"Well Dick, its almost november and we're in deep shit," Dubya said. "The economy is takin' a dive, we're in a war that the people don't like and they're about to vote in a black man fer president. There ain't much we can do now."
"What are you suggesting?" Cheney asked.
"People hate us Dick, the history books ain't gonna say nothing good 'bout us," Dubya replied. "But what if there was no history after we leave office? Lets nuke China."
"You know I love shootin' people as much as you do Georgie, but why?"
"Think man! No one likes the You-nited States anymore and we're in a state of dee-cline, like ancient Rome. Our economy is shit, our military is rivaled by China and the oil business is runnin out on us. Why not take the world with us? Who'll remember that I was a shitty president if everyone's dead?"
"No one"
"Exactly. And lets nuke France for good measure, but make it look like them Britons did it, hee hee hee. Make sure to knock down the Empire State buildin'."
"You mean the Eiffel tower? The Empire State building is in New York."
"Yeah, yeah, the Empire tower, whatever its called."
"When do you want the nukes to be launched?"
"How about next Sunday after we come back from huntin?"
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Friday, October 17, 2008
Chevy Cavalier
A man pulled up to the car fair in a red Chevy Cavalier, license plate 565 PE, year 2000 model.
"You can't park here," the traffic volunteer said.
"Why not?" the man asked
"This is for antiques or rare cars only," the other replied.
"This is an antique."
"Really?" the man said skeptically.
"Yeah, 2000 model."
"Thats not old enough."
"Not old enough? That was eight years ago! I wasn't even in high school yet!"
"Still not old enough. You can't park here unless the car is an antique or rare."
"This is a rare car."
"Yeah right."
"It is! How often do you see a Chevy Cavalier?"
"Almost every day."
"Ah! But how often do you see a red Chevy Cavalier with a dent in the side?"
"A dent doesn't make your car special."
"Oh but it was a very special incident that caused the dent."
"Tell me."
"I hit a post."
"How is that special?"
"It was a special post."
"A special post?"
"It had to be special if it was strong enough to dent a Cavalier!"
"Cavaliers aren't exactly strong armored."
"Oh really, have you ever seen one get run over by a tank?"
The man sighed. "No . . ."
"Well, how can you say that the tank would crush it? I'd bet the Cavalier would win against a tank."
"How do you know?"
"How do you know it wouldn't? I'm telling you, it was no ordinary post."
"What was it made out of?"
"Cement"
"How does cement make it extraordinary?"
"It was extraordinary cement. Look at the damage to my car!"
"Cement would do that to any car!"
"Not this car!"
"Please sir, I have to ask you to leave, you're holding up the line."
"All I need is a parking spot."
"And why can't you park in the visitor lot? I see plenty of spaces."
"Because this is a rare car, an antique even."
The man sighed.
"A dented 2000 Chevy Cavalier. It isn't every day that you see one."
"Fine, go park over there next to the hippy van and the Oscar Myer Wiener. Just keep that . . . thing . . . away from my Mustang."
"Nah, now that I think about it, I'll park in the visitor's lot."
In other news, a man was found dead at the car fair. The victim was found in his red, dented, Chevy Cavalier, apparently he was shot. Authorities say they have the suspect in custody but are not ready to release his name.
"Thats a rare car," the reporter said.
"Indeed," the anchor replied. "It isn't every day that you see a dented red Chevy Cavalier."
"You can't park here," the traffic volunteer said.
"Why not?" the man asked
"This is for antiques or rare cars only," the other replied.
"This is an antique."
"Really?" the man said skeptically.
"Yeah, 2000 model."
"Thats not old enough."
"Not old enough? That was eight years ago! I wasn't even in high school yet!"
"Still not old enough. You can't park here unless the car is an antique or rare."
"This is a rare car."
"Yeah right."
"It is! How often do you see a Chevy Cavalier?"
"Almost every day."
"Ah! But how often do you see a red Chevy Cavalier with a dent in the side?"
"A dent doesn't make your car special."
"Oh but it was a very special incident that caused the dent."
"Tell me."
"I hit a post."
"How is that special?"
"It was a special post."
"A special post?"
"It had to be special if it was strong enough to dent a Cavalier!"
"Cavaliers aren't exactly strong armored."
"Oh really, have you ever seen one get run over by a tank?"
The man sighed. "No . . ."
"Well, how can you say that the tank would crush it? I'd bet the Cavalier would win against a tank."
"How do you know?"
"How do you know it wouldn't? I'm telling you, it was no ordinary post."
"What was it made out of?"
"Cement"
"How does cement make it extraordinary?"
"It was extraordinary cement. Look at the damage to my car!"
"Cement would do that to any car!"
"Not this car!"
"Please sir, I have to ask you to leave, you're holding up the line."
"All I need is a parking spot."
"And why can't you park in the visitor lot? I see plenty of spaces."
"Because this is a rare car, an antique even."
The man sighed.
"A dented 2000 Chevy Cavalier. It isn't every day that you see one."
"Fine, go park over there next to the hippy van and the Oscar Myer Wiener. Just keep that . . . thing . . . away from my Mustang."
"Nah, now that I think about it, I'll park in the visitor's lot."
In other news, a man was found dead at the car fair. The victim was found in his red, dented, Chevy Cavalier, apparently he was shot. Authorities say they have the suspect in custody but are not ready to release his name.
"Thats a rare car," the reporter said.
"Indeed," the anchor replied. "It isn't every day that you see a dented red Chevy Cavalier."
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
zombies
The lieutenant did not like the look of the setting sun. Darkness meant only one thing to him, they'd be back. Gazing over the sandbag blockade, he saw the bodies were still out there. The plague victims who had attacked the night before were still lying in eerie and gruesome poses of a second death.
The houses in this neighborhood were typical American homes but the ravages of plague and disease took their toll. The houses themselves looked sick, windows were boarded up and the walls and streets were riddled with bullet holes and bodies of the dead. Pools of blood stained the streets.
The lieutenant lit a cigarette. He never smoked before joining the national guard and it had been in this latest crisis that he'd taken up the disgusting habit. He puffed. There was something about this plague that scared him and drove its victims insane. It somehow reanimated them after it killed them. And it spread from town to town. Hundreds of thousands had died already. The lieutenant did not care to know how many more were to follow.
"Lieutenant, come have a look at this," the captain called out.
"Yes sir," the lieutenant came over.
"A reconnaissance satellite took an infrared shot of our neighborhood here," the captain pointed. Most of it was dark, except for one small, red-orange figure. "As you can see, they found something."
The lieutenant threw away his cigarette. "Looks like an infant. . . how can we tell its not infected?"
"The victims don't give off a heat signature, since they're, well, dead." the captain answered. "in 30 minutes, 2 fighter bombers are going to incinerate this neighborhood and I can't call them off"
"Well, in that case, I'm going in sir." The lieutenant picked up his rifle and a few spare rounds. "I'll bring the child back or not at all." He gestured at a sergeant, "I'd like to take him along sir."
The captain replied "Alright, be careful though."
The lieutenant jumped over the barricade into the danger zone and the sergeant followed. They ran from cover to cover down the abandoned streets, past abandoned cars and swing sets. It was a surreal sight, a neighborhood with no people. The sun was setting.
The doors of one house open and a plague victim came out and shambled towards the pair. The lieutenant fired a shot, hitting the man in the chest. The shot should have killed him, but he mindlessly continued at them. The sergeant and the lieutenant opened fire, ripping the man to pieces with bullets of mercy before the man was stopped. The man's guts and body parts were spread about in a mix of blood and slime.
They moved on and found the house. The lieutenant kicked down the door and entered. Inside was a typical suburban home, two floors, with a stairwell going up. And a host of zombies. The creatures saw them and turned on them. They were in the darkness of the house where the sun did not slow them down and they came at them quickly. The lieutenant and the sergeant moved up the stairs and opened fire on the zombies.
"Reloading! Cover me!" the sergeant cried as he placed a new magazine in his rifle. But then a zombie attacked, knocking the sergeant over and biting a large chunk out of the man's neck. The lieutenant blew off the zombies head. The creature tumbled down the stairs.
The sergeant was turning pale and he was shaking. Then he suddenly jumped on the lieutenant. The lieutenant smacked him with the butt of his rifle. The sergeant was gone, the lieutenant knew. He was one of them. Out of mercy and grief, the lieutenant put a few bullets in the sergeant until the sergeant stopped moving.
All was clear. The zombies were defeated, for now. But now the lieutenant was alone. He checked his rifle and reloaded. He had a few magazines left. He moved on and found the room easily; the baby was crying in all the commotion. The lieutenant picked up the baby and carried him out of the house. The sun had gone down even further. He checked his watch. Five more minutes before the bombers showed up. He set off into a run.
And as if an alarm bell had gone off, all the doors of the houses opened and zombies came out. The lieutenant picked up his pace but the zombies followed. With the baby in his hand, the rifle was useless. He dropped it. He tossed a grenade. It blew apart the front ranks, but more followed. They were faster than he, but he saw the national guard barricade up ahead several hundred yards. He set off into a sprint. His chest hurt but he ignored it. Something grabbed his leg and he fell over.
The baby was crying even harder now, dropped on the grassy suburban lawn. The lieutenant kicked the zombie off his leg. The zombie bit down on him. He screamed. He could see the captain, who was shooting at the zombies behind him. The lieutenant got up and ran to the barricade. He handed the baby to the lieutenant. And then feeling the plague go through him, he pulled out his desert eagle and shot himself.
The captain watched the lieutenant die in horror, but the baby, although hurt, was fine. But the zombies were coming. His men opened up on the machine guns. There was a roar of jets and bombs were let loose and the neighborhood beyond the barricade was annihilated with fire. The remaining zombies were cut down by the withering fire of the fifty caliber machine guns.
Kind of a gruesome story but it is based on a dream I had.
The houses in this neighborhood were typical American homes but the ravages of plague and disease took their toll. The houses themselves looked sick, windows were boarded up and the walls and streets were riddled with bullet holes and bodies of the dead. Pools of blood stained the streets.
The lieutenant lit a cigarette. He never smoked before joining the national guard and it had been in this latest crisis that he'd taken up the disgusting habit. He puffed. There was something about this plague that scared him and drove its victims insane. It somehow reanimated them after it killed them. And it spread from town to town. Hundreds of thousands had died already. The lieutenant did not care to know how many more were to follow.
"Lieutenant, come have a look at this," the captain called out.
"Yes sir," the lieutenant came over.
"A reconnaissance satellite took an infrared shot of our neighborhood here," the captain pointed. Most of it was dark, except for one small, red-orange figure. "As you can see, they found something."
The lieutenant threw away his cigarette. "Looks like an infant. . . how can we tell its not infected?"
"The victims don't give off a heat signature, since they're, well, dead." the captain answered. "in 30 minutes, 2 fighter bombers are going to incinerate this neighborhood and I can't call them off"
"Well, in that case, I'm going in sir." The lieutenant picked up his rifle and a few spare rounds. "I'll bring the child back or not at all." He gestured at a sergeant, "I'd like to take him along sir."
The captain replied "Alright, be careful though."
The lieutenant jumped over the barricade into the danger zone and the sergeant followed. They ran from cover to cover down the abandoned streets, past abandoned cars and swing sets. It was a surreal sight, a neighborhood with no people. The sun was setting.
The doors of one house open and a plague victim came out and shambled towards the pair. The lieutenant fired a shot, hitting the man in the chest. The shot should have killed him, but he mindlessly continued at them. The sergeant and the lieutenant opened fire, ripping the man to pieces with bullets of mercy before the man was stopped. The man's guts and body parts were spread about in a mix of blood and slime.
They moved on and found the house. The lieutenant kicked down the door and entered. Inside was a typical suburban home, two floors, with a stairwell going up. And a host of zombies. The creatures saw them and turned on them. They were in the darkness of the house where the sun did not slow them down and they came at them quickly. The lieutenant and the sergeant moved up the stairs and opened fire on the zombies.
"Reloading! Cover me!" the sergeant cried as he placed a new magazine in his rifle. But then a zombie attacked, knocking the sergeant over and biting a large chunk out of the man's neck. The lieutenant blew off the zombies head. The creature tumbled down the stairs.
The sergeant was turning pale and he was shaking. Then he suddenly jumped on the lieutenant. The lieutenant smacked him with the butt of his rifle. The sergeant was gone, the lieutenant knew. He was one of them. Out of mercy and grief, the lieutenant put a few bullets in the sergeant until the sergeant stopped moving.
All was clear. The zombies were defeated, for now. But now the lieutenant was alone. He checked his rifle and reloaded. He had a few magazines left. He moved on and found the room easily; the baby was crying in all the commotion. The lieutenant picked up the baby and carried him out of the house. The sun had gone down even further. He checked his watch. Five more minutes before the bombers showed up. He set off into a run.
And as if an alarm bell had gone off, all the doors of the houses opened and zombies came out. The lieutenant picked up his pace but the zombies followed. With the baby in his hand, the rifle was useless. He dropped it. He tossed a grenade. It blew apart the front ranks, but more followed. They were faster than he, but he saw the national guard barricade up ahead several hundred yards. He set off into a sprint. His chest hurt but he ignored it. Something grabbed his leg and he fell over.
The baby was crying even harder now, dropped on the grassy suburban lawn. The lieutenant kicked the zombie off his leg. The zombie bit down on him. He screamed. He could see the captain, who was shooting at the zombies behind him. The lieutenant got up and ran to the barricade. He handed the baby to the lieutenant. And then feeling the plague go through him, he pulled out his desert eagle and shot himself.
The captain watched the lieutenant die in horror, but the baby, although hurt, was fine. But the zombies were coming. His men opened up on the machine guns. There was a roar of jets and bombs were let loose and the neighborhood beyond the barricade was annihilated with fire. The remaining zombies were cut down by the withering fire of the fifty caliber machine guns.
Kind of a gruesome story but it is based on a dream I had.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Random Noises
Tap tap tap
Question 1.
A) Wrong
B) Wrong
C) Wrong
D) Wrong
The test was still there.
Tap tap
The eraser hit the desk. Time and space collapsed. The Earth shrunk into the sun. The luminescent orb swirled amongst the stars of the majestic galaxy.
Surrounded by darkness, the galaxies spun, all into chaos. They were swallowed by a deep dark hole.
And somewhere out there, God danced.
Ding
"Turn your papers in"
I never could keep from being distracted.
Question 1.
A) Wrong
B) Wrong
C) Wrong
D) Wrong
The test was still there.
Tap tap
The eraser hit the desk. Time and space collapsed. The Earth shrunk into the sun. The luminescent orb swirled amongst the stars of the majestic galaxy.
Surrounded by darkness, the galaxies spun, all into chaos. They were swallowed by a deep dark hole.
And somewhere out there, God danced.
Ding
"Turn your papers in"
I never could keep from being distracted.
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