My Friend Holly Returns Fire

My Friend Holly’s riposte’ to my snideness regarding her snideness or something. Anyway, this is brilliant.


Bob sat beside the swimming ool. "No p in it yet," he mused happily to himself. He was alone for once, most of his primary characters having made appointments with eye specialists in every major city in the country. Someone nearby was stitching a bodice, another was writing in a forest somewhere. A hazmat recovery unit was shuffling through the snow in one of the northern states, preparing to clean up a bit of bloodshed.

The ool was a lovely shade of blue. "Everyone knows blue and yellow make green; no green so far," Bob whispered, glad he had learned everything he needed to know in kindergarten. Someone had moved Bob's cheese years ago. He had learned to live without it.

Maybe he had erred with Blaine, who preferred his martinis stirred. There's no bonding with a guy like that. But all in all, Bob is a happy man. Having a purpose driven life does the trick, he assures people. But, when anyone drops by in their swimming suit, he shoots their eye out. (He doesn't want them near his whirlool sa, either.)

Christmas Story 2005

Did you see the movie “A Christmas Story” again this year? The one where Ralphie was warned again and again that he would put his eye out, and darned if he didn’t think he had? Well, what if that story premise was written, say, in the style of military action books, or even bodice ripper? Here’s a try:


Chesney grimaced as the Land Rover jolted over yet another boulder. He had been tracking the Afghani warlord who had kidnapped Marissa Varda from the ladies room during their dinner at Les Chivalier in Kabul for days. Endless hours driving through the rough Afghan countryside, sleeping when exhaustion overcame him or at the villages where he squatted by the open fires, searching for hints of his prey. Now he sensed that he was close. The hair on his arms was standing, which always happened when action was near.
Parking the Land Rover, he checked his weapon to insure the action was working smoothly and a full magazine was inserted. He crawled over the rocks and looked down onto the campsite of the kidnappers. He saw two men on sentry duty, while another was watching Marissa as she tried to cook their breakfast in the firepit. He leopard-walked around the rugged ridge to the first sentry. Grabbing a handful of pebbles, he tossed them into the sentries lap. The man’s head jerked up in surprise as he looked wildly around for the source of the rocks. Chesney let his breath out with a sigh and gently squeezed the trigger, putting the sentries eye out. Quickly he got to his feet and walked nonchalantly toward the second sentry, hoping to be mistaken for the first guard. The sentry glanced at him, then did a double-take and looked harder. “Harzi?” he asked. A snap shot quickly put his eye out. As he fell, his AK-47 clattered to the ground and the third kidnapper leaped to his feet. “Freeze!” shouted Chesney. “I’ll put your eye out!” Babbling in Afghan, the kidnapper said “Take what you want, just don’t shoot”. “My lighter”, said Chesney. “Wha-what?” stuttered the thug. “My lighter!” Chesney shouted “she borrowed my lighter to have a quick smoke in the ladies room!” Reaching into his pocket, the kidnapper extended a trembling hand with a purple Bic lighter. “Here, mister, it’s yours” Taking the lighter, Chesney clicked it and a small flame erupted. “Good. It’s hard to get purple ones.” He turned and strode back to his Land Rover. Within minutes a dust trail was the only sign of his departure; a happy man. It was Christmas.

Bodice ripper:

Elena spun to escape the grasp of her attacker. As she moved toward the safety of the forest, Blaine’s grasping fingers closed on the sleeve of her blouse, ripping it from shoulder to elbow. The sight of her flesh inflamed him even more, and he shouted “get… you vixen!” as he leapt to tackle her. Scooping up a twig, she spun to her former lover and put his eye out. Screaming, he fell to the ground, clutching his head. Elena quickly moved to the berry-gathering bag she had dropped when attacked and removed a small penknife. Slicing Blaine’s right ear off, she smiled in delight as she lifted her dripping trophy into a Ziploc© bag she carried for times like this. Exaggerating the sway of her hips as she walked away, she left Blaine writing in the forest. It was Christmas.

For those of you sadly lacking in imagination (for anything not Italian, Holly) who snidely ask “Well, what did Blaine write in the forest, hmmm?” the following transcript is provided (yes, it was supposed to say ‘writhing’, not writing):

“That bitch put my eye out! Somebody call my publicist! I want a black eyepatch and maybe a tobacco and forest green one. Both with a teardrop diamond in the lower corner. This could be a book, hell a movie. Is no one listening to me!?!?” Since Blaine was writing this with a bloody twig on the forest floor in large letters (his eye had been recently put out), a group of Seattle environmental activists who also critique emails for common typo’s quickly filed a lawsuit for destruction of more than one half acre of pristine (well, not pristine there was blood all over. Horror!) forest land. Although they won the lawsuit, the rigidly conservative asshole judge only granted them critical rights to the upcoming movie, which used the bodice ripping scene as a trailer to entice millions of people to watch this overly violent piece of trash. Blaine went on to play James Bond in “84 Bond Movies Are Not Enough”. Everyone agreed it was the eyepatch that got him the part. He was so overjoyed with his film success that he had his other eye put out, which turned out to be a stupid career move.

The End


Copyright 2005 Sneezewhackle Inc.

Sneezewhackle Giving

Sneezewhackle, Sneezewhackle piggety-pen,
What’s that behind your back, Ben my friend?

It’s a gift for you, I made it myself
Just think of me as your own little elf!

Oh my! An airplane, and the propeller even spins
How did you do this, and how did I win?

I bought a model kit, and painted and glued
And while I was making it, I thought “it’s for you!”

But you should keep it, Ben friend of mine
After all of that work, you would like it just fine!

But I like giving gifts; and here’s my own plan
Give as much as you get, or more when you can

You’re right, when you give it gives back a glow
And for the rest of the day you feel happy, I know!
Say, why don’t we go to that orphanage place
And give this to an orphan, put a smile on his face?

But I gave it to you, that is your model plane!

Give as much as I get, that’s your plan and your fame!
So more than one child gets a prize of a plane!

Giving is good, and I like it too.
Give as much as you get, Sneezewhackle-do!

Purple Dragon poem for Sofi

Sneezewhackle sneezewhackle rippity-rap
I fell out of a tree and landed on my hat

While I was laying there what did I see
But a big purple dragon coming right at me!

I jumped off the ground and got ready to fight
But the big purple dragon vanished from sight

Instead I saw a bright yellow mouse
Looking at me, it was big as a house!

It started to come, but a cat then appeared
Two times as big and colored all weird
Big blue spots on a lime green coat
I shook my head, what bad fashion sense!
But the cat took a swipe, his paw big as a tent.

I rolled over backwards and started to run
But the cat disappeared straight into the sun
I blinked once or twice in the dusty air
And saw a huge grasshopper, just sitting there

It chewed and chewed and looked at me,
Then jumped straight up and over the tree
Well I just stood with my mouth open wide,
When a two-foot mosquito flew right inside

I spit and rolled and fell to the ground,
The sat up straight and looked all around
There was no dragon, and no big cat
No big grasshopper, no mouse and no rat

I had bumped my head and dreamed all that stuff
But the mosquito in my mouth was real, sure enough!

Poem for Sofia

‘Sneezewhackle sneezewhackle humpty dump.
I don’t like camels ‘cause they have humps.’

‘so I shouldn’t like things that are different than me?’
‘that’s right, you’ve got it as plain as can be!’

‘But I like you and we’re not the same!’
‘Hey, I heard it from my Dad, so I’m not to blame!’

‘Well I think you’re wrong, that’s just not right.
I like birds, because they have flight.
I like fuzzy caterpillars that bump on the ground,
And I like turtles because they’re slow and round.

I like Sally Perkins with her pretty red hair
And Billy Mohammed because he knows how to share
And Miss Two Feathers who teaches us math
And I love my kitty who purrs in my lap.

I don’t like camels, not ‘cause of their hump
That’s a place to ride or we could fall with a thump.
No, I don’t like camels and the hump is not it,
I don’t like camels because they like to spit.’

‘Well I’ll tell my Daddy that we think he’s wrong,
Rick-a-rack Pick-a-pack zingety zong
Just because things are different doesn’t mean they aren’t cool
It’s not how we look, it’s about what we do!’

FCE from hell

Man, the past few days have been a bugger. I had to go to San Antonio
Monday and Tuesday for all day physical tests on my capabilities,
demanded by the insurance company so they could have more evidence
that I am a fraud. Unfortunately for them I proved beyond doubt that
I'm not; it's going to be interesting to see what happens now. I won't
hear anything until February, but at least I've now done every
possible test they can think of. Walking, stooping, crawling, lifting,
nose-picking, ear-waggling, cross-eying and flatulence measurements.
Fairly detailed exam, if I may say so.

10 Things to Grab on the Rollercoaster of Love

10 ITEMS TO GRAB ONTO ON THE ROLLER COASTER OF LOVE

SUBMITTED BY THE BOERNE HAPPY TIME THERAPY GROUP AND HOT OIL EMPORIUM


10. Well, your hat

9.  Some tissues, to deal with the awkward results of # 2.

8.  His knee. For some silly reason, men love it when women grab their knee during moments of high tension, even though it can leave lasting marks.

7.  A knish. You just cannot get enough knishes and if you see one, grab on.

6.  Your ear and your date’s ear simultaneously. This is a bonding exercise highly respected by the remote Bolango tribe political caste. When they say “lend me your ear…”

5.  The hair of the person in front of you. If it comes off in your hand tradition requires that you stand up in the car and wave it while screaming hysterically. Your date must fight off the ensuing attack.

4.  The moral high ground. I have no idea where it is or why we want it, but apparently we do. Write me with the details. Take your time.

3.  A steaming bottle of Boerne Happy Time Hot Oil, spiced or plain.

2. Grabbing the bottle, artfully spill it into your date’s lap. When he starts screaming, whisper in his ear “just rub it in for the full medicinal value, and stand back!”

1. Relinquishing the moral high ground (you have sufficient experience by now), grasp your date’s other ear (the one you aren’t already holding) and do whatever comes naturally, disregarding the screaming and smell of burnt flesh. If you have had a good time, kiss him. If not just bring your forehead smartly down on his nose and then use him for an ottoman for the rest of the ride.

Blessed be the Normal

Pain and medication put me to bed at about 7:30 last night. I awoke at 0230, not to pain or discomfort but from the sheer wonder of sleeping 7 hours. And when I woke up and did my usual body check for pain, I felt… normal.

You know how you wake up and you don’t feel great, but nothing is bothering you and you just stumble through the start of another day? That to me is like getting 50-yard line tickets to the Superbowl and watching my team win. As in, it just doesn’t happen. Did this morning, tho’.

Nothing hurt. I could walk without limping (that does happen some days, but only because it’s impossible to limp with both feet. Try it sometime. You look like you’re rolling along a deck in heavy seas.) I could move my right arm completely and my left arm about half way. My feet didn’t even burn for awhile. I just strolled around the house, marveling at the wonderful feeling. Of course, it soon passed, and I had to take the morning drug fix, but I am blessed to have had that much. When I go to the prosthetics place for my Eddie Munster shoes I see people who have no legs, no feet, no hands or arms, and I know how lucky I really am, me who just has legs that don’t work well, feet that burn all the time, and hips that lock up after a few meters. Well, and I’ve lost most of the use of my left arm. But hey, I have legs, I have feet, and I’m right handed. I know that I have a disease that’s gonna kill me, but I’m allowed most of the original issue still, and lots of people aren’t.

Thank you, God. This is the Sarge and I really, really mean it. I have a wonderful wife and great kids. I have a 1-year old granddaughter who occasionally calls me while gnawing on her mom’s cell phone. I am doing better than I deserve.

Pain Blogging

I’ve been away for awhile, dealing with medical issues. I have a couple of problems that cause me to deal with permanent pain, of varying degrees. I’m diabetic and because I didn’t know about it for a few years, I developed a mmmuuuvvver of a case of neuropathy, which means damaged nerves that send signals of pain that have no other source. I also had arterial blockage in my femoral arteries so bad that they have replaced both of them with artificial ones. I think there is still some blockage and clotting but it’s much better than it was! Now my legs don’t cramp after five steps, and my hips don’t lock up until I’ve walked almost 100 yards. Better! My feet feel as though they had bad chemical burns, and they do it all the time. Sort of like how you would feel if you soaked your feet in bleach half the time and in gasoline the other half. They have a pill that helps with this, of which I take the maximum dosage. That does help, but it fogs your mind as though a sheet of glass had been slid between your ability to work and your ability to think. And dealing with pain every day all day long for 7 years has ground me down. I worked at defeating it every day for years and years, but it took first one edge then another then another until I realized I was not able to do the job I was taking good money for. Or any job, due to the physical requirements of dealing with pain. Today is the first day since late August that I can write, and now I’ve taken my meds and the fogbank is settling in. Now I’ll sleep, knowing that I’ll wake in 2 – 3 hours because of the pain.

My body reacts strongly to the pain when it spikes; every bit of moisture that it can eject it ejects; sweating, vomiting, diarrhea followed by shivering and freezing, and usually a sugar crash into the 30’s or 40’s. I have this mental image of a quasi-military unit in there, with the Field First bellowing “Okay, all of you non-essential liquid based personnel are being tossed out of the airlock right now! Move it people!! Oh yes, don’t forget to color yourself green before you leave at high speed.”  Cigna does the long term disability for my former company and they don’t think I’m disabled. All of my doctors do, and I suspect that Cigna’s medical report says I probably am, but the manager of disability claims folks, a guy called Person (might be a label so others can tell he’s human, or it could be his name) doesn’t believe. So in addition to dying in a lot of discomfort, I haven’t been ‘granted’ the income I earned for the past six months. Wouldn’t it be great if Person’s disbelief could take away the pain? I would hate to work in a place like that, especially if Karmic justice is a reality.

Sarges Grilled - Baked - Fruited Pork Tenderloin

3 lb. pork tenderloin use size that fits your feasters
4 Tbsp. mandarin oranges
4 Tbsp. cherry preserves
2 Tbsp. Barbeque Sauce I prefer a sweet and smokey sauce
½ Cup water

Slice tenderloin in the center, the long way, about ¾ of the way through. Put mandarin oranges in center and drizzle barbeque sauce on oranges. Fasten together with toothpicks.
Rub tenderloin with your favorite red meat/pork rub.
Grill for 10 minutes a side on medium high
Transfer to baking dish. Spoon cherry preserves on top of tenderloin
Add water to baking dish. Cover and bake at 350 deg until tenderloin reaches 150 deg in the uncut center.

12 Servings

No Bias Here

Is it just me or do the most successful bloggers act more and more like the commercial side of the MSM? Are they spending more and more of their time quoting each other and humping their own and each others latest book/appearance/personal exposure event? Good thing I’m not jealous. –grin-

Huge, huge, enormous difference is that there are literally hundreds of thousands of energetic bloggers yapping at their heels and one or two get elevated every single day, and often by the 'newMSM' folks. And if the MSM acted more like Michelle - Glenn - Hugh - Ed - and the Powerline menage and less like the NYT we would all be so much more informed. Aggressive is fine, cocky is fine, passion is both fine and encouraged, undiluted arrogance and self-promotion wears on one.

NYT Public Editor: “I can’t see any bias here.”
Public: “Mmmm buddy, it’s tattooed on your forehead.”
NYT Public Editor: “And can I see my forehead?! I cannot. Ergo, ipso facto, I can’t see any bias here.”

Famous Blogger1: "I will be appearing at 6:17:26 tonight on one of those networks I routinely blast. Filling in for me will be Hugh, whose book is an enormous hit as long as blog ponderers keep reading it. Filling in for Hugh will be Ann who oddly enough also has a book that you can buy here //link//, and guess what? Glenn will be on the show too, speaking about his other web site so guest blogging for Glenn will be Ed who is such a gifted speaker (sign him up here //link//) and Ed's blog often highlights the skills of Bryan who does such wonderful work with Michelle, buy their books here //link//."

But I guess pub is where you find it, buy it, or can put it, and blogging sure don't pay the Sarge nuttin', so God bless them. I'll just start skipping through their commercials too.

Anti-Aging: It Ain't All Wunnerful

“Approach with caution!”

Okay, I’ll be the adverse advocate (the Sarge ain’t the Devils pal) on anti-aging and it’s benefits.

First, let me state that I agree with Glenn Reynolds that anti-aging resources are rapidly approaching, probably faster than most of us can imagine. And yes, I want myself, my wife, and my kids to live long and prosper (HT Cdr. Spock). But somebody needs to ring a little bell about what that brings with it.

Family: are you ready to live close to a family with 11 living generations? Consider any problems that exist in your family circle and multiply them by 4 or 6.

Retirement: if you were lucky or unfortunate enough to retire in your 50’s, and the great leaps in anti-aging treatment that are now being quietly discussed actually do come to pass in the next 10 – 15 years, whatcha’ going to do? Can you stretch your savings? More importantly, will your employer have second thoughts on how long they are willing to pay? How tough will it be to get a job when you’re 106?

Employment: if you are the heir apparent for a promotion, to take over the family business, or just hoping for a merit raise, do you expect everything to remain the same when people work for 85 – 100 years? John Ringo writes an exceptional military SF series about humans who need to regenerate veterans to help fight an almost unstoppable enemy, and the humorous but tragic need to deal with multiple returning generals and admirals. What will you do with 6 generations of previous senior managers claiming the only cubicle with a window view?

Birth control: no matter what your thoughts or religious convictions are regarding population management in the micro or macro perspectives, rethink them.

Actuarially supported industries: they’re gone, bruddah. Got stock in any insurance companies?

There are plenty more issues that will be analyzed by much smarter folks than the Sarge. But kick the lid off this mental trash can, it’s starting to smell like reality, troop.

Tommy

by Rudyard Kipling – a man who understood soldiers

I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o'beer, The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here." The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die, I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:

O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away"; But it's ``Thank you, Mister Atkins,'' when the band begins to play, The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play, O it's ``Thank you, Mr. Atkins,'' when the band begins to play.

I went into a theatre as sober as could be, They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me; They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls, But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!

For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside"; But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide, The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide, O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.

Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap; An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.

Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy how's yer soul?" But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll, The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll, O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.

We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too, But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you; An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints: Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;

While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind," But it's "Please to walk in front, sir," when there's trouble in the wind, There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind, O it's "Please to walk in front, sir," when there's trouble in the wind.

You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires an' all: We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational. Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.

For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!" But it's "Saviour of 'is country," when the guns begin to shoot; An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please; But Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool - you bet that Tommy sees!

Red, Red Wine

I was high-browing over at Professor Bainbridge’s blog; he is a smart fella, who also happens to be a wine lover and expert on the subject.

I like wine too. I like red wine. The kind of red wine I like is – well, you know that stuff that’s left over after the dirty footed women stomp the grapes? Then they take the pressure hose and wash all that out. That efflux gets fed to horses as part of a healthy breakfast. After that, that’s the kind of wine I like. If it costs more than $5 to fill up a water cooler bottle it’s over my head, brother.

But you know what? When I serve this post-plonk mess to my wine loving friends they love it! Of course, I’m always careful to put out a couple of $8.99 bottles first, but by the third glass they could care less.

Got some class, but it’s llllloooohhhooooowwwwwwwww class.

And if ID and Evolution are the same process?

There are new lines being drawn in sand regarding Intelligent Design and Evolution. The emotion of the debaters runs high, and sometimes appears to block their ability to think. So let us try to just think.

First, what are the questions? There are many but I’ll keep it to six:

There are thousands and thousands of simultaneous physical interactions required for a human body to get through a day. Did these evolve over a long, long period of time?
If the answer to Question 1 is ‘Yes’, are there fossilized remains that show the steady progress from the earliest stages of physical development to the current state? (if the answer is ‘no’, well, argument over)
Where are the artifacts kept of the poor ancestors whose body only performed a few hundred interactions? Where are the ones with only one eye? May I see the skeletal remains of the pre-humans who only had two toes on each foot? Do we have a fossil trail of the females who had a significantly less sophisticated and efficient reproductive capability?

Any set of answers can be used to support either side because they are both based on faith.

There certainly is evidence of evolutionary changes among humans over the relatively few years we have documented. There are also gaps in the evolutionary trail that get steadily larger as we go back further in time. The enormous missing piece is the beginning. The first mother as currently posited would look very different than your own, but we would probably recognize her as human. Where are her ancestors?

The Creationists generally believe that the Creator put our ancestors here essentially as they are today, and most accept the evidence that we have continued to develop and improve our physical and mental efficiencies.

So we have two general camps who ask (and in some cases demand) that their theories be taught in schools. Both are based on faith.

The Evolutionary camp points to the available evidence supporting their argument and demands that the students have faith in the scientists who will eventually discover more of the evidence missing today.

The ID camp points to that fact that their theory answers all the questions, but demands that the students accept as an article of faith that there is a Creator who begat all of this.

Just thinking about it, it appears that the students must either have faith in scientists who have only provided a small percentage of the evidence, or have faith in a Creator whose proclaimed works reveal an enormous body of evidence, but provides no physical evidence of her/his corporeal existence.

Just thinking about it, might the Creator still be in the process of creating, and could evolution be a tool that enhances the miracle of Creation?

Just thinking about it, might it be slightly arrogant to proclaim that you and those who believe as you do are right, and everyone else is wrong?

Just thinking about it, would it be okay to teach the students that these are questions essential to human existence and they should learn as much about both theories as possible, so they might take their wonder and apply it to answering the great questions?

Just thinking about it, could it be possible that all paths might lead to the Creator when they are followed by a good man or woman, and while the general precepts of “good” are carved in many stones, the precise definition is only known at the end of the path?

Pay attention while on the path, and hold great hope for eternity.