I could be this is where the murder's began. But they don't. It's just a run of the mill adultery investigation. I’m an ex-cop and current private eye sitting in an oak tree across the street from my target, playing Peeping Tom with the woman in the window. Maybe I won't get washed away in the process.
My scene is a standard five-four-and-a door with a brick colonial at the end of a cul-de-sac. You know, the Great American Dream planted like so much seed crop. A single tree in the front matches with a privacy fence in the back. Even the black Audi pulling into the driveway fits. According to my client, it also comes Maria the wife and two teen aged daughters, both of whom are both Counselors at a summer camp upstate.
My client thinks his Maria is having fun. So, how do you solve a problem like Maria? you hire me to hang the dirty laundry for all to see. The usual result is everybody gets to play 52 pick-up for the rest of their lives. But as long as I get paid, that isn't my problem. I advise him to be cool and I'd take care of everything.
And the star is nice to look at. In an off the shoulder sundress, she's nice enough to make you miss the 3:10 to Yuma, if you know what I mean.
The fella coming out of the Audi certainly does. Mr. Majestik was dressed in an open collar shirt with contrasting slacks. He looks like the Cad from Central Casting. The table is nicely set, with candles and good food and rum punch for dessert. A fitting overture for a private sonata. It appears my client's fear is justified.
The camera motor whirs in my ear as I capture the scene.
This could be a set from any number of shows, both comedy and tragedy. Chitchat over salad. Smiles and knowing looks combine with rare steak and calimari. Each little bite adds to the crescendo. The only question is will they pull the curtain on the climax? Or will the view up in Honey's Room be unobstructed?
As I think about moving closer for a better view, a set of headlights come barreling down the street. Slipping down in the seat, I see a familiar Mercedes pull into the drive. Strangely, my client takes his time getting out. He opens the front door just as Audi and Maria begin their dance. I drop to the ground and head toward the house.
As I cross over the curb, the view through the window is how you would expect. Everyone is pointing at the others. The faint sounds of cursing come through the window. But something strange happens. My client gets shorty and plants a huge kiss on his lips. Then they both reach out and pull Maria into their grasp. Every weird fantasy I ever had, all in front of me.
I dutifully record it all.
Freaky Deaky...indeed.
Pic Guesses: Graffiti, calamari (in blog), Surprised, Bedtime story, Wide eyed, Wonderland.

Thursday, June 21, 2018

Makeup (Blogophilia 16.11)

She sits at the mirror
Hoping the date goes well.

He sits in the car
Wondering how he got here.

An odd situation it was
Melting wax sealing ruby slippers in the rain.

The reward is now.
A date.
And he doesn’t even know her name.

Stepping up to the doorbell
It rings
A bouquet of flowers answers.

Matching the red and yellow ones
In hand.
It sounds cheesy to me.

But smiles form simultaneously
From each
As they step into their futures.

Topic-Jay Sole
Pic Guesses: Primping (in blog), Ruby slippers (in blog), bouquet (in blog), big date, makeup (Blog title), Mirror on the wall.

Wednesday, June 13, 2018

Cain (Blogophilia 15.11)

My name is Cain. My mother thought it was cute.
Names have fates and mine doomed me to be a fugitive for all my days. Trouble always finds me. I have no delusions of grandeur. I am a slave to this demon, Trouble. Like every other good slave, I bow to its dominance.
The demon has commanded me here, to a restaurant overlooking the harbor. A wall of dark clouds sit on the horizon. A weathered dock sits lies next to it. A sailboat drifts toward port and home, rainbow sail contrasting with the gray.
She sat across the table, smiling. Blonde and bland, the face would be at home on a cereal box or insurance commercial. The figure and dress were unremarkable. It smells like fresh gardenia in the rain. Soft and soothing, To anyone looking from the outside, it was a Doris Day movie. The dashing young man meeting the attractive young woman on the sly.
It was a charade, of course, all of it. She was a client with a problem,her husband. A name and face I knew a long time ago. I was hesitant.
The whip in my head snapped as the voice screamed.
"Cain! Do your job! Remember the past." The sound of screaming. Mother in her pain and humiliation, then a bang. Cold steel blade against my neck. His sick grin. It goes to black as it does in my sleep. So many years unpunished. It was time.
The voices in my head are a two part choir, better and worse. Psalms and prayers ask and answer the unknowable. Who is the abuser? Why am I abused? Communion beckoned with comfort and solace through action.
The soprano of a guardian angel is in my left ear urging mercy.
"So, can I break his nose just a little?" I think to myself.
The baritone of the fallen angel thunders in response.
"No. Revenge must be complete."
The command is absolute and unwavering. I drop my guard. Without another word, I nod in agreement. It isn't like I had another job, or anything else to do in this moment. And can be the omnipotent one for once.
Her voice is irrelevant, drowned out by the internal choir as a solution forms and is agreed to, even though I want to be anywhere but there. The voices scream: "Make it stop. Kill her and stop the madness." I can't. Too much money was involved.
The conversation devolves into small talk and silence. Simultaneously, we rise from the table and leave with no handshake. Business cards are exchanged. But if asked, this meeting never happened.
I take my time walking back to the car. The rain began as I pulled out of the parking lot.
The address led a mashup of nondescript buildings in a corporate office park. The developer thought it would be cute to end all the street names in "Parkway". It wasn't. The one I wanted was in the back of the complex. Two cars I didn’t recognize were parked by the front door. The lights inside were out. I drive past them and pull into a space at the corner. As I step out, I scan quickly for security cameras. The front of the building looks clean.
A weird feeling came over me. Even before I get to the front door, it’s obvious something had already happened. The scent of death was in the air. Scarlet drops peppered the inside of the door glass. Bare, tanned ankles were sticking out a doorway, one gold slingback shoe still on. Nah, not her. Too tan. Looking in the hall beyond the legs doesn't yield any clues.
Stay or go?
Voices answered.
"You must stay!"
"You must go!"
Over and over, faster and louder. The invisible whip snapped beside my ear.
The door gives easily. Blood smell drives hard into my sinuses. Stepping carefully so not to track anything, I slide along the wall even to the doorway. It wasn't pretty. The skirt had been torn up the middle and spread, ripped remains of lingerie just off the right hip. Back of the head was gone. The memory comes back. Him riding high on her back. I shake it off and scan the rest of the room.
Just beyond the abused body was a man, face down next to the desk. He was naked. I couldn't tell if it was him or not.
Outside of the bodies, the office was neat. Nothing indicating a robbery or even someone looking for something. Death had been the only goal. As I leaned down over the dead girl, I felt the cold steel barrel at the base of my neck. The smell of gardenia filled my nose. The Blonde. Her voice was almost a whisper.
"Sorry to leave you high and dry, but we needed a Patsy."
With a small push, I fall to my knees. I look down and see the dress shoes. The same ones from so long ago. I look up. The beard was gray, but the eyes were still cold blue.
"You were such a cute little boy and most cooperative. I knew you still would be." He stopped a moment. "Like you, I don't like to leave things unfinished. You weren't supposed see your mother that way, of course."
I never heard the shot.
Pic Guesses: Delusions of grandeur (in blog), Little boy (in blog), when I grow up, narcissist, mirror, inner lion

Tuesday, June 5, 2018

Last Days (Blogophilia 14.11)

The late afternoon storm clouds his vision. Or is it the tears? Rainbow letters scatter in the fun-house mirror. June is for summer and fun, not gloom and mourning. A suitcase of memories overwhelm him as he turns into the parking lot. Tagging along with Mom and Dad on shopping trips. For some reason, the memory of going next door and adopting the cats floats up. Dad later ran over the one he picked out, but the other one lived he was old. He’s never forgotten that. But in the end, it doesn’t matter.
Waiting for the store to open, it occurs to him. These are the last days of childhood. Whether he wants to or not, it’s time to grow up. Liquidation signs are a wiggle jig to a bass, drawing him closer and closer to the hook, to his doom. A couple of shrink-wrapped games for future trades, he told himself, to turn for a profit. It is a lie, of course. He only buys, never sells. The collection fills two rooms upstairs and is growing. He might have to get a storage bin before too long.
He needs to slow down. In his mind, he pictures him to far ahead. Eh, screw it. People have no vision. This stuff will make me rich someday.
The second hand unwinds in his mind. The large space is almost empty, even some of the shelves are gone, only cables and learning stuff left. With a sigh, he grabs the fiberglass giraffe and leaves.
Pic Guesses: Sittin’ on the dock of the bay, Placid, Alone, Waiting (in blog), Wasting time, Ship coming, fishing.

Monday, May 28, 2018

Sedated (Blogophilia 12.11)

I want to be
Somewhere over the rainbow
Dreams above the churning waves of the ocean
Against clouds illuminated by the storm
Embracing to clear skies
Lit by the diaphanous moon.

Topic-Dia Jade
Pic guesses: Diaphanous moon (in blog), Rise, Dreams (in blog), Night light,

Monday, May 21, 2018

Hiking Santa Rosa (Blogophilia 12.11)

I look down at my cellphone. A number I don’t recognize. DECLINE! Turtle, remind me to block the number.

Aye! Aye! Captain!

Again? Oh...Kathryn.
“Yeah. I think I’m about done...Got the two trail loops done I wanted. I’m deciding now if I want to hit the beach for some more shots...what’s that? Can’t get the TV show to work? You’re going to blow our data limits doing that. Besides, it isn’t what we came to the beach for...I should be back in an hour or so...Yeah, I should be all right on water until I get back. See you in a bit.”
Used to be one could take a walk like this with no interruptions. Now, of course, we have to be tethered to the shepherd 24/7 with our exact locations. It makes me want to breakaway. I can see it now. “Runaway retired sheep lost in the marsh! Couldn’t take the surveillance!”
Gotta remember the new phone goes into the pocket screen out. I’ve already butt-dialed two people this morning. Maybe that belt clip would be a good idea.
These blaze marks could be better. Is this the orange or blue trail? I think the blue one loops back to the main bike trail. I like impulse and Blue looks less traveled. Let’s see if Frost was right.
The scrub land around here looks different than the Atlantic beaches, palmetto, slash pine and no live oaks. I have trees much older in my yard than anything in this “old growth” area. Hmmm...looks like a hurricane went through here recently. Lots of trunks snapped off at the 25 foot level. A ranger in South Carolina told me it’s at that height the trees are weakest.

But it doesn’t look like this area had much salt intrusion. That’s good. And most of the Palmetto looks healthy. Park management has done controlled burns in the last couple of years to keep the dead stuff down. The wildflowers growing in their place are darker than amber.

The dunes...I didn’t think we’d get here.

It looks like the moon out here. I wonder if the moon is this hard to trudge through? That is the thing with beach walks. It looks so soft and pleasant, but the sand has to be dug through. In a lot of ways it’s harder than hill climbing. And no blazing your own trail, either. This sand hills are the only thing keep the ocean from taking over.

Dang, it’s hot out here. Where is the bike path back to camp? Those high rise condos look a lot closer than they should and this map isn’t helping a lot. Ohhh...This trail doesn’t loop at all. Great. It’s backtracking through the dunes time. I was kidding Kathryn last night about Gilligan’s boat and the three hour tour, and now I am Gilligan. Only thing missing is the red striped shirt. Hey, look!

He’s not even the least concerned about me. Cool. I’ll take a break and watch.
Oooh, my legs. And the step counter just announced a new daily record with at least two miles back to camp. I should have brought the bottle of water. I’m going to need some before I get finished. Hey, what’s that sitting on the walkway railing? Somebody left water! Trail magic is real. It’s a little hot, but I don’t care. It will get me back to camp...Gulp.
The bike path, finally.
“Yeah...I know I said an hour...I know It’s been more than two... I should have taken the left turn at Albuquerque, but I’m on the right path back...I’m OK, just hot and sweaty...But I did manage to get every bit of trail...see you in a bit. Love you.”
Pic guesses: Bear Encounter, Help!, Hold my beer, Bear Necessities, Get off my lawn, No pictures,