Damn its cold outside!

Notice.

As of 10/6/2010 this blog will remain open but will no longer be updated due to lack of interaction by other people. thanks for reading.

Making Scary Things Funny.

When I was a kid, I used to be- like so many other kids my age, a huge monster movie freak, absolutely adored the classics. The original Frankenstein, the wolfman, the mummy, The Creature from the black lagoon and of course my main man Dracula.. The only problem with me and my favorite monster movies- being a kid after all, was sometimes- well no, every time that I watched them I got the living shit scared right out of me. The good news was that I usually watched them on Friday and Saturday nights so the next day I didn’t have to go to school. Only thing was, I usually got so scared I didn’t get to sleep until early the next morning. The monsters were going to come and eat my brain, I just knew it. Mom was getting fed up with it and had almost on a couple of occasions decided to pull the plug on my weekend monster movie marathons, that is until I pleaded and begged. And groveled too I might add.
“Please Ma No!! I promise I’ll close my eyes when the scary part comes on! Or I’ll hide behind the couch or something.”
Well she eventually agreed to not take my monster movies from me, based solely on the promise that I wouldn’t allow them to scare the wits out of me.

So therein was the problem, how do I make monsters NOT scary? I consulted my step father immediately. And he gave me an ingenious idea,
“When the scary part comes on son, just picture the monster in his underwear. People in their underwear are ALWAYS funny. ”
Monsters wear underwear? When did this happen? Frankenstein wearing bloomers? Dracula in Granny panties? Did I fail to mention that my step father was a demented, warped S.O.B? But I had to admit, the idea was intriguing so I decided to try it for myself. The very next Friday night there I was sitting right back in front of the television, waiting with baited breath, Popcorn and soda pop at the ready- then the announcement: “Tonight’s feature presentation on Creature Features.. Frankenstein Versus the Brain Munchers.. Ooooooo.. A classic! (no.. don’t get your panties in a wad.. That wasn’t the real title.) I gotta admit, I wasn’t sure how I would react to seeing Frankie in his long johns but the image was kinda funny. I eventually got over the bad dreams that monster movies gave me, but not by picturing Frankenstein in his underwear, I discovered that you can get over a lot of different fears by simply facing them and injecting the situation with a bit of humor. If you make something seem funny to you, then you more than likely will soon realize that the truly funny thing is that you were ever afraid of it in the first place.

Dude.. where's your Tires?

It appears as though it can happen to anybody, at anytime and anywhere.. You are cruising along in your new automobile, and you suddenly get the urge, it happens to the best of us, you pull over in what looks like a “SAFE” neighborhood and decide to go into the local coffee bean barn for a morning mocha, java or cappuccino. You swear you will only be gone for two minutes, if that, what could happen in two minutes for Petes sake? And yet when you walk back to the curb you find your Escalade, Porsche or Mercedes wearing cement loafers. that’s right, your baby just had her new Bridgestones jacked. Stunned, alarmed and well…. Pissed off, you begin the immediate process of locating witnesses before finally reporting the incident to the local police.. Minutes later, the police arrive to inspect the crime scene.. They try to interview the same witnesses that you already have, but of course nobody saw nothing, so two stand around scratching themselves inquisitively.. Two decide they need a coffee and a donut while your baby gets manhandled by crime scene investigators all because you stopped in the wrong neighborhood for a cup of Joe. Relax Holmes.. It isn’t your fault after all it can happen at anytime and anywhere.
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Bear Hunting 101

Hunting Bear in Alaska

Frank traveled up to Alaska, spotted a small brown bear and shot it. Soon after there was a tap on his shoulder, and he turned around to see a big black bear.

The black bear said, 'That was a very bad mistake. That was my cousin. I'm going to give you two choices. Either I maul you to death or we have sex.' After considering briefly, Frank decided to accept the latter alternative. So the black bear had his way with Frank.

Even though he felt sore for two weeks, Frank soon recovered and vowed revenge. He headed out on another trip to Alaska where he found the black bear and shot it dead. Right after, there was another tap on his shoulder.

This time a huge grizzly bear stood right next to him. The grizzly said, 'That was a big mistake, Frank. That was my cousin and you've got two choices: Either I maul you to death or we have 'rough sex.' Again, Frank thought it was better to cooperate with the grizzly bear than be mauled to death. So the grizzly had his way with Frank. Although he survived, it took several months before Frank fully recovered.

Now Frank was completely outraged, so he headed back to Alaska and managed to track down the grizzly bear and shot it. He felt sweet revenge, but then, moments later, there was a tap on is shoulder. He turned around to find a giant polar bear standing there.

The polar bear looked at him and said, 'Admit it Frank, you don't come here for the hunting, do you?'

Gossip 101

I always find myself scratching my head at all of the odd little idiosyncrasies of people, how they make assumptions about other people without ever having met them. Talking in carefully guarded whispers whenever someone they deem to be- “Odd” passes by, and of course the ever present leaping to narrow minded conclusions about people they don’t even know. Case in point, two guys that have recently moved into the apartment just four doors down from me, they are quiet, courteous, well mannered and dare I say even polite on most occasions that I have crossed paths with them. This morning I was down in the laundry room, and there was a young guy and a girl in there talking about- “The new arrivals.” the banter that I heard going back and forth pertained to the two guys never being seen with women, so the inevitable conclusion that was reached after a short deliberation was that they must be gay.


Normally I don’t force my opinion on other people but I must say that the subject material got me more than a little curious so I carefully inserted myself into the conversation.
“So you think that they are Gay? Or you KNOW that they are Gay?”
The Girl told me.
“Oh.. They are gay.. Trust me.”
“And you based this judgment on what exactly?”
Well long story short I never did get a straight answer from either of them, but it did get my wheels turning. I’ve always been a believer in the simple philosophy that if you want to know something definitively usually the best way to get to the meat of the matter is to simply go to the source.


So I saw one of them getting into the trunk of their car and in a non offensive manner I struck up a conversation with him, and in a few short minutes I found out more about my new neighbors than those two closed minded idiots could have learned in a lifetime. By simply talking to them, I discovered that they were two brothers that moved here from Los Angeles, They both recently lost their jobs and moved here in hopes of finding new ones. They both have girlfriends that they are going to move down here as soon as they get enough money, and the reason that they are both living in the same apartment is they thought that renting two would be a waste of money. I considered going to find the pair of gossipers to set them straight but would good would it have really done? What’s the old saying? If someone is talking to you about someone else.. Then tomorrow they will more than likely be talking about you to them.. Jim Morrison was right. People are strange.

Deconstructing Demons.

You never forget the first time that the devil taps you on the shoulder. You never forget where you were, or what you were doing. I was working the graveyard shift in a foundry, in Carson City Nevada, in the middle of winter. It was bordering on 100 degrees inside. that’s me, the third guy from the left- the tall gangly looking smart ass, the one with the one gallon ladle full of molten aluminum pouring the caterpillar piston. Damn that looks hot, and not in a good way. I remember that night, a lot of shit gets fuzzy after awhile, but that night is still clear as a bell. I remember that I was just sort of buzzing right along, Doing my thing- I had my cold Pepsi cola sitting under the cooler, pouring pistons and smoking my cigarettes, business as usual, no problem. until I couldn’t catch my breath and I felt my whole chest tighten up, luckily I wasn’t holding a ladle of hot liquid metal at the time. So all that I had to do was rip off all of the safety equipment and go outside to try and catch my breath.


Call it luck or call it fate, whatever, maybe it was the cold air outside, hell who knows? but the pain in my chest subsided as quickly as it came and I finally managed to catch my breath. I didn’t die but it felt like I was definitely on the waiting list. Ok, the truth be known, it wasn’t really the devil. It was all on me, just me and the bad decisions that lead up to that point in time when I was forced by my own body into making a choice. When I was 13 years old I touched the first cigarette to my lips, I lit it, I inhaled the smoke, I chose to light the second one, and the third one after that. Nobody Twisted my arm, or threatened to beat my ass if I didn’t start smoking, nobody was there to hold a gun to my head, it was all on me. No troubled youth who was raised in a bad home environment stories, no lame ABC after school special bullshit. Just a dumb 13 year old kid that made a dumb decision to start smoking cigarettes because he thought that it would somehow- make him cooler.


I’ve stole cigarettes from people, took a few coins here and there to feed that nicotine addiction, and the long story short is the only person who really suffered from any of it was me. Nope no sob story to tell. I finally kicked the habit so to speak for 3 years in 1987. Kicked it clean, I got to breath normal again, until 3 years later when my mother passed away and I let stress get the better of me and I started again before finally throwing them away for good in 1998. Now at the risk of sounding like a politician- let me make this perfectly clear- over the years I had tried virtually every conceivable remedy to permanently purge the nicotine addiction from my body, to no avail. I tried patches, I tried chewing gum, popping pepper corns.. (Don’t remember where that one came from) I tried several times to just quit cold turkey, and each time I allowed myself to become an irritable jerk to the point where family and friends would practically throw cigarettes at me to end the tirade. Finally I must admit that I didn’t even eventually quit because I really did want to, I quit because I felt that I HAD to.


Thankfully the final word came from my body itself, after consuming two and a half packs of cigarettes a day, My lungs and heart had gotten together and in unison on that near fatal night and issued me an ultimatum.- “Quit poisoning us or we will go on strike. The cigarettes or us.. Your choice.” thankfully I still pride myself on being smart enough to listen. I threw a pack and a half of Marlboro’s in a pot of hot metal, tossed the lighter in the dumpster and I haven’t smoked since, nor have I once even paused slightly in retrospect to reconsider that decision. Strangely enough I have had some of my more Christian friends come up to me and say that it was indeed the devil that kept pushing me towards that abyss that I was headed towards. Nope, I beg to differ. There was no little devil sitting on my shoulder carefully orchestrating my every misguided step. It was all on me. Choices, that’s what life really boils down to, you make choices, for better or worse, and you and only you are forced to live with the inevitable consequences. No devil, no crutches, no excuses. You make your bed, and you sleep in it. Advice? Nope, I’m certainly not an expert and I am certainly not going to preach. So what would I say to someone who is trying to quit? if anything? Simple, be honest with yourself, and if you’re really going to quit, do it on your own terms. Because in the end, if you wait until you are forced into quitting, it may already be too late.



~Scratch A.B.T. Copyright © 2010 ~

AT&T and the Great Suckable Conspiracy Theory

I had the misfortune of hearing yet another in a long line of conspiracy theories recently, this one pertaining to AT&T’s recent price changes and the not so unusually high volume of dropped calls. But for the life of me, my frazzled brain can’t seem to locate the exact location of the memory in question. Perhaps it is sleep deprivation, or my cramped cranium is starting to show signs of age and wear, whatever the case may be the memory escapes me at the moment. But the one thing that is almost certain is that it is more than likely a conspiracy theory born like so many others. Cousin Otis has too much free time on his hands, has had one too many Red Bull’s at 3:00 AM, and has spent too many hours perusing the vast wastelands of the world wide web, feeding a extremely over active, hungry imagination. Which when you think about it, really doesn’t seem like that much of a reach now does it?

It usually begins on one of those Roswell sites, where the government is either in cahoots with- or just flat out denying the existence of extraterrestrials. They have the bodies, they have the flying saucers, and they’re somehow keeping it from us. The damn government, trading secrets with the damn Martians now, and it goes all the way from Roswell to Area 51, that’s where they’re keeping the bodies, the secret aircraft, and of course EVERYBODY knows, that that’s where they are holding Elvis Presley prisoner. I’m never clear on how exactly Elvis fits into the equation but his name always seems to pop up in most of the popular conspiracy theories. Who really killed Kennedy? The same fuckers that kidnapped Elvis. Why can’t they find Bigfoot? He was a witness to the Elvis kidnapping so they took him prisoner too. And of course the only way to protect yourself from the Governments secret mind control device that is hiding the truth from us is to wear a hat made of aluminum foil to reflect the radio waves that televisions, radios, computers and cell phones all transmit into our brains. Which I’m guessing is how AT&T fits in.


And speaking of the corporate devils AT&T, the way that they fit into the conspiracy goes something like this: Cousin Otis who lives in Bugtussle Arkansas is on the phone with Uncle Clem in Porkbelly Kentucky at 3:00 AM, and right in the middle of a highly intellectual conversation about the correlation between the government, alien abduction, the Kennedy assassination and of course the suspicious circumstances surrounding the “Alleged” death of Elvis Presley- AT&T decides to drop the call. After which Cousin Otis has to resort to trying to climb up on his roof in the middle of a thunder storm to improve his reception and gets struck by lightning in the process. Meanwhile over in Porkbelly, Uncle Clem finds himself wandering around in the dark, in the bog out behind the farm uttering the dreaded words ‘Can you hear me now bubba?’ over and over again. which attracts the attention of a hungry grizzly bear who promptly rips him in half and drags his into the deep dark woods where he is never heard from nor seen ever again, which when you think about it- kinda makes the dropped call a moot point.




But lets not confuse the conspiracy theory in progress, to any sort of facts, after all the two are seldom in direct relation to one another. I have never seriously put a lot of stock in conspiracy theories of any sort, but I do find them rather entertaining in all of their ridiculous glory. Then perhaps the real truth isn’t as convoluted as all of that, maybe the truth is the American Government doesn’t know as much as everyone suspects they do, maybe they’re really as clueless as Otis and Clem. Maybe Elvis really IS dead. And Maybe Lee Harvey Oswald really DID shoot Kennedy.. And maybe AT&T drops phone calls because their service really does suck rhinoceros balls. So how about just this once we allow ourselves to set our theories aside if only for a moment, and lets accept our government for what it is, in all of its inept glory. Lets finally let Elvis rest in peace. And when you think about it it really doesn’t matter who shot Kennedy, no matter who pulled the trigger gone is gone and nothing will bring him back. And as for AT&T lets just leave them be, and let them suck their Rhinoceros balls. I mean they always have- (Sucked that is) -and the evidence would suggest that no matter what. They always will.

The Life of a Bait fish.

I always thought that swimming with sharks was some kind of metaphor for someone who was trying to fight to survive in a vicious business environment. I never thought that I would ever see it used in a literal sense. Then the other night I watching the discovery channel I think it was- there was a guy who was declaring his love of anything and everything sharky. No matter the species, he said that he would swim with any kind that would ummmm, have him I guess. Forgoing Balls for brains I decided that I would take a quick peek at some of the oceans less than popular residents.


The Mako:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




These little Buggers- (Yeah right.. Little) can be found in waters all across the globe and have been known to be as diverse as they are unpredictable. Some live in colder temperatures, some thrive in warmer climates, but the vast majority are found in waters around Tahiti. While people aren’t a part of a Mako’s diet they have been known to become extremely aggressive and even attack whenever humans enter into their environment. A common misconception seems to be that because it is a smaller shark than most, a Mako isn’t widely viewed as any real danger, nothing could be further from the truth. Although a Mako’s diet consists mainly of tuna, herring and swordfish, they WILL attack whatever gets their attention, and while migrating or hunting they have been known to hit speeds of up to 60 MPH in the water. Making them the fastest sharks in the ocean today. ~ For more information visit Sharks-world.com ~


The Blue Shark
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Picky eaters- they’re not. Basically whatever enters into the water becomes a part of the buffet. They prefer squid as their primary dietary supplement but will basically eat anything, they are fast and agile swimmers and although you find them in very deep waters they have been known to travel great distances to find the food. And perhaps the single most import thing to remember- when you see one, it is very likely that they have a few friends close by. Blues travel in small groups.. And they do like people.. And no, not in a good way.



The Great White
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Holy crap! Did you see the smile on that guy? Popularly known as the garbage disposal of the deep, these little rascals are very, very, VERY aggressive. They have an amazing sense of smell and it is believed that they can smell a single drop of blood in the water. They have a ferocious appetite, and a full grown Great White will dine on a wide variety of ocean delicacies ranging from fish, other sharks, seals and sea lions, and if they can’t get their chompers around some live prey- the will eat whatever the can get dead or otherwise. And they are NOT afraid of people! Cute little buggers though aren't they?

I really don't know why I feel like I need to explain this, but still I feel as though I must.. The reason I don't have a Facebook Page anymore.

It Sucks.




The End.

Chin up all ye little buggers..

It is 8:30 in the morning, it is still rather cool out and the day looks like it may just turn into a decent one. It is supposed to hit 83 degrees today for the high according to AOL. I get up, make a pot of coffee and head to the shower. That’s when I first hear something coming from the living room, I strain to listen over the sounds of gushing water as it beats against my skin, I turn off both faucets and step out of the shower and dry myself off, now it becomes clear, someone is knocking on the front door. I hurry to get dressed and make my way to the front of the apartment.

I swing the door open and poke my head out, my hair still dripping wet from the shower. The walkway is completely empty, so I step to the railing and look over the edge at the apartments downstairs. Nobody there. What the hell? I know I heard a knock, I shrug my shoulders and walk back inside glancing once again back down the walkway as I re-enter the apartment. That’s when I see the little guy with the clip board and shoulder bag climbing the stairs, crap, he spotted me and is now making a bee line to my front door.

I realize that there is no escape for me now so I lean up against the door jam to patiently await my fate, whatever it turns out to be. A strange feeling of déjà vu strikes me as he gets closer. “Henry Morrison” I say to myself, apparently louder than I intended to.
“What?” he asks leaning forward curiously.
“Ummm.. Nothing, just thinking out loud. What can I do for you?”
His shoulders suddenly square up and his posture straitens, and he becomes strangely indignant.

He straightens his glasses and begins to fumble with the papers on the clip board. Mumbling out loud as he goes. Its only 8:30 in the morning and I am already of the distinct impression that he is having a very bad day. His head is still pointed down, his face seems a bit reddened.
“Are you a registered voter in Carson County?” He asks.
“Yep.”
“I am here to secure your vote for the republican party in the Nevada State Primaries.”
Not his exact words, but my eyes glaze over whenever I hear the word; ‘Republican’ so I couldn’t really tell you what his exact words were.

I look him up and down wondering if he will ever raise his head to see exactly who it is that he’s talking to.
“Don’t you think it would be helpful to your cause to ask if I am a card carrying Republican before you try to secure my vote?” It seemed like a rational response.
He stops digging and looks up in surprise.
“Well.. Are you? A Republican?”
I slowly shake my head no.
“Nope.”
“Oh.. A Democrat then.”
“Nope.. Independent actually.”

He squares his shoulders and once again readjusts his posture as he goes storming towards the stairs mumbling under his breath every step of the way. I remember a kid named Henry Morrison, I used to know him in the seventh grade. He was always a little pest as I recall, always had his head down, always just a tad impatient with everyone, a very assuming kid. Always went out of his way to make people feel as though they owed him their undivided attention whenever he opened his mouth. Suddenly as I watch the angry, inpatient looking little man storming down the stairs with his head down. The immediate comparison becomes obvious. Funny, I hadn’t thought of Henry Morrison in many years and then he just popped into my head.


It serves as a reminder to me, and I think about it as I walk into the kitchen to pour my first cup of morning coffee. No matter how bad I think my day may end up being, any day, every day. The sun is going to come up, and it may rain or it may snow, or it may not. And no matter how many times I trip, I stumble and fall, no matter how many times I have to pick myself back up off of the pavement. I only have to pause and think about all of the Henry Morrison’s of the world, the ones that think everyone owes them something, all of the ones that have those kinds of days, everyday, for a whole lifetime. I can pick myself up, dust myself off and aim for tomorrow, at least we all have that. There’s always tomorrow.


~Scratch A.B.T copyright © 2010~

Brave Young Lads

We wandered in the fields of gold,
In the places of our birth,
Never questioning the values,
Of what our lives were worth.

Then the overlords came calling,
And took us to a place,
They gave us guns, and wars to wage,
And stripped our youth away.

Now they don’t teach us to live,
And they don’t teach us to learn,
And they don’t tell us the reasons,
Of why our hunger burns.

Just stand in silence, get in line,
And place your freedom on the shelf,
You’re a number now, you’re property,
And there’s no thinking for yourself.


My eyes have seen the coming,
Of the Modern age,
Where brave young lads
Stand shouldered,
In the midst of gun smoke haze.

And cultural indifference
Lay mixed in pools of blood,
I’m finished now
Now I just wanna go home.
Please let me go home.

~Based on the short story Brave Young Lads by A Timmons.~

~Scratch A.B.T. copyright © 2010~

To Zen And Back..

I knew a man, not one in particular, just a man, who never figured himself for much of anything special. Worked two jobs, had a wife, a child, plus a mortgage and a small pile of credit card debt that managed over a brief period of time to keep his head down and his eyes focused straight forward, blinders firmly in place, never seeing what was around him. Go to the office for eight miserable hours in the morning, come home in the afternoon and turn around and go to job number two for another eight. Five or sometimes even six days a week, leaving the little woman to pay the bills while he slaved away. What was her name? damn he could barely remember his kids name or his own, let alone hers. Too many lives with too many bills, and barely enough money to pay them, barely enough to keep a roof over their heads. Too many people, too many lives passing them by way too soon. Never seeing, never smelling, never once realizing what is around them, there are too many flowers to stop and smell, too many kids to listen to all of their laughter, or to see their smiles every morning, too many puppies chasing after too many kittens, too many family Barbeques when you couldn’t afford steaks, but hamburgers and hot dogs will do. Too many sunrises and sunsets to be missed with your husband or wife by your side, too much life missed.



A man died today, no not in the physical sense, in the sense that something inside of him died, like his soul, his spirit, his very essence had been stripped from him, like some piece of repossessed property. He died inside, from the lack of pure oxygen, from never being able to loosen his tie, or to really take a slow deep delicious breath of air, to stop and breathe in the fragrance of life. He died from the lack of Joy, of promise, of hope, living without living life. Stop.. what are you doing? Look.. Just look right there. You didn’t even see it did you?. You miss so much life when your head is down like that. Right outside that ridiculous cubicle that you slave away in everyday, just walk over to the window, open it up once in awhile. There. Right out there, there’s a whole world that you may never know, that you may never see. Just stop. Just look.. Listen. Just feel like you are alive inside, really alive and part of it all, part of something beyond the understanding of wealth and power, beyond their constraints. Just open the fucking window and breathe. It won’t cost you anything, I promise. A man died today, not in a physical sense, he died because he was so busy trying to make a living that he forgot to do any living. A man died today, and the truly sad thing is he didn’t have to.

~Scratch~ ABT Copyright © 2010~

Old School New. (A Reposting from Blogstream.Com)

They come at him from every angle. They come in waves of what seems like numbers ranging in the thousands. Zombies, werewolves, wombats and vampires and the like, monsters of every size, shape and color imaginable, all wanting a piece of the master. Does he panic? Nope. This is after all, what he was seemingly born to do, meet 11 year old Marvin Tallmadge, video game master, monster fighter extraordinaire. Nimbly his young fingers glide over the controller, vanquishing monster after monster, level 10, level 11, level 12, working on 13. He’s never been this far before, but he knows he’s going to do it, he’s going to beat level 13 and move farther in Monster Zombie Attack than any other kid on his block has before! Almost there, a little farther. Damn, only three zombies left in the swamp, then he has to deal with those pesky wombats waiting in the tree’s, the werewolves are all dead, and he put down the last vampire eon’s ago. Damn! They retreated back into the bog, ahh they’re trying to draw him in to where the wombats are waiting. Wait- something is wrong here. Marvin! Huh? What? Zombies don’t talk! And they surely wouldn’t know his name. “MARVIN!! Turn of that infernal video game and get your butt down here now!”
“But.. Daaaad. I’m, almost finished!” he yells looking back over his shoulder at the door.
Now distracted, the master monster hunter falls easy prey to the flesh devouring zombies who swoop in to surround and eat him. Please start level 13 all over again.
“NOOOOO!!!!“


He stands before his father, dejected, and more than just a little annoyed. He looks up at him from the sofa where he is forced to sit as his father prepares to deliver the morning lecture. He paces back and forth carefully eying the eleven year old at every pass.
“Son? Have you done your chores?”
“Yep.”
“Taken out the garbage?”
“Yep”
“Mowed The Lawn?”
“Yep, did it yesterday.”
"Done your homework?"
"Yep"
"Cleaned your room?"
"Yep"
He smiles triumphantly at his eleven year old son.
“Well then its time for your reward son!” he exclaims to the delight of the eleven year old.
A thousand thoughts race through Marvin Tallmadge’s mind. He is so excited, maybe he’ll buy a copy of Monster Zombie Attack II! Yeah that must be it! He looks up at his father with a renewed sense of respect.
“Son go get your fishing pole! You and I are going to spend the day up at Lake Hazatoxin hiking and fishing! Isn’t that great son??”
“Huh?”
“Just you and me. A father and son alone in the woods. side by side!"
"Huh?"
"Think of it son.. all alone, Fishing, hiking, No phones, no TV, no video games! Just you and me son, bonding with nature and the elements!”
“I have a fishing pole?”

They drive on for more than two hours before Marvin Tallmadge’s father steers the gray Lexus into the parking area at the base of Lake Hazatoxin. They get out of the car and he begins to study his unfamiliar surroundings. The towering pine trees, the loud chirping sounds of the birds, the dark winding pathways leading upwards into the hillside where Lake Hazatoxin itself awaits their impending arrival. His father assigns him the task of carrying the fishing poles while he himself carries the tackle box and the picnic basket that holds their lunch. Half way up the trail as he looks around a thought occurs to young Marvin Tallmadge. “Damn! This would be the perfect spot for a Zombie/wombat ambush! This could be a trap! Damn we have to go back!” he looks up at his father.
“Dad are you sure this is such a good idea?” he asks.
“Keep walking son, the next left turn is going to take us all of the way to the edge of the lake. Stay sharp!” they arrive at the feet of Lake Hazatoxin moments later. Exhausted from the hike, the father almost collapses onto a picnic table that is nestled in the trees some fifty or so feet from the lake.
“Whoo son! I forgot that the air is so much thinner up here than in the city. Now don‘t you worry about a thing, I‘m going to help you bait the hook and cast it out the first time. Just until you get used to it”
he sits the tackle box down on the table and begins to rummage through the assorted hooks, lines and sinkers until he arrives at what he believes to be the perfect combination, before removing the container of worms to bait the hooks with.

The scene for the next twenty or so minutes reminds young Marvin Tallmadge of an old Three Stooges gag, as he sits curiously watching his father try to bait the hooks, while dropping first the worms themselves on the ground, followed by the rod & reels being dropped into the lake, followed by his father wading into the shallow part of the lake to retrieve them, followed by he himself slipping on a slick rock resulting in him falling ass first into the water, followed by some slightly subdued giggles coming from the eleven year old son. The next hour features disaster upon disaster for the father on the fishing front. Finally the two decide to eat lunch before hiking back to the car to drive home. Silently Marvin Tallmadge gnaws at his sandwich before having yet another revelation that he reluctantly shares with his slightly aggravated and no less dejected father.
“Hey Pop?” he asks waving the sandwich in the air. “what kind of sandwich did you get?”
His father looks at him with a cold blank stare.
“I think they are all the same son.. Tuna I think.” he answers flatly.
Marvin smiles triumphantly.
“Well at least we got some kinda fish to eat today! Ay Pop?”
He rises to his feet giving his son a cold humorless look.
“Lets get back to the car son.”

For the next two hours he leads them up and down every wooded trail that the shores of Lake Hazatoxin has to offer, before finally coming to rest in a clearing over looking the very spot that had stood only two hours previous. The father stops to scratch his head.
“We should have went left at that last trail fork, I think I may have missed a landmark or two, C’mon son, we’ll have to back track.”
They move back up the trail until finally the eleven year old boy begins to point out where they should be walking. And soon finds himself taking the lead, winding along trailhead and forks, turning left, turning right, going uphill, going downhill until finally in the clearing ahead of them, the gray Lexus appears right where they left it.
“Ok son, I have to ask, how did you remember where the car was?” his Father asks.
Marvin Tallmadge produces a slim, shiny black gadget from his pocket.
“Pop, I programmed our exact position into my GPS before we got out of the car.“
The father stares at him grimly.
“is there anything else that you’d care to share with me son?”
“Umm well.. Pop?”
“Yes son?”
“Do you remember that term paper that I wrote last year that I researched on the internet?”
“Why yes I do. I believe, you got an A+ on that paper, your mother and I were so proud.” he smiles.
“Pop. Well I wrote that paper on botany. You know. The study of plants? Well I don’t know how to tell you this but.. You see that stuff your standing in?”
He looks down at his feet.
“Pop. I’m pretty sure that that is poison Ivy.”
“We’d better get moving son, I’m pretty sure that we may be stopping by the doctors office on the way home. I want to get there before they close.”

~FIN~

~Scratch. A.B.T. Copyright © 2009~

Yeah sure... sure.. I'll get right on that..

I was checking my email this afternoon and came across this urgent message, from some fine upstanding citizen that I suspect probably doesn't even live in America. below is a copy of the actual EMail..


Dear
I am Barrister Teo Wang ,An Attorney At Law. A deceased client of mine, that shares the same last name with you, died as the result of a heart-related condition on March 12th 2005.His heart condition was due to the death of all the members of his family in the tsunami disaster on the 26th December 2004 in Sumatra Indonesia. And in the record there is no known successor to this deposit of the deceased who died without a will. My late Client has a deposit of eighteen Million US Dollars ( US$ 18,000,000.00) left behind.
My conditions:
1. The sum of US$ 18,000,000.00 Million only will be transfer into your account after the processing of all relevant legal documents with your name as the beneficiary, the transfer will be made by telegram legal documents with your name
The transfer will be made by telegram legal documents with your name as beneficiary, the transfer will be made by telegraphic Transfer (T/T) confirm able in 3 working days.
2. This deal must be kept secret forever, and all correspondence will be strictly by email/telephone, for security purposes.
3. There should be no third parties as most problem associated with your fund release are caused by your agents or representative
. If you AGREE with my conditions, l advise you to send the following:
A: Your Full name and address
B: Your direct telephone number
C: Sex
D: Occupation.
E: International passport
Best Regards,
Teo Wang Attorney At Law
Email:teowang180@hotmail.com

Hmmmmm.. Sure thing Teo.. I'll get right on that.. and maybe I'll just send my social security number, all of my computer passwords and my bank account numbers right along with that information that you requested, you know, for safe keeping.. along with the deed to my 800 million dollar estate in Maui..I mean after all I wouldn't want anybody stealing from me would I?.. yeah right..

Waiting For Summer. (A work of fiction)

It always seemed like to me the best time to put together a game was in the morning hours, after the grass had been cut, there was that smell that would always overload your senses. The smell of freshly cut grass, some kind of flowery fragrance would often carry on a slight breeze that would kick up from a northerly direction. Usually from miss Mcgillicutty’s flower garden. Just one block away. Now the game itself was never much of a load of fun for me, but I did rather enjoy being out in the fresh air rather than being cooped up inside my room for the day. So I made the best effort to hold up my end of the bargain even though the team captain knew of my limited capabilities at takin a proper swing at one of Jeb Witherspoon’s curve balls. it wasn’t like I was the only one that couldn’t lay off that pitch, hell, it gave most of the fellas fits as I recall. That day out at Centennial park weren’t much different. Witherspoon gave us fits at the plate most of the day, Strike one! Strike Two! Strike Three.. Next batter, same result. We gave them a battle mostly by virtue of playing sound defense, they were getting close to most of the stuff our pitcher Kenny Ballard was offering, he didn’t have much a stable of pitches though, decent fastball, he could throw a slider that wasn’t half bad for a kid his age, didn’t have much of a curve though. Whenever he tried to cross up a batter with his curve, it never seemed to break right, and after awhile you could see it coming and someone would always get a piece of it.


Top of the sixth, there I am out in the shallow centerfield, Daryl Moxleys playing deep right, just shy of the fence, Jimmy Brennan’s coming up to the plate, and right away from where I’m standing, I can see him laying off the first two pitches, Kenny B throws him two straight fastballs.. I can just tell, he’s waitin for Kenny to throw that curve, he’s sittin on it.. Jimmy, he’s a smart hitter, he don’t swing for the fence much but he’ll nickel and dime you all day with those little shit drop in singles. Now he sees Daryl playing deep in right field and I just know he’s gonna pull this next pitch that way and drop it in front of him, so I turn to Daryl and motion for him to move up into shallow right but he ignores me and sure as shit, Kenny serves him up that curve ball and Jimmy pulls it into shallow right just as I’m moving that way, Daryl panics and tries to move up on him and he over plays the ball and it almost gets past him, he dives on it and comes up throwing. Jimmy rounds first and digs in hard bearing down on second base just as the throw comes in and he beats it out just barely. So now with a runner in scoring position, Kenny digs in and starts pitching, he gets the next two batters to swing at bad pitches and they hit back to back pop ups, two outs top of the sixth Mike Skinner at the plate, Mikey has power to all fields, and he’ll murder a fastball, but anything low and away he doesn’t see as well, and he usually can’t hit it very well. But Kenny tries to go that way and the pitch kinda sails up on him and Skinner gets a piece of it and burns Daryl again dropping it in shallow right in almost the same spot that Jimmy Brennan did.


Daryl gets to it though but Jimmy, damn Jimmy is fast, he’s already rounding third and heading for home plate, in a split second Daryl knows that he isn’t gonna catch up with Jimmy, so he throws to second and holds Mike skinner to a deep single. Kenny knuckles down and strikes out the next batter, some new kid that I didn’t recognize. We hang tough for the rest of the game and hold them until we get to the bottom of the ninth, we’ve got two outs and its one to nothing their favor. We’re down to our last out, Daryl steps into the box and Jeb Witherspoon serves him up a fastball first thing, and wouldn’t you just know Daryl gets a piece of it and drives it into left field for a double. Next up Pete Wiggler gets hit by a pitch that’s sails on Jeb and now we have two runners on, two runners out and I have to step up and make something happen. Jeb Witherspoon has always had my number, he always knows exactly how to pitch me, and here lately I haven’t been able to touch anything he’s thrown at me. But still I grab a bat and dig in at the plate, my muscles tighten as I see his leg raise up into the air almost in slow motion, he follows through on the pitch and delivers it right down the middle, I freeze and it blows right by me untouched. I dig in again trying not to grip the bat too tightly, trying not to over think things, Daryl’s got a big lead off at second, and Petey is jumpin around at first like a frog on a hotplate. And Jeb does something strange, he pulls up and steps off the mound for a second. Now he’s thinking about it. He steps back in, I can feel my toes digging into the dirt, everything moves in slow motion, out of his wind up he delivers the pitch and I swing with everything I have. Strange how everything works out, I feel the barrel of the bat make contact with the ball, as I follow through with my swing, Daryl and Pete are both running on contact, I run like my life depends on it. I round first still not completely sure where the ball landed, I make a bee line for second Daryl is home and Pete is rounding third. As I make my turn at second base I can see the new kid drawing a bead on home plate so I dig in for third just as Pete crosses the plate. Safe at third, safe at home, we win. 2 - 1.


I suddenly open my eyes and find myself sitting here perched in almost an unfamiliar position sitting behind my desk looking at a blank computer screen. As I lean forward, a faint refection off of the window pane behind my monitor begins to form, though not complete, I can see that the eyes staring back at me have aged considerably, and the shoulders although once broad, have slumped somewhat, and the hair that rests on them has turned a peculiar shade of gray. I pull away and stand up to look out the window, and I see an endless line of empty manicured lawns. I step out the front door and walk down a quiet side walk, my feet almost instinctively walking in the direction of Centennial Park. The base ball diamond there, is quiet now, the old backstop is worn and weathered, the grass, sparse, thin, Barely clinging to life. I walk up to it, and slowly sit down on the bench and close my eyes. I can almost smell the fresh cut grass, hear the crack of the bat, some kid scurrying to field a fly ball or a grounder. I rise and slowly turn and walk back to the sidewalk, as I head for home lost in my thoughts, I think about the not so subtle between the youth of today versus the youth of the past. I think about what they may have lost, what they may never have. It saddens me. I open my eyes with a start as I hear a small young voice tugging at my ears. I open my eyes, I am in a new park now.. There’s a young boy standing in front of me with a ball and two gloves.
“Hey Mister? I have an extra glove.. You wanna throw the ball around?”
Upon reflection I suppose the line between dreams and memories can become somewhat blurred at times, to the point where you aren’t sure where memories end and dreams begin. I look down at the boy.
“Well kid, My waistline may have exceeded its bandwidth, but I reckon the ol arm still has a fast ball or two in it.”
Here’s to dreams. And to Memories.. May they never die.

~Scratch.. A.B.T. Copyright © 2010~

Grace under pressure?? yeah right... Grace.

It isn’t my fault really, its just a short attention span thing I think. Or it might quite possibly be what I like to call; “the car wreck effect” you know how you’re watching something and you don’t know WHY you’re watching it? You just can’t help yourself, its kinda like passing a car wreck, you know you shouldn’t look but you always do. Last night it was kinda like that for me.. I had just finished watching the Mini series; “Gettysburg” in its entirety on dvd. And I had the sound kinda turned down and I saw that the Olympics were on so I decided to watch. I got up and made coffee and when I came back figure skating was on. Oh maaaan.. Not figure skating.. Well boredom can drive a man to to the unfamiliar at times.. I don’t know why I just watched it.. The first skaters came out and circled the ice gracefully. Guy throws the girl up in the air and she does a triple spin thingy and then lands on her feet. Dude tries to do a circle and falls dead on his ass onto the ice.. BWAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHA… hey this ain’t so bad.. Almost kinna like watching hockey… so they finish.. And the next skaters come out and start to circle around the ice all dramatic and graceful like. Dude pulls the hot chick up too his chest, (and I suspect had to fight the urge to put his hand on her butt.) they skate around spinning in circles all dramatic and graceful like annnnnnnnnd… whoooooooop!
Dude falls dead on his ass!. BWAAAAAAAHAHAHAHA… ahem… I mean tough break there cookie. All and all in the short time that I watched probably three skaters fell.. And the announcers blamed it on the ice. You know guys.. If you are in Vancouver this year going for the gold medal in figure skating for whatever country you choose to represent. It would probably help if you actually KNEW how to skate… just a thought.

Another Useless Holiday!

Ahhhh.. Valentines Day.. The pride & joy of sappy ass greeting card companies everywhere.. A day when even normal people who don’t want anything to do with it are inundated with a cascade of wishy washy horseshit… seriously now who in the fuck invented this happy sappy horse shit? it’s a conspiracy I tell you.. The jewelry stores.. The frickin greeting card companies.. Fucking Russell Stovers.. They’re all in on it together.. Its one big conspiracy.. I say to you that Valentines day is NOT a real holiday, and should be wiped from the ass of humanity for all time.. So tell me.. Do the banks all close when Valentines day falls on a weekday or Saturday? Well? Do they?? Huh? DO THEY??….. Nnnnnn… nope.. Do they give anybody the day off of work because its fucking Valentines day? WELL DO THEY???…. Nnnnnnnn…….Nope… do federal workers get the day off?… do they close the stores??…. Does your town shut down BECAUSE ITS FUCKING VALENTINES DAY??… nnnnnnnnnn…….. Nope… and DO YOU KNOW WHY??? Because it isn’t a REAL FUCKING HOLIDAY!!… Christmas is a holiday… New Years Day is a holiday…. Thanksgiving is a holiday… Easter… Mothers Day… Fathers Day… Memorial Day… Veterans Day…. Presidents day…. These are REAL HOLIDAYS!!.. Valentines day is a fraud born of commercialism.. “So.. What are you getting me for Valentines Day?” let me just tell you this.. If your honey truly loves you they will sit you down and tell you the simple truth.. “Nothing Honey.. Because the day that I need to be reminded by Hallmark or fucking Jared’s Jewelry store, or some chocolate company that you are the most important thing in my life is the day I’ll take out my gun and shoot myself in the head.” you don’t need a special day to send someone flowers.. Or buy them a box of chocolates.. Or to buy them a piece of jewelry to offer them as a token of your love.. You can do that ANYTIME.. All you really need is the inspiration and the will to do so.
What a fraud.
And I Repeat.. Its NOT a Holiday!

Crazy Family Matters...

I got into an interesting conversation- (if you could call it that) - on the telephone with my sister in Montana today, she practically chastised me for a number of perceived offenses not the least of which was because I didn’t recognize the name of her favorite country & western singer. Well I still don’t recall who she was babbling on about. And if the truth be known I really don’t fucking care to either. How about this cup cake? You listen to whatever toots your tuba and I’ll listen to what ever toots mine. What can I say? Is it so unreasonable that I don’t know but a handful of modern country singers by name? Kenny Chestnut.. Billy Bob what’s his fuck.. I don’t listen to modern country so it stands to reason that I wouldn’t know one from the other. Now, Willie Nelson I know.. Waylon Jennings I know.. Patsy Cline I know.. And the handful of new country artist that I do recognize? Its probably because to me they sound like Country as I know it.. The newer stuff not so much. Rock.. Blues.. Jazz.. that’s MY bag. Modern country not so much. Now here the real boner.. Secondly she jumped my ass because I wouldn’t agree to hop on a bus to go visit her in fucking Montana. Now why would I want to do that? Seriously? Here I am trying to find a job, trying to stay afloat, and I’m supposed to shit out money for bus fare just to go to Montana so we can what? Hold hands? The last time I recall we were in the same vicinity we were at each others throats.. Needless to say the rest of the conversation didn’t end well. My Grump I think would have to be this.. If strangers can show me ( on occasion now..) at the very least some measure of civility. Then why can’t members of my own family? It just serves to me as a reminder that I live so far away from them for a reason.. Its because we just don’t get along anymore. Now my sister that I do get along with- (Also in Montana) - tells me that to please the one sister that I don’t get along with, I’m going to have to bend over backwards to please her (Just a little more) if we are ever going to get along.. What? Well my response to that would have to be that If I bent over backwards any farther than I already have, I’d be staring myself in the ass. I live in a family of Wackos.. I’m sure of it.




~Scratch~

Embracing my inner Grump..

I’m don’t recall exactly when I first began to realize that my inner grump was starting to show, I used to try to hide my grumpiness from the outside world, for fear of certain persecution. I secretly kept the monster in check, I would try to lay low until that first cup of blissful caffeinated splendor could work its magic and put me in just the right frame of mind to prepare me for the strangeness of the outside world in which I was forced to co exist with people that I had hopelessly lost any connection with. I used to really care what people thought of me, I kept up appearances, minded my manners, and still do to a point, but as I look around me at the world and its oddball inhabitants, I find myself caring less and less. Something happens after 40, or for some people even as early as 30, for me though, the magic number was 40. I began to see things differently, and for better or worse became somewhat less tolerant of them, I spoke my mind more and worried about the consequences of doing so- less. People don’t seem to take personal pride in how they look before they go out in public anymore, some don’t even seem to care if you can smell them coming from six blocks away, they just don’t seem to care anymore.


I know! Here’s a clue; if you are an individual who weighs in excess of 380 lbs and you’re only five foot three maybe skin tight sweat pants and a mid drift baring top isn’t a good fashion choice for you. Its not after all, a look that just anybody can pull off. And while your at it, you might want to re-think the thong underwear that your fat ass keeps swallowing. Just a thought. And somebody tell me when it became fashionable for guys to saunter down the street with half of their ass hanging out of a pair of blue jeans that looks like they are about six sizes too big? Pull your damn drawers up Junior! I don’t want to see your ugly ass unwashed butt crack on my way to the 7-11. Ya know? Some peoples children. Ok I’ll admit it, maybe that came off as just a tad judgmental, and then again maybe its about fucking time somebody spoke up and said something. No Damnit! No more biting my tongue. No more keeping the peace, I shall for now and forever from this day forth not only embrace, but flaunt my inner grump! Ok its feeding time.. You think I’m grumpy when I don’t have my coffee? if I miss my dinner.. I’ll tear this fucking building down with my teeth.


~Scratch~