Mr. Quick, Part 2

The streets of Percy, population 12,463, were dark. Too dark. It seemed winter could even suck the life out of the street lights. Covered with the petrified snow of late February, they were struggling to cast their beams of direction towards the proper path, and looked wearied by the task. Richard sympathized with their struggle to keep their light lit. Once called “ReBar” or Ricky by his high school friends, he officially went by “Rick” somewhere in his senior year of college, when life seemed like it was dull for quite some time now. He supposed he should commemorate the change of life with something that was adult, but not the image of someone who was uptight or homosexual. Even now, he still wasn’t quite comfortable with it and life keeps losing its luster to Rick ever since his name went from two syllables to one. It doesn't even sound right when he says it out loud. But then again, his voice out loud always creeped him a little.
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Rte 18 was the main drag through Percy and had a number of shops, restaurants, a couple of fast food joints, and a K-Mart. The last gas station/convenience store before the 15 mile stretch to neighboring Tankersville had been out of business for a year or so, but there was a light on in the back tonight. Rick had driven by the old Hess station at night countless times, but he had never seen a light on since it went chapter 11. A small light from perhaps a storage closet in the back, which Rick could not see the source of from the road. Its back-lit candescent glow put the store’s interior in a unique display; like a motionless shadow puppet show. Rick coasted the Chevy and pulled into the parking lot.
“Perhaps there’s an empty shelf burgler in there,” Rick laughed to himself. “Wanted in 4 states in conjunction with empty desk assault and battery.” he continued on in his head. He didn’t get out of the truck, but pulled it up as close to the windows as he could, turned the high beams on, and ruined the macabre atmosphere in a purifying bath of General Motors electricity.
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Rick probably wouldn’t have thought of buying the place if he didn’t happen to park in front of the neon yellow realtors sign. “FOR SALE! Nicholas M. Knackers Realty 824-867-5309” it screamed behind the dusty glass. Like his own nickname, Rick wondered if his high school friends ever called him Nick Knack. He was sure they had to, unless they were the most oblivious people on the planet. Maybe Rick would call up and ask for Nick Knack tomorrow morning? Say he was an old chum from back in high school and how the hell are ya doin Nicky? Pick up any new little porcelain elephants lately? He he ha ha ho ho! When Rick started to think about how much a gas station would cost on this end of town and how it would probably do better if it was open 24 hours and had more selections to choose from, he decided that he should definitely give Mr. Knackers a call. Maybe sneak that elephant joke in after they get some of the business talk out of the way.

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more later........

Mr. Quick, Part 1

He enters almost silently. If it wasn't for the electronic entrance buzzer on the front door, Rick may never have heard him at all. It was the way he rolled his feet when he walked in his thin soled sneakers. The rythem of his movement forward with no hesitation as to where his next step was going to be placed. The man never stopped moving, only gently slowed his motion or sped it up. He moved like a rolling summer breeze but at 2AM on a Wednesday, a breeze can sound like a hurricane, and the motion detector sounds like a demon's steel nails on a paper thin blackboard. Draped in a black long trench coat, he has a jarring visual presence in this small quiet town, where everyone dresses down the middle except for the "artistic" teenagers waiting to break free from the mundane and "shallow water" of Percy, Massachusetts.

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Richard Barrington had bought the 24 hour convenience store after a weak attempt at the college in the next town, and a failed attempt at a girlfriend named Jessie and a "Rick's Tire Emporium". At the time, the idea seemed all too natural to him. Those days; Richard stayed up very late perusing awful TV, half-heartedly hacking at crossword puzzles, and trying not to think about the past that was haunting him at night after his day job as a low level manager at Midas Muffler.

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Haunting him when everything was quiet. So very quiet.

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The idea arrived on one of those cold March nights when winter has started to create a dynasty of frigid despair on your psychosis and the hope of a slightly warmer spring still seems so very far away. That night; Richard had found himself in a 1000 yard stare with the Ronco Rotissere informercial and thus, nearly ran out of his small house, slid into the seat of his Chevy Silverado and juiced up the V8 at slightly past 1:30 AM. He let it warm while he was thinking where his post-midnight "joy ride for the borderline depressed" would take him. Nothing had come to mind when what was once frost, was now steaming vapor on his windsheild. He put it in "R" and backed out onto Jessica Way (a horrible coincidence), pulled the shift into the pro-active "D" slot and proceeded to go wherever his right foot and hands took him into town.

....check back for more

Tell 'em Large Marge Sent cha!

It's been 16 years since Pee Wee Herman was arrested for not so public display of gross-ness. This isn't some plea to have him back on the air, because its been too long and we are all too used to the images of the old Pee Wee, and it wouldn't be fair to anyone to have a 2 times as old Pee Wee back on the air. It'd be like asking Paula Abdul to make more records. However, I would personally like to apologize Pee Wee for the country disowning him and continuing to embrace other celebrities which are even more hazzerdous to our children. The "fart in the mitten" group has been just as dangerous to our young people, and yet we still allow them to make records, tv shows, and breathe air. Drunk driving arrests, public drug use, foul language and attire, etc. The athletes in this country sanction dog fights, use steroids, hit their wives, and shoot guns outside night clubs. Rap artists get arrested for child pornography, sing about assualt and murder and getting wasted all night long. All of which are exposed to our children on a daily, if not hourly basis. But Pee Wee who was trying to have some fun on himself, by himself, is the one we kick outta Hollywood?

Have I written something like this about Pee Wee before? Or have I just thought about it before? I'm not sure, I'm often confused between the things I think and the things I've said. I blame my mother and old age, but either way, it should be said again. This is unfair that one of the few good parts of my childhood was taken away from me. Am I saying to restrict the access of people like bad athletes, musicians, and actors to our children? No; I have never been one to have a restrictive personality. That always has been and always should be a parents job. My position is, lets make sure we don't make this hastey mistake again. If we all thought about it a little bit more, I am sure that we would not treat Pee Wee this way a second time. Hopefully, his plight has taught us all a lesson about what is really damaging to our children and what isn't. Would you rather have your children practicing masturbation or assaulting people/taking serious drugs/drinking underage? Which of these is uncontrollable? I think we all know the answer.

Why do I love Pee Wee so much you ask? Well, Pee Wee was the one who taught me to look deeper into art. You see, Pee Wee used to make me uncomfortable. Probably what made him seem so damaging to the powers that be. He made weird faces, had a weird voice, had some disturbing images, intense situations. He gave me the creeps to tell you the truth, but I was convinced that I should watch anyway; I don't know why. Maybe it was because it was on TV, the same reasons people buy rotiseree machines and magic mops. Never the less, the more I watched, the more I enjoyed his subtle hints at doing the right thing. Mostly the lesson of accepting people for who they were, not who they were not. Something you couldn't pick up from just browsing the show. Like only listening to Radiohead one time through. Chairry, Randy, Cowboy Curtis were all different, but all welcome inside the playhouse. The most important thing was having fun, and having fun that wouldn't hurt anyones feelings. Being a good person who was true to himself and to his friends, that would always look for the good in people before looking at what was different.

Maybe Pee-Wee could teach todays society a lesson. I know I still need Pee-Wee's guidance as I often find myself judging people before I know them, looking poorly upon people whose values don't match my own (See above). Maybe you find yourself doing the same things as me? It's okay to admit that maybe you have been doing things wrong, and to look inside your feelings for what type of person you want to be. Maybe, you aren't doing as nicely as you thought you were? One thing you can be sure of, is no matter who you are and what you have done, as long as you want to have fun, be good, and treat people with respect; you're welcome inside the playhouse. That, and always ALWAYS, protect your bicycle.

"I'm just trying to illustrate that it's okay to be different—not that it's good, not that it's bad, but that it's all right. I'm trying to tell kids to have a good time and to encourage them to be creative and to question things" -Paul Ruebens

Is that Snidely Whiplash?

Thought I would sneak one more post in before the end of the day. I can feel happy happy joy joy with myself if I can get 2 posts in per month. I took a CPR class and got a 100% on both sections so I am feeling quite productive and slight inklings towards being a superhero? Saving lives qualifies for hero status, and I have lots of tight fitting clothes that are super, so Superhero it is..., the name shall be "Mr. BigStuff" with my tag line as "who do you think YOU are?" Suggestions are welcome.

I have been experimenting with some facial hair recently, and its been going okay. I look quite sinister which is always good, and should I ever get caught doing my sinister things, its always easier and faster to shave something off rather than grow something on. When the feds are hot on your tail, speed counts; Richard Kimball rules apply. Plus, it keeps all those really hot babes from jumping on my face when I wear my old spice/tag/axe tri-fecta of body spray. Now, if I could only organize some kind of a haircut, I would be in business.

Is it particularly morbid to plan out wills and last request type death letters at my age? Like maybe leaving a note somewhere that says "Should I perish; bury my body with 14 dead roses, and send my right arm to Paris Hilton with the fingers taped down except for the middle finger and send my left arm to Scarlett Johanssen with a real life Thumbs Up" Maybe something really cool like "remove my heart, burn it to ash, put it in a magic ball and send it to (insert ex-girlfriend name) with a little note that says 'you broke it, you bought it'. I guess I don't plan on dying anytime soon, just that I want to make sure I don't waste an oppertunity to be awesome by failing to plan ahead.

The hot weather is back. I try not to get too accustomed to/happy about any particular climate, as I like to think of myself as the ultimate survivor type. Not quite Bear Grylls type stuff, just ready to go whether sleet, rain, snow, or heat. Even so, some of the great advantages to this are more outdoor activities are available such as rowing (in more comfort), swimming (do girls know about shrinkage?), running (for fitness/escape), and mailbox smashing...I mean errrrrr, soccer? I can also make a mean return to the great north country where I can do all those things at once at Brant Lake. It also means more of the casual gym people are not at the gym and are doing their 20 ounce curls and hanging out with their fat girl/boy friends on their porch/lawn/plymouth duster. Plan your days accordingly.

This post written while listening to: Sneaker Pimps "Becoming X"

Did NASA approve?

As predicted, Roger "The Rocket" Clemens is coming back to join the boys in the boogie down Bronx for the 2007 season and making somewhere around 9,000 dollars a pitch according to my C+ math abilities. (Thats for around 22 starts this year with around 100 pitches a start for 2,200 pitches divided into 19 million dollars = 8,700 bucks)

Being a Yankee fan, I could care less about what the players get paid. It's obvious that Steinbrenner has a US Mint approved printing press in his basement and can get whoever he wants to play for him. It makes me happy because if anything, it should make the players want to concentrate on winning baseball games rather than gripe about what they are getting paid. They should develop a more old school attitude with the yankee system. Who has to think about feeding their families on that team?

Thus, the dilemma with the Yankees is not player related. It's got something to do with the competitive spirit of the team and the way they approach winning and losing. There has been a subtle shift in the way business is being done in the Bronx, and its not something that you can see with the naked eye or in the box score in the morning paper.

Can the Rocket solve this issue? Maybe.... but probably not. The issue as I see it is that the team thinks too much about winning games, and not enough about making the other team lose. As much as players get paid, as extravegant as the locker rooms are, and as many coaches and health specialists as there are on the team; you still can't buy a "Fuck You" attitude.

I know we need the old school yankee meanness back in that clubhouse and Roger is probably too old to have enough of that rocket fuel left. Not in his arm, but in what used to be his crazy crazy mind. We need a Roger that guns people high and inside, throws bats shards at innocent batters, and swears at people. All the New York players used to be this way, and they need it back if they are going to win games. They need challengers, not winners. People who want to see the other team lose, as much as they want to see their own team win. People who talk trash, start fights, and call out people on the other team. People who believe they are better than other people, and aren't afraid to put their own pride on the line against other people, just like the people of the city they play for. I want people laughing at the failures of others and smirking at pitchers after getting home runs. The New York Yankees thrive on being hated and they need to start doing things to warrant that response. I'm sick of this whole "lets win games and act like professionals" mentality.

Maybe Joe Torre isn't the answer anymore, I really don't know. I'm not enough of an insider to know where this lax attitude is coming from but I like the Sports Guy theory that maybe Steinbrenner really is dead. Maybe there is no fear inside the locker rooms anymore. The media in NY is so over-powering that its almost too easy to shrug it off. If you can't shrug them off, you'll never make it in that city. I think the players don't have enough stress instead of too much stress. They are like soldiers having a laugh inside a bunker while bombs are going off all around them and dirt and blood falling all over them. They have seen too much to be stressed out by anything anymore.

I'm going to toast my water glass to the hope that Roger brings this attitude back, heres the hopefull return of the evil empire long since lost in 2003, and to the death of the Jedi "professional attitude".

This Post written while listening to: Michael Kay and Paul O'Neill

On driving, society, and of course; me

I have done a lot of thinking and pondering and considering on this particular subject. It's not as easy as it seems, particularly because if you go by my stats, I do not fit under that definition of a "good driver". Yet, I feel as though there should be some sort of a classification for my particular abilities.

But first, lets talk about what I see out there on the pathways we use to get from place to place that some people call; roads. I have created a term for this particular style of driving that really chaps my hide. I call it; "passive driving".

Chances are, that most passive drivers think that they are safe drivers and driving defensively. Unfourtunatly, they miss the concept of driving a car in the first place, which is; to get from point A to point B in a efficient and timely manner. They also fail to realize that there is a system of OTHER PEOPLE on the road who are trying to get from place to place as well. This is namely the difference between a passive driver and a defensive driver. There is a good chance that a passive driver is unaware of the needs of the vehicles around them. They perform acts such as slow down to a speed of about 10 mph to make a turn off a 55mph road. They don't make a right on red because they are scared. They stop at the beginning of a yellow light. They drive 25mph in anything other than pure sunshine. They drive the speed limit in the left hand lane. I often find myself screaming to the hula girl on my dashboard "Drive your effing car!!' It may seem a bit facetious and pointless because obviously if a person is in the drivers seat and moving in their car, then they are driving it. However, my anger comes from the mindset that I see these particular passive drivers are in. They are letting their cars drive them, rather than driving thier cars. The definition of driving is a multi facited definition, but its used as the verb in which to describe what we do with our cars for a reason. To drive means to "to send, expel, or otherwise cause to move by force or compulsion". These passive drivers are unfocused behind the wheel and not driving their cars.

Now, I understand that I may be giving off a vibe of a person who wants to justify driving like a maniac, but that is not the case. I also realize that I get tickets for things like pausing at stop signs, rather than stopping at them. Speeding 10mph over in a school zone, and one "failure to keep right" ticket that I will not discuss. BUT, I have never gotten the finger from a fellow motorist, a horn blown at me at a stop light, a frustrated stare from the car next to me, or the screech of tires behind me. The truth is, I'm just a guy who wants to see the traffic system work without selfish passive drivers screwing it up. I think people would be a lot less aggressive if they had nothing to be aggressive against. People drive aggressively to get out of the way of those who are driving meekly. I don't like aggressive drivers, but I understand their motivations. They are trying to get somewhere with some semblence of time but unfourtunatly do not consider the fellow driver either.

Unfourtunatly, I see no solution to this problem. Some people will always be scared of their own cars and their ability to drive them, and some people will always be overly aggressive against the clock and other people on the road, and there will be me, stuck in the middle and supremely awesome.

This post written while listening to: Sigur Ros "Agaetis Byrjun"

I don't wanna grow up, I'm a ToysRUs Kid

Sometimes I forget things. Okay, a lot of times I forget things. I forget to drink enough water, pay bills in a timely fashion, wear underwear, shower, call my parents, go to church, Q-Tip my ears, and most importantly; 95% of my childhood. I am modern man, I live in the now, not the then. And since I don't remember that I am supposed to act older, I will often times act like a child. I enjoy wrestling, being loud, wearing clothes that don't match, toys, and candy. Don't get me wrong, I can be an old man when I need to be, its just that when you don't have much responbilities, there is no reason to be responsible. Thus, I am often finding myself laughing louder than I should, being more inappropriate than I should, and entertaining myself with low-brow humor.

Is this pathetic, foolish, and atrocious? Sure it is. However, this lifestyle keeps me out of trouble more so than most of the other adults I know. I don't drink booze, I am always active, I read a lot of books and, don't have any STD's, watch a lot of baseball, take healthy naps, and always take my vitamins. I don't even know what cholesterol is, and the only page in the paper I care about is the cartoons/word jumble. Adulthood is not something that is measured with credits, money, and social contacts.

There is a difference between avoiding responsibility and not taking it. Avoiding means not doing what you have and are obliged to do. Not taking it is not putting yourself in a position to take responsibilities that you don't need to. I find many people take on responsibilities based on some sort of unwritten bible of society. (Imagine me making double finger bunnies as a say the following) You NEED to make a lot of money. You NEED to have a new car. You NEED to have a job that you can be proud of. You NEED to have a girlfriend/boyfriend. You NEED to attend social gatherings. You NEED to get an education.

Unfourtunatly, the only thing that you NEED to be is happy, and I see too many people sacrificing their happiness in order to attain one or all of those societal merit badges. Its very cliché to say "do what makes you happy", but I find that often people let clichés pass in through one ear and out the other. All of a sudden, they are doing all this work to attain things they don't even want, just so they can look their parents, friends, and co-workers in the eye. All the while; not watching the shows they want, doing the activities they want, wearing the clothes they want, and seeing the people they want. Your "need to do's" should satisfy the "want to do's" and if your "wants" are not being attained, then you don't "need" to do it. Being able to look yourself in the eye is a lot more satisfying then being able to look in someone elses eye.

Maybe you won't have a flashy car, a bank account full of money, a peice of wall debris from an institution, or a person who will pretend to care about you, but you'll smile bigger, laugh longer, and have a real reason to enjoy getting up in the morning and avoid going to sleep at night.

Then again, maybe I was wrong to think that happiness was absolutely necessary and I should organize my life around making the most money or a job I don't like instead and I just write stuff like this so I can feel comfortable in who I am......... Whatever......

This post written while listening to: Nine Inch Nails "Year Zero"

The day everyone sucked; one week later....

It's one week after valentines day and I'm still not over it. Total number of Valentines received: 0, total number of punches to genitals of flirtsy couples: 62. I know you're probably thinking "Oh here we go, another sob story from some loser who thinks no one loves him", and to that I have in response; "Why don't you date my dog feces, poindexter?" (cue polly taking a dump on your 2007 Air Jordans) The reason why Valentines Day sucks is cause it's a crock, not because I don't have some skank to spend money on and treat me as an inanimate object.

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I have had numerous discussion with some people classified under the male gender, few of which who still had their manhood due to a "relationship". I presented them with one question, "how was valentines day?". 100% of the subjects tested answered with "good/alright, I got (name of skank) a (insert some object between 70 -300 dollars) and we went out to dinner at (someplace better then mcdonalds, so 50 dollars worth of skank fuel)"..... I then presented them with this question; "oh cool, what did you get?" They then responded with "a card" or "nothing". This is why Valentines is a stinky pile of baby poop of a day, not because you are alone. I had a awesome Valentines Day, I stayed at home and watched "That Thing you Do" on one of my 15 movie channels I can afford cause I wasn't spending over a 100 bucks on my skank and getting nothing in return but irrational and illogical mouth garbage about how she feels either in a whiney voice or in some fruity Hallmark card. Bitter? no way, more like thankful of another year in which I dodged the bullet of "the modern female."

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It used to be that you could treat a woman like garbage and spend a bunch of money on her and we'd call it even. Hence the reason for holidays like Valentine's Day, Anniversary's, and Secretary's Day. Somewhere around the late 70's this stuff got turned against us and for some reason society decided that women deserved more; of all things. Now, they all walk around like K-Fed's with boobs, expecting stuff from men despite lack of talent, and then crying "foul play" whenever they don't get their way. Surprisingly, they got 90% of the knuckle-draggers out there being "yes dear's" to this whole fiasco. Well, thats super duper for them and all, but I'll step up to the plate when the umpire starts calling the balls and strikes and not the pitcher. Till then, I'll be at home.....watching Christian Slater movies, reading The Superficial and having a grand ol time.

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This is complete satire Mom, so no angry e-mails : ) ..........

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This post written while listening to: The Knife "Silent Shout"

Breaking News: I'm the father of Anna Nicoles Baby.

Tons of foul weather in the home town today. Which means the roads belong to S.Vincent and his reckless SUV. I refuse to let weather stand in my way of being a nuisence to everyone in the county, and from claiming my rights as the father of young Dannielynn. Anna and I had a romantic escapade involving a dozen creme-filled donuts and some injectable horse tranquilizers. I have numerous witnesses to support that Anna and I have a regular donut and horse tranquilizer habit, and when the two of us met, it was an explosive love affair. I think her mother and the dog were there too, but on horse tranqulizers and custard, I saw Grimace there too, so who knows. I am very sorry for her death but I want to make sure that young Danniholiwhassit is well provided for and with the natural father, which is me.

My favorite part of going to the gym (besides hotties, tanning, sneezing on people, and giving wedgies to old women) is to make up new nicknames for people that they will never know. Here are a few examples of names that I use with a straight face...... Senior D-bag, Muscle Mania, Muscle Mania sr., Punk Rock, The Alien, Puffer, Ball Girl, Muffin Top, Slut Cake, Nascar Bob, and Smoker Bob. I feel like a mother of a newborn baby everytime some freak shows up and becomes worthy of nickname. However, I do not enjoy these people.....with the exception of ball girl. Their nicknames are created because they drew attention to themselves through negative attention, and thus I dislike them. I give names to my pain and frustrations, and these are the names I give them.

How does a gas pump know when your tank is almost full? There must be some sort of simple technology at play since they've had this feature since 19 dickity 2, but I'll be damned if I can figure it out.

Some of you may be looking for the secret to my witful words and elegant writing style. Well I can tell you that it would not be possible if not for my fantastic keyboard with its soothing mechanical key-strokes that click like an old friendly type-writer. The soothing rythem allows my mind to wander to peaceful places that spread my imagination wide across the plains like smooth peanut butter on toast. If you enjoy using your computer and have the means, I highly suggest picking one up.

Its been a decade now, and I still need to know the motivation behind wearing your pants like this on a daily basis. Its not cool or comfortable or attractive. It is the picture of idiocy. Seriously, state your case.

If you need to know whether or not the Grammys is a respectable awards show, all you need to know is that the Dixie Chicks won the award for Album of the Year. In other news; I am giving the local toothless hooker with the face tattoo and 50 inch waist the award for Northeasts best looking person. Give me a primetime network slot and some validation in name only please. I know thats a real easy joke to make, ha ha the grammys are stupid haha, but it really makes me angry that country shit gets album of the year; and year after year something allows them to make a decision on musical talent despite a horrendous record of decision making. I support pollution of rivers more than I support decisions made by this "academy".

This Post written while listening to: Arcade Fire "Neon Bible"

I'm tired from smuggling raisens all week

I found this site while I was looking for some picture that could maybe capture the essence of the frozen hudson valley. Seriously dude? You made a plow for your bike and made a serious website about it? Your High school physics teacher just shot himself at the thought of you as a former student.
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Feeling instantly cooler than that guy, I can now begin my own nerd ramblings in safety.

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So its really cold in the northeast but it supposed to let up soon. I nearly died while I tried to pump some gas into my car which feels about as energetic as I do in this cold. Anyway, a tip for all you kids is that you should not put your lips on the end of the metal gas pump in sub 30 temps, your lips will stick right to it. Even if the gasoline does warm your belly. I only filled up my stomach and tank half way because I couldn't stand out in the cold a second longer. I'll fill up all the way once it gets above 35 again.

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So I was watching a music video in between sets at the gym and unfourtunatly Ashlee Simpson is on. Suddenly, I was overcome with horror, and not just because shes got as much muscial talent as a homeless guys butt after eating soup kitchen beans. There was a scene in this video where Ashlee is working out with a personal trainer and lo and behold, we are wearing the same shirt. Led Zeppelin circa 1977 Tour shirt, one of my absolute faves. I wanted to crawl in a hole and die and write ashlee simpsons name in blood on the walls plus some profanities and maybe a picture of spongebob square pants. Anyway, I hoped no one else saw and rightfully moved myself up to the eliptical at an easy pace for 15 mins with a teen people magazine and my pink ipod with my destinys child workout mix. Apparently its where I belonged. A small essence of proof that I'm not shitting you, as if I could really make up a story like that anyway.

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Another funny story about this shirt that happened before I saw Ashhole wearing it, was that it attracted the scary looking girl in the deli to me. She said "awesome shirt" to me while giving me double rock on signs. I was blown away, I could only come up with a single rock on symbol and a thanks in reply. Apparently, led zeppelin is big with the 5'9 and 92lb possible drug addict girls. Not sayin I would kick her out of bed for eating crackers, cause if she likes led zepp and knows what the shirt looks like from 50 yards away with a jacket over it, shes got something 99% of girls don't. I'm just not sure if they make anti-biotics for what else she might have.

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New blogger of the week updated!

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This Post Written while listening to: Ashlee Simpson