A.G.E's Joint

The face in the mirror wasn’t too bad for such a quick turnaround. And the outfit was clean, professional and covered the tattoos. Her spiky hair brushed out nicely for once and it was tossed up in a neat blonde bun. A quick check showed only the slightest pink and green streaks. Party Kelly had been  put away and replaced with a professional, responsible young woman, ready to take on any and all public relations nightmares. This was the first real job interview in a while, six months at least. Yeah, she’d heard all about the slow economy and whatnot. Everyone thought she was doomed to wait tables the rest of her life. After all, it was all she had done since high school. It was time to prove them wrong. The job offer was weird, though. And how it came was weirder. The old man wandering in before closing last night. Balding, with grey fringe, he seemed OK for an old guy. There was a twinkle in his eye. Maybe Santa on his day off? At least he wasn’t a drunk. Suchita had finished

      Congrats to Martien Ecrits and all of us in making ten years of writing.   Like we do at the beginning of every years, we introduce ourselves. My name is Christopher Mitchell , also known by my internet handle Another Government Employee, or A.G.E.. Several years ago, I was this guy: http://anothergovernmentemployee.blogspot.com/... I have since left government employment (by mutual consent) and now spend my time consulting on pension and payroll issues and writing nonsense as a hobby.   I started with Blogophilia in the middle of the 2nd season at the invitation of Spidey John (may he rest eternal). I had been a member of a couple of other groups (the Treehouse, Group Blogging Experience) and I began lurking around the crazy Martian’s shop. A MySpace invite later, I came in. My Space died and we moved over to Facebook and here we are.    I am primarily a prose writer, but do run Free Verse from time to time. There are few topics I won’t write on. I

Dirt turned to mud Cold March day Ten days since food Running, Nothing left to lose Guards starving Missing the Deadline The tide turning? No way to know. Fragile lives lost To target shooters In the frost On our last stand. Far side of the north wall Tom’s Bounty sits Promising solace for all While heaven waits. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 150 miles south of Atlanta stands Andersonville National Historic Site. Only a blank field with a small portion of stockade fence remains of one of the most horrific events of the Civil War, Camp Sumter. The term “Deadline” come from this place. It was a line 10-20 feet from the inner stockade fence. The guards had a “shoot to kill” order on any prisoner that crossed it, day or night. As many as 45000 Union soldiers were held there in the three years it was open. The death toll from disease, starvation and the infamous Deadline was upwards of 13,000. As history is

    Rain fell harder as Jack approached the exit. Ominous grey clouds in the distance promised more to come. Fitting weather for a memorial, he guessed. Twenty years passed by since he was last in town.   Without thinking, he began to hum Turn! Turn! Turn!, another season passing. It seemed like yesterday Barry, Mark, Sam and him were the Putzietones, at your service for Proms, Weddings and Bars. Fun days, or at least most of them were. They had started in Mark’s garage as an excuse to drink. One thing lead to another and they found they played well together. Never breaking out of the regional club circuit, the gigs paid for gas and some ass. Over time, life intervened.    About the time the record company came around, Sam’s girl, Mary got pregnant and they decided to get married. Mark got bored and went back to school. That left Barry and him and the sketchy contract they had signed. Soldiering on in a couple of more bands, Jack got the job with the label as an A&R r

Orange haired lump Playing superhero Cowboy ridin’ in from the North Popping Propecia Thinks he’s savin’ the world He claims He is trusting in the Lord Not trusting a good lawyer Who he fires When told no. While outside The world says “It’s Morphin’ time!” Nothing Orange hair does Matters anymore. Up is down Left is right Those in charge Wait for the Limosine To take him in to the bloody sunset. Topic- Gerard Villegas Pic- Dave Coon Pic guesses: Help!, What’s New, Pussycat, Against the Tide, Pretty Kitty, Cat Scratch Fever, Pussycat song,