Shaken Awake (Blogophilia 14.50 and 51)

The flash and bang happened together. Jack sat straight up on the sofa. Eyes darted from side to side, searching in the darkness to see where the bang had come from. Ever since she died, the least little thing woke him. He flipped out of bed and flopped down the hall. Before he passed out, the Bubble-Headed Bleach Blonde said there was a tornado watch,  pointing at the red and yellow screen. It was still a ways off in his mind and that was the last thing he remembered. 

He looked at the clock. 3:45 AM. The stormy weather made it, obviously. Lights were still on, that's a plus. The trees were swaying pretty good out the window. Eye Candy was still on the tube along with her multi-colored screen, the L'Oreal # 1 faded a little more than earlier. There was no going back to sleep wondering if a branch would come down. Looking a the map, it looked like the first line of storms was past his house, but another would be along shortly. 

Coffee or vodka?

Why not both?

It only took a minute to set up the Keurig. A nice glug of alcohol in the bottom and turn on the machine. Two minutes later it was ready. Jack wondered what the Blonde's real hair color was. Of course, she's probably married.  Why was he wasting his time with Weathergasm anyway? 

The machine fizzed. Jack took a sip out of the cup and cringed. Too strong. Maybe a splash of water.

He clicked on one of the 24/7 news channels. Some talking head nonsense about war and doom. Jack was awake enough already, thanks. 

Any sports out there?  EPSN was rerunning coverage of whatever golf tournament was this week the screen showed a younger version of Geddy Lee trying to get out of a sandtrap and failing. Nah. He'd just never gotten into the game, no matter how skillfully the media tried to present it. 

The next channel had Mexican Futbol. It would be more fun if he understood the commentary. Jack was always amused at the theatrics of the players. Yeah, Buddy, you aren't selling me that. The game tonight was Michoacan vs. Veracruz and it was dull. They were just passing it back and forth with no screams of GOOOOOOAAAAALLLL!

Finally, he settled on a British Rugby match. It was much more entertaining than the fake drama on the soccer field, with the violence on the pitch much more straightforward. Sipping his drink, Jack wondered if that Rugby Bar was still open in Intown. It had been years since he'd been. The amateur teams would pile in after meets, showing their stitches and bruises, drinking themselves silly. More than once, an irate wife would come in and make a scene. 

After a while, the exhaustion caught up with him and he fell back asleep, dreaming he was back at the bar. 

Maybe he'd get lucky.