Randomness

Hello. I have been awake since 2am. I am barely functioning, and the bits of my brain that are working are not the ones normally used throughout the day. I'm rather concerned about what will happen at work and I'm considering just going home.

For the moment, I give you:

Bits & Pieces.

After reading Chicken's latest entry I began thinking about clowns:

The clown is smiling, always smiling, but the smile doesn't reach it's eyes. All clowns are "it's". How can you tell sex under baggy clothes and so much make-up? Maybe that's why I hate them so much. What if I went to a circus and found myself in the front row of the center ring, enjoying popcorn or a candy apple and a clown winked at me? I would be aroused but not know if the clown were male or female. I would follow the clown to it's trailer, missing the elephants and women who stand on horses, hoping to quench my libido in the wet innards of the clown. What if it took it's clown suit off and revealed a penis? I would be forced to kill the clown to preserve my manhood.

Would you like to buy a necklace of clown ears?

Let's see, what else do I have......?

I smell cat urine. I do not own a cat. There is no cat in the building I live in. There is no cat at work. I think I'm losing my mind.

Pray for me. I am lost.


M. PotPie

Channukah Chaiku

Now it's Channukah
Christmas is over, gentiles!
Time to play with fire.

Christmas gifts suck bad?
Hurry to the return line!
We get it wholesale.

I think it's quite sad,
All the Christmas trees now dead
In the name of Christ.

Hey! Where's my dreidel?
A spinning top and a game..
I won all your gelt.

Channukah prayer:
Baruch atah adonai
Forgotten meaning

Quick! Light the candles!
What day is this? How many?
I don't know. Let's eat.

Boring Channukah
No Santa, no tree, no fun.
Hey, it could be worse.

Blah Effin' Blah

I really don't feel like posting anything today...but the alternative to that is working. And I guess I feel less like working than I do posting. So what subject could I possibly write about that would keep my attention long enough to complete a decent entry even though I have no urge do do so?

My penis! Of course!

I won't lie and tell you I have eight inches of throbbing man-meat in my trousers, nor will I tell you that it's stamina is comparable to marathon runners. I can say that it's roughly six and three quarters inches long (not that I've measured.....) and that while it's girth is not freakish it is more than adequate.

He bends slightly to the left, as if something has caught his attention. He's outgoing, gregarious and always ready for a party. He prefers boxer/briefs to either boxers or briefs, though if he had his choice there would be no covering at all.

He dislikes the cold and would prefer to spend time in a warm, wet vagina. Or mouth. He is also very fond of handshakes.

Let's see...what else can I tell you?

He does have one bad habit... When he gets overly excited he tends to spit. A lot.

There. I think that's sufficient for the day.


M. PotPie

It's A Question of Etiquette.

First of all, thank god christmas is over. No more christmas music for this bitter Jew. (Well, truth be told, I'm not that bitter but I like to pretend to be. On top of that I do enjoy James Brown's christmas album. Santa Claus..go straight to the ghetto)

Secondly, if you do celebrate the holiday and were with family over the weekend, or loved ones of any sort, I hope all went well and your weekend was as dysfunction-less as possible.

And now, back to me.

For those of you who come here on a regular basis (for which I thank you) and are familiar with my adventures with Astarte, I should inform you that she now lives in Madison, which is only an hour south of me. I suppose you could say we are an 'item' or 'non-boyfriend/non-girlfriend', to steal from Chicken. For those of you who don't know of whom I speak, I refer you here:

http://lostintheblender.blogspot.com/2005/11/story-part-one.html

Anyhoo, I do actually have a story to tell, so let's get to it, shall we?

We shall.

Saturday Astarte and I decided to pay my parents (Well, my mother and her man. They've been together for 19 years and aren't married, so I don't know what to call them.) a visit, maybe have dinner, so on and so on. It was a nice day for Wisconsin in the winter..around 40 degrees, little peeks of sun here and there, no real wind. The drive from Astarte's apartment to my parent's home takes roughly 20 minutes. Plenty of time to get in trouble.

I'm driving rather leisurely, enjoying the scenery and hardly cursing the other drivers at all. Ray Charles is on the cd player singing "I've got a woman...wayy over town...that's good to me...oh yeah." I'm smiling, singing with Ray and thinking 'yeah, oh yeah. I have one too, Ray.'.

That's when it starts.

The hand on my knee. Up my thigh. Between my legs. Caressing, kneading, grabbing. Before I know it my pants are undone and Mr. Smith (as he has been christened) is free and very much enjoying the attention he's receiving. I'm ok while it's just the hand, I can still drive and pay attention to the road.

But the mouth...oh, the mouth. A blowjob while driving is a real and dangerous pleasure...especially on a bumpy rural road. But I'm a trooper. I manage just fine. Until....

She stops, reaches under her chest and picks up my cell phone from the console between the seats, buzzing it's angry buzz.

"Here." she says, handing me the phone.

Oh. Oh, damn. The ex-wife.

Now here's the etiquette question: Do you answer it?

(I'll tell you what I did later)


M. PotPie

Phone Call

Don't do it, don't do it...stupid stupid stupid idea....I'm saying these things to myself, in my head, but my mouth won't listen, determined to continue on it's pathetic journey. The words come out sounding hollow and needy in my ears.

"I think you should come over."I close my eyes and see her bow her head, her shoulders sag (those strong, freckled shoulders) and I can hear the inaudible sigh.

"I....don't think so. No, no."

"Why not? You're doing nothing, I'm doing nothing, we can do nothing together."

"We did nothing for ten years. I'd rather do something now, with someone."

It hurts. But I don't care anymore. I've lived with the pain so long I'm used to it, like a rotten tooth it throbs and aches every day, but it won't stop me from eating.

"Come on, we'll just hang out, I won't bite."

Oh my god, I'm pathetic. Why can't I just shut up? Now she'll say something purposefully mean to show me she means business.

"Look, don't even try to tell me you just want to be friends. Do you think I'm an idiot? I'll come over, you'll keep my glass full of booze...we'll eat, sit down, watch a movie..you'll start to rub my shoulders and I'll get uncomfortable waiting for the inevitable breath on my neck, behind my ears. I'm done with that. I'm done with you. You need to accept that and move on. I'm not in love with you now, and the more time we spend apart I question whether I ever was."

What did I tell you? Always a good shot, that girl. But do I stop? Hell no!

"Fair enough, fair enough. I understand how you feel." Uh oh, the salesman is coming out. "But tell me something: Is it me you're afraid of...or yourself? Afraid you'll give in, have a good time and regret it tomorrow? Or maybe you won't regret it but will pretend you do because you can't ever admit when you're wrong?"

We had never fought in all the time we were married, but now I had some perverse desire to pick a fight and hear her yell at me. Hell, at least it would be an emotional reaction.

"Look, I'm not coming over, ok? Shit, you make me hate the fact that I even called you. I feel some stupid obligation, some duty to you, to make sure you're ok. But that's it. That. Is. It. I'm not coming back, I'm not changing my mind. Goodbye."

There's a pause before she hangs up..of course I'm waiting for "I'm sorry" but it never comes. Just a click and a dial tone.

There's always tomorrow.


M. PotPie

Double Post Thursday

So my co-workers have come up with a new game for the holiday season:

Let's Tease The Jew!

The first part of the game is for everyone here to come up and wish me a merry christmas. Then they say "Oh...I'm sorry..happy holiday..or channukah...JEW!" and run off laughing.

Ok, I made that last part up, but it would be funnier if they did.

Truthfully my Jewishness (Jewocity? Jewtasticness?) makes them uncomfortable and I'm very tempted to use this to my advantage. But how? Suggestions are welcome.


M. PotPie

An Ode To My Shorts

Eat my shorts! Eat them! Chew the cotton, it hasn't been washed! Can you taste my holiness? My shorts contain wonders, even when I'm not wearing them. They are a being unto themselves, glorious in khaki, zippered, buttoned and self-aware.

Eat them now! You salivate and deny yourself, why? My shorts desire to be eaten, masticated into pulp, digested, shat out and be made into shorts again.

Or perhaps my shorts should devour you?


M. PotPie

Violence for Wednesday

Today's post was inspired by a visit here: http://superbadass.net/blog/

After reading the lovely & talented Terra T's (do yourself a favor and check her out....the writing, pervert) entry today the following spilled out of my fractured skull:



"So there I am, minding my own business, and this guy comes up and asks if he should know me. I'm like 'What? What the fuck is that supposed to mean, should you know me?'. And he says 'You have a famous face, like I've seen it before but can't remember who you are.' Can you believe that shit?"

She drones on and for what was probably only a few minutes but what seemed an eternity. She's an attractive girl, which is why I asked her out for a drink, but the more she talks the uglier she becomes. I don't mind if a girl swears, but in her horrible Brooklyn accent it makes her sound stupid, uneducated. I expect her to clear her throat and spit on the floor.

"So can you believe that shit or what?"

I mumble something along the lines of 'No, how dare he?' and she continues on about the nerve of the guy, blah blah blah. That's when I hit her with the beer bottle. Her nose explodes in a shower of blood and she falls to the floor, a stunned look on her face, her stupid cow eyes wide with surprise...and fear? Yes, fear. Now she's beautiful, now I want her, I reach for her, my smile telling her it will be ok and that I can love her now if she'll let me. She opens her mouth...to tell me she loves me too?

No, to scream. Her fingers reach for her shattered face and come away bloody, she stares at them, her blood-covered talons, and shrieks again, the cry of a harpy. Her ugly voice vomits a stream of obscenities and my smile fades as I move towards her, my only thought to make her be quiet. I lift my foot to squash her like an ugly bug, I want to feel her guts pop out of her hard shell, I long for the cracking sound that will bring the silence and bring back the love....


M. PotPie

Hateful X-Mas Haiku

Feel free to join in!


Jesus' Birthday
Is December Twenty Fifth
Why Don't We Get Cake?

I hate the x-mas
Call me Ebeneezer Scrooge
Bah, Humbug bitches!

Three wise men my ass
Just three guys lost in the sand
More than likely stoned

Christmas music hurts
It's a Waissault on my ears
Lord, please make it stop

This year for Christmas
What I really, really want
Is for you to die.

I slipped on the ice
Outside the department store
Now I'll sue Santa


M. PotPie

Guinness & New Tires

So here I am, minding my own business, trying to tie on a good drunk and tie down the barmaid. She isn't cooperating. The bar is packed with amateurs and easy drunks, the dregs and dullards, people who need an excuse to have a good time. Leave it to the professionals, I say. My Guinness is at the perfect temperature, my mind is slowing and expanding and I'm ready for adventure. Or jail. We'll see which happens first.

Usually I drink alone at home, which some sad people will tell you is wrong, but I find myself to be very good company. And really, masturbating in public is still frowned on. I'm at the bar because I'm celebrating the liberation of a great deal of money from my wallet. Be free, tens and twenties! Fly, green eagle, soar into the void and swell the pockets of corporations and parasites!

I had to buy new tires, you see. All four plus an alignment. The grand total? $700. Yep. That's seven hundred of my hard-earned dollars. I needed new tires because I had neglected to rotate the ones I had, so they rebelled and broke their steel-belted bonds, bent on destruction, mine or theirs they didn't care. Ungrateful rubber bastards. Did I mention that I'm drinking Guinness? I often wonder where civilization would be without it? Certainly Ireland would be worse off...and so would I. Guinness fuels mad dreams and long drunks. It cures lovesickness, lifesickness and sickness sickness, a brown elixir both magical and delicious.

When I drink Guinness I become the Brown Rambler! Story lines and continuity be damned! I would wear a cape, but I am not that fanciful.


M. PotPie

Put On Your Thinking Caps

After learning today that our kinda-sorta-voted-in president allowed the NSA to spy on people in the U.S. (http://www.yahoo.com/s/265231), I started thinking of political movements and governments that used to do the same thing. Certainly it starts with the best of intentions, but soon after a police state evolves and crimes are committed by that same government in the name of security.

How much of our freedom have we given up? Perhaps a better question is "How much of our freedom has been taken from us?" Are the elected folks in Washington and in our home states really representing us? Or are they instead acting in their own best interests and securing legacies for their brood?

I find myself scared of the path we've been led down and wondering about the evolution of democracy in our country. If in fact the people we choose to represent us don't have our best interests at heart, where does that leave us? We've become like a colony of worker bees, our only reason for existence is to grow the hive and protect the queen, occasionally exporting another queen and starting a new hive. We've been turned into nothing but consumers, seemingly having no say at all in this administrations policies no matter which way we vote.

If you have the time, follow these links: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Corporatocracy

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Corporatism

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clerical_fascism



M. PotPie

'Tis The Season For Giving

I've finally figured out what I want for Christmas. Nevermind that I'm Jewish and don't celebrate the silly holiday. People keep asking me what I want or hope to get so I've been forced to come up with an answer. My goal was to come up with something so ridiculous that after hearing it people would stop, stare at me, shake their heads and walk away. Oh, and then maybe stop asking me, this year and every year after.

This idea came to me as I was walking up the stairs from the accounting department here at work. I was staring at the carpet on the stairs, thinking how old and drab it looked, when it hit me:

This year, for Christmas, I want four women. Two to walk in front of me sprinkling rose petals, and two to walk behind to clean them up so they may be re-used. I am nothing if I am not neat and enviromentally responsible. I would prefer an ethnic variety, perhaps Asian or African, but would realistically settle for any woman willing to do it. They will dress in gossamer gowns and wear fairy wings, and would be required to flit. They will not speak. If spoken to they will smile shyly, cover their mouths and turn away in a cloud of rose petals.

I can't wait for someone to ask me what I want for Christmas today.


M. PotPie

God & Me

So I had a nice, long conversation with the almighty last night over a few Guinness and a pack of Camel Lights out on my deck. Sure, it was about fifteen degrees and snowing, but that deity puts off a lot of heat so it was ok. I didn't even need a hat. I thought I'd share the conversation with you.

Me: "Sooo. God. That's gotta be tough."

Him: "That's putting it lightly. You'd be amazed at how many selfish, self-serving, greedly little bastards are running around. If I hear one more fucking prayer to win a lottery I'll shit."

Me: "I hear you. Well, not that people pray to me, but they bitch at me all day about wanting money. I'm a loan officer, so it's kind of the same thing. People walking in with all these sob stories about needing money or their kids will have no christmas, blah blah blah. Say, I've always wondered, what does your son think about this holiday?"

Him: "Who, Jesus? We don't talk much anymore. Ever since his mother and I separated...well, things got weird. He started calling Joseph 'dad', and they were hanging out all the time. I figured I'd just back off and let him come to Me when he was ready. But you know kids, they only call when they're in trouble."

Me: "Actually I have no kids, so I don't know, but I can empathize. Need another beer?"

Him: "Yeah, thanks. Can I bum another smoke from you?"

Me: "Help yourself."

Him: "These things are gonna kill me one day, but I just can't quit."

Me: "Say what? Kill you? Seriously? But...you're, like, almighty!"

Him: "Yeah, but do you have any idea how much crap is in these? Hell, there's stuff in there that I sure as hell never created!"

Me: "Wow. But that does raise an interesting question. So which is it, creation or evolution?"

Him: "Ah, yes, the eternal, unanswerable question."

Me: "I thought that was "Why are we here?"

Him: "Oh..right. Anyway, it's both. Or neither. Whatever you want to believe. To be perfectly frank, I don't recall. I'm not sure if I created the Earth or was born when the Earth came together."

Me: "I see. So what about the why we're here bit?"

Him: "Hell, I don't know why I'm here! What makes you think I know why you're here?"

Me: "I thought you knew everything?"

Him: "Man, I smoked that part of my brain away long ago. So let me ask you this: What's it like being human?"

Me: "Well, sometimes it's cool, but most of the time it's...well..nothing. You just live, day to day, and hope nothing horrible happens. I'm not saying I cower in fear all day being paranoid and shit, but life is crazy sometimes. You're born, you live, you die."

Him: "Yeah, sometimes I wonder about the whole 'free will' bit. But to be honest I can't keep track of everyone anyway. You people are like rabbits the way you multiply."


There was some more conversation, but mostly it was just two guys (well, he looked like a guy) hanging out, drinking beer and bullshitting. Oh, one thing, turns out He hates NASCAR but loves golf. I guess that explains His shirt. I think He's coming by on Sunday to watch football at my place; He says watching football helps drown out the sound of all the people in church. So if you have any questions for Him, let me know and I'll ask Him.


M. PotPie

Voila! Nothing Underneath

Today I have gone commando. Beneath my finely tailored pants you'll find no underwear, neither boxers nor briefs, just my manhood free and clear of cotton encumbrance. My shaven huevos rub alternately against the light wool of my pants and my thighs, creating a delightful contrast of sensation, a bit scratchy then smooth, cool then warm. I love it.

I find myself making excuses to walk around, increasing the sensation to a dangeruous point where my arousal would become obvious. I also wonder who else may be undergarment-less today and sharing the freedom I feel. I would ask, but surely that would be in the realm of sexual harassment.

So I keep my secret and wonder about others, smug and secure in the hidden knowledge.


M. PotPie

Mundaneday

It's Monday and there's a turd in my coffee. Well, there may as well be, that's about how I feel coming to work today. And though my first instinct is to completely mail it in today and re-post a previous entry, my fear of Lieutenant A.P. of BlogForce nixes that idea. So, instead, I give you this, the lyrics to a song from a great band (and my current favorite) Flogging Molly. It's from their album (am I old for saying album instead of cd?) Swagger, entitled...

"The Worst Day Since Yesterday"

Well I know, I miss more than hit.

With a face that was launched to sink.

And I seldom feel the bright relief.

It's been the worst day since yesterday.

If there's one thing I have said

Is that the dreams I once had, now lay in bed.

As the four winds blow, my wits through the door.

It's been the worst day since yesterday.

Fallin' down to you sweet ground,

Where the flowers they bloom, it's there I'll be found.

Hurry back to me, my wild calling.

It's been the worst day since yesterday.

Though these wounds have seen no wars,

Except for the scar I have ignored,

And this endless crutch, well it's never enough.

It's been the worst day since yesterday.

Hell says "Hello!", well it's time I should go,

To pastures green, that I've yet to see.

Hurry back to me, my wild calling.

It's been the worst day since yesterday.

Saturday is Bad Haiku Day

I just shaved my balls
Fresh, clean and free in the wind
The aftershave stings

When I look at you
I have to think to myself
Your parents were wrong

Once upon a time
That's how most stories start off
There is no time left

Turn up the music
Stop talking for a moment
I can't stand your voice

Why oh why oh why
Do you refuse to leave me?
I should kill your cat

Haikus filled with hate
That's what I have brought today
I hope you like them



M. PotPie

Ok, I'm done subjecting you to my attempt at writing a short story. For those of you who continued to read it and offer comments, I thank you. It's the anonymity of the web that allows me to indulge a creative whim without the fear of any real rejection.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled program.


M. PotPie

Crazy Ray (continued)

Tokie and I spent the rest of the day just sitting around, talking a little, trying to guess what was in the briefcase and why the limo was there. We sipped on the moonshine from time to time, napped a little bit and later that afternoon decided to search his garage and get together some tools we might need. Tokie didn't have much in the way of tools, but we did manage to scrape together a screwdriver, rubber mallet, an old hacksaw and a crowbar. There had been a question nagging at the back of my mind all day and I suddenly figured out what it was.

"Hey Tokie? Did you try to open the door to the limo?"

He stopped his rummaging and thought about it. "No Bunk, I didn't."

"Well why not?"

"Didn't think about it, I guess. 'Sides, I was so excited I just had to tell you guys about it. I didn't get back until real late though so I had to wait 'till this morning. I was up half the night."

I took this information in and chewed on it a while. I figured it wasn't all that important, it was Tokie after all, so I put it out of my mind. After putting together the tools we had a bit more 'shine and Tokie managed to make us a decent meal of squirrel and field greens. After dinner we had a little more to drink, had a smoke and decided to catch some sleep before Ray got back. I fell asleep quick, I always do, and I dreamed that I was in prison, reading a letter. The letter was from Ray and he was living in Mexico. There was a picture with the letter of him on a fishing boat, smiling and holding up his catch: A briefcase, with handcuffs.

A few hours later I woke up to the sound of a honking horn. I walked outside to find Ray standing up in the driver's seat of Starla's mustang smiling with his arms folded. Like a king on his steed, I thought. He had the music playing loud, some old Charlie Daniels tune that floated up and disappeared into the night air. Ray jumped out of the car and walked up to me and I could hear Tokie coming up behind me.

"Ray, you old son of a gun, how'd you get her car?" Tokie was laughing, clapping Ray on the arm and looking at the car.

"The how is not important, men, only the fact that I have it bears consideration."

I gave Ray a good look and smiled back at him. "Your love bite is showin'. And you've got some lipstick on your cheek. How, indeed." We laughed a bit and walked over to the picnic table which was lit up by the mustang's headlights. Ray looked over the tools we had gathered.

"Our implements of destruction. Is this all you guys could find?"

"Well Ray," I said "this is all we could find that seemed useful."

"Yeah." Tokie chimed in.

"I guess they'll have to do then. What do you say fella's, one more toast for the road?"

We had left the moonshine and jelly jars on the table. Mine had a dead fly in it so I shook it out. At least it died happy. Ray poured us all another shot.

"Gentlemen, I toast again to our friendship and would like to add good fortune, good luck and ease of travel." We drank, squinted and pursed again. Then we gathered up the tools, got in the car and drove off to the salvage yard.


(more tomorrow)

(Just kidding!)

The night was warm and the skies clear, so we had the top down and the music turned up. All three of us were smiling, joking around and generally having a good time. It's a relatively short drive to the yard, but we drove the speed limit all the way to avoid drawing attention, which seemed silly to me. How much more attention could three grown men in a pink convertible really draw in Alabama?

We passed the salvage yard driving slow to make sure no one was around. There were no lights on, so we figured the coast was clear and turned in one street up, coming around the back. We parked the car on the side of the road and Ray killed the lights and engine. He looked at both of us.

"You guys ready?" We both answered in the positive. "Ok then. Tokie, grab the tools." We got out of the car and walked over to the fence, which was only about twenty feet or so from the road. This was the same part of the fence we used to sneak in and out of as younger versions of ourselves. It hadn't been repaired once in the years we used to make a habit of coming here after dark, so it never occured to us that it might have been repaired since then. The moon was bright enough to see by, we didn't need flashlights, and as we walked up towards the fence we all saw it at the same time.

"See?! It's there! I told you guys it would be there!" Tokie exclaimed in a high-pitched whisper.

It was there alright, just as he said. Not a scratch on it that I could see. It sat there like a silent black hulk, kind of menacing. I looked at the tail lights and thought of red eyes, eyes that were hungry and eager for us to get closer. I don't really have much belief in hoo-doo and I'm not a superstitious guy, but something about this whole thing sure rubbed me the wrong way and I said as much.

"Quit being an old lady, Bunk. Next you're gonna tell us you forgot your purse!" Tokie was all excited, giggling, being a bit too loud for my taste.

"You better shut it, Toke, or you're likely to get that beating anyway!" I was getting angry 'cause I was scared. Ray shut us up again.

"You two can it! Tokie, go on up and hold the fence for me and Bunk." As he said it we all looked to where the gap in the fence used to be. I say 'used to be'. Someone had repaired it in the last few years.

Ray spoke up. "Well this certainly does not fit in my plans...and it would appear we don't have anything capable of cutting through the fence. Gentlemen, I would say our only alternative is to go over this barrier instead."

I had been hoping he'd say our only alternative was to leave, but I guess that wasn't meant to be. The fence was about ten feet high, not including three strands of old rusty barbed wire across the top. Ray walked back to the car, opened the trunk and pulled out an old towel, which he brought back over. Putting the towel over his shoulder he jumped on the fence and climbed up 'till he was level. Then he put the towel over the barbed wire and climbed over, dropping down on the other side.

"Throw the tools over, Tokie." We had put the tools in an old gym bag. Tokie through them over the fence and they landed with a thud. "Alright, you guys climb on over now." We did as he said, and soon enough all three of us were standing by the driver's door of the limo. On the front seat, barely discernible even with the bright moonlight, was the briefcase and handcuffs. Ray put the bag of tools down, unzipped it and brought out the crowbar. "Well, no need to mess around, let's get that case and get out of here. I thought this was a good time to speak up.

"Say Ray, umm, Tokie never tried the door." Ray lowered the crowbar and his shoulders slumped a little. He gave a glance to Tokie who just shrugged his shoulders in response. Reaching out Ray grabbed the door handle and gave it a tug.

Now, I've heard some loud car alarms in my time but man, this one took the cake. There was a siren wailing, some kind of loud buzzing, the lights were flashing and it scared us half to death. We all jumped back a few feet and looked at one another. Tokie was looking scared, mumbling something I couldn't hear over the alarm and Ray was looking plain angry. He picked the crowbar back up, smashed that window to pieces, reached inside and grabbed the briefcase. Tokie was talking louder, almost yelling now, but I still couldn't understand. Ray and I looked at him, trying to understand. Tokie stopped yelling, pointed off in the distance and started running. I heard Ray yell "Oh shit! Run, Bunk, run!"

I don't normally mind dogs. I've had a few in my life and they've been, for the most parts, good pets. But I'll tell you, the beast that was barreling down on us was no pet, no way, no how. Tokie had already reached the fence and was climbing as we ran. I got to the fence before Ray and started climbing as Tokie dropped to the other side. It took Ray just a bit longer to get there, he never could run the same after losing both big toes. I dropped to the other side of the fence and turned to watch Ray jump up and start climbing. That dog, what looked to be about a hundred pounds of fangs and dirty brown fur was barking, throwing spit and just about on Ray's ass. Ray got to the top and was about to put one leg over the barbed wire when the dog hit the fence.

What happened next has been seared into my brain with a white-hot iron. I will never, ever forget it and still wake up sometimes from a nightmare about it. If Ray hadn't been holding on to that damned briefcase he may have kept his balance. But as it was, when that big old dog hit the fence Ray lost his balance and fell backwards. That wasn't the worst of it. No, the worst of it was that the foot he was putting over the barbed wire got caught up and twisted in it, so Ray ended up hanging upside down by one foot over the wrong side of the fence. The one with the dog, who started jumping up and biting at him.

Tokie and I ran to the fence and starting yelling at the dog, banging the fence, trying to scare it off. I looked for a rock to throw but couldn't find one. Ray was swinging the briefcase at the dog, trying to defend himself, but I guess his three-fingered grip slipped 'cause he dropped the briefcase. The dog ignored it and started jumping at him again. All this time the car alarm was still going off and I had visions of the cops pulling up and arresting everybody. I screamed then.

"Fuck this!" I started climbing the fence when I heard Ray give out a scream. I looked down and saw blood...a lot of blood... all over his head and face, all over the dog's mouth.

"That motherfucker bit my ear off!"

I reached the top of the fence and tried to pull Ray up, the dog still jumping and biting at him. As I was pulling him up that bastard of a dog gave one last leap and latched on to Ray. Right on to his bottom lip. We were both almost pulled right back down, but something gave and I was able to get Ray up and over. We both crashed down into the grass and I just lay there for a minute, listening to the alarm, which was sounding more and more like a man screaming. Turns out it was Ray. The alarm had cut off. I looked up into a face from a horror movie, nothing but blood and torn flesh where his left hear and bottom lip used to be. I could see his teeth and gums...it looked...well it looked bad. Real bad. Tokie and I got him into Starla's mustang, I gave him my shirt to stop the bleeding as best he could and we drove him to the hospital in Wetumpka.

Ray had plastic surgery to fix his face up and it was a long time before I saw him again. Starla kicked him out for getting blood all over her seats and I honestly don't know where he stayed after that. Tokie and I see each other now and again, but the three of us haven't been together since that night. I went back to the salvage yard a couple weeks later, but the limo was gone. So was the briefcase.

I wonder what was in it?


M. PotPie

Crazy Ray (continued)

Tokie ran inside to get the moonshine. Now I'm not against drinking, hell, I like it a lot, but it wasn't quite ten in the morning and the last thing I wanted to do was get this early a start, especially if Ray was had something brewing, which I knew he did. But I have to admit I was mighty curious to find out why there was a perfectly good limousine with a briefcase and handcuffs in it way in the back of an old salvage yard.

"What do you reckon is in that briefcase, Ray?"

He looked me dead in the eye and smiled one of his last full-lipped smiles. "My salvation, Bunk."
I don't know if it was salvation he found, but I do know our friendship was never the same after that night.

Tokie came running back out with the moonshine and three old jelly jars to drink it out of. He poured us each a shot and was about to throw his back when Ray spoke.

"Gentlemen, I don't normally stand on ceremony, you know that, but today I feel obligated to raise a toast." He stood and raised his jar and we followed suit. "Bunk, Tokie, I'd like to toast to our friendship and our complete trust in one another. Real friendship is rare these days. It seems like most folks would sell out their own mother if it meant a dollar or two in their pocket. However I know I can trust you two with my life, and you can trust me with yours if it comes down to it. So here's to friendship, trust and devotion to a higher ideal. Amen." We said amen and then all three of us emptied our jars.

You ever have moonshine? It's also known as everclear, corn liquor and some other disreputable names that I don't care to mention. It's one hundred percent grain alcohol and would kick the teeth out of a mule. Needless to say we were quiet after that first shot and anyone coming upon us right then would've seen three grown men with tears in their eyes and pursed lips. It's not a pretty sight but it is a common one around our parts. We all sat down again. Tokie spoke first.

"So what are we gonna do, Ray?"

"Well Tokie, we're going to the salvage yard tonight and check out that limousine. I'm fairly certain we already covered that. If, in fact, you're asking me what we're going to do after we check out the limousine, I don't know as I don't have all the evidence in front of me. However, if you're asking what we'll do if the limousine you described isn't there at all...well Tokie, I reckon Bunk and I will provide you with a memorable beating."

"It's there! I know it!" Tokie was wide eyed, pointing in the general direction of the salvage yard.

"You better hope so, Toke."

I decided to ask a question that seemed to have been overlooked. I cleared my throat first and tasted moonshine. "I don't want you fellas to think I'm trying to put out this fire, but just how do you propose we get there? I sure as hell don't want to walk ten miles and the last time I checked none of us has a car."

Ray picked up the corn liquor and poured us all another shot. "An excellent question Bunk, and one I've already given thought to and answered. I'll borrow Starla's car. She's got the night off and I'm sure she'll be happy to lend it to me."

Ray was lying. I knew it, Tokie knew it and I knew for damn sure that he knew it. More than her trailer, more than her job and sure as hell more than Ray, Starla loved her car. It was a perfectly maintained nineteen sixty-eight Ford Mustang convertible painted bright pink, a gift from a former client, let's say, and it was Starla's pride and joy. She even had personal license plates for it that read 'Starla'. Not all that original, but you always knew who the car belonged to. There was simply no way she would let him borrow it. We found out later we were wrong.

"Well fellas, I know it's early but I believe I'll need all the rest I can get for tonight's work, so I'm gonna head home. I suggest you two take it easy on the moonshine and rest up yourselves. I also suggest that you gather up any tools we might need to get into that limo and, more importantly, that briefcase." He threw back his second shot and stood up. "Hooo-whee! Damn, Tokie, where did you get this?"

"I got it from..." Ray cut him off.

"Nevermind, don't tell me. I don't think I really want to know. Gentlemen, I bid you adieu. Let's meet back here at eleven tonight." He saluted us and walked away.

Tokie and I watched him walk off and sat in silence for a while, sipping the corn liquor.

"Bunk?"

"Yeah Toke?"

"You guy's really gonna beat me up if the limo ain't there?"

"I reckon we'll be right upset, Tokie."

"I see. Bunk?"

"Yeah Toke?"

"Could you maybe not hit me in the face?"

"Guess I can't promise you, but I'll do my best to avoid it."

"You're a good friend, Bunk. Say, what do you think is in that briefcase?"

I had to consider my answer carefully as Tokie had an active imagination and tended to grasp on to an idea once it was in his head.

"I have no idea, but we'll all know tonight. If it's still there."

"It's there Bunk. I know it."

Deep inside I felt a bit cold and said a silent prayer that it wouldn't be.


(more tomorrow)

M. PotPie

Crazy Ray (continued)

Ray looked over at me, looked back at Tokie and shook his head.

"Tokie if we're never, ever gonna believe what you found, what makes you think we want to know?"

Tokie looked confused and so did I. I wanted to know.

"But Ray.."

"But nothing. Even if I did want to know, which is now suspect, you've certainly prejudiced me towards non-belief."

Tokie looked like a puppy that had just been hit with a newspaper for piddling on the floor. "But Ray I mean...I just..." He looked on the verge of tears. Ray rolled his eyes, chuckled a bit and put his arm around Tokie's shoulders.

"Come on, Toke', let's go on to your place and you can tell us all about what you found."


We all sat down at the old, wooden picnic table in Tokie's back yard we normally sat at. At one point it had held residence at site number 14 of Fort Toulouse- Jackson Park. We don't remember bringing it here, or how we got it past the rangers, but there it sits. It's covered in graffiti, names, initials and dates carved all over it from the last three decades. There's a giant heart carved right in the middle of the table with an arrow and everything. Justin loves Deb. A lot, apparently. Tokie spoke up again.

"I'm telling you, you guys ain't gonna believe what I found!"

Ray looked dubious. "Well, go on, spill it."

"You guys know that salvage yard over in Wetumpka?"

"Of course we do." Ray said it. Oh yeah, we knew it. We had spent hours there looking for one thing or another over the years, fixing up cars and what not. Back in highschool we figured that we could build a car entirely from used parts. We were wrong, but we had fun trying it. We'd still stop by there on occasion just to kill time. I guess Tokie went there without us one day.

"Well I was over there yesterday hoping to get a job. Didn't get one, but I did spend some time looking around just for the hell of it. I was walking way out back, by the fence where we used to sneak in? That's when I saw it."

"Saw what?" Ray and I said it at the same time.

"A limousine! A real nice one, too, not busted up or nothing!"

We just stared at him. Ray spoke first.

"And? What about it?"

Tokie looked around as if to make sure no one could hear him. He leaned in over the table and spoke real quiet.

"I'll tell you what about it. I looked inside the front, couldn't look in the back, the windows are shaded, but guys...on the front seat of that limo is a briefcase with handcuffs on it!" He leaned back and smiled, crossing his arms and looking real pleased with himself.

Ray scratched his chin and squinted his eyes. "Just what do think is in it, Tokie?"

"Well I don't know. But the handcuffs! Must be something important!"

I decided to speak up. "Tokie, for all you know whoever owns that limo and that briefcase was there wandering around same as you. It's probably not even there anymore."

"Is so Bunk, you don't know that!"

Ray hushed us. "Quiet you two! I'll admit you've got me curious, Tokie, though I'm still inclined not to believe you. On the other hand it's not like we're doing anything today. Gentlemen, I think tonight we're going to pay a visit to the salvage yard and find out what's in that limo. Tokie, you got any of that corn liquor left?"

(more tomorrow)


M. PotPie

Crazy Ray (continued)

Tokie had his own place about two miles outside town, so Ray and I would usually meet outside Starla's trailer and walk to Tokies together. This morning was no different.

"Hey there Ray, how'sit?"

"Same as usual, Bunk. Starla's got a bug in her ass about my socks on the floor and continuing lack of contribution to the general fund."

Two things here: One, my name is Bunk. Well, really it's Henry but folks have always called me Bunk because I fell out of a bunk-bed when I was little and cracked my skull. I still have the x-rays and a slightly lopsided head to prove it. I wear my hair long. Two, Ray always spoke like that. He was fond of big words and phrasing, but where he learned it no one knows and Ray ain't telling. Hell, he missed as much school as I did and I can't understand what he's saying half the time. Some people are just smarter, I guess.

"General fund?"

"Yeah Bunk. You know, rent, food, bills. The daily and monthly expenses of running a household and keeping yourself afloat."

"Oh. Sure, I get it."

Ray smiled and clapped me on the back with his three-fingered hand. The Pitchfork, he called it, and damn if it didn't look like one when he held it up. We walked down Main street pass the closed-up buildings and empty store windows. Times were tough all over but especially here in Claud. Funny name for a town, I know. Downtown looked abandoned, like a ghost town, or one of those episodes from the Twilight Zone. I imagined if you opened up some of these places that everything would look normal, even have food on the tables but no one to eat it. Like they all just disappeared.

The only place that had any business at all was the diner, The Stopwatch. I know, sounds like a sports bar, but I understand it's supposed be, according to Ray, "An allegory for the hastiness of the service, and not very clever at that." I guess I agree with him. Anyway the food's good, not that I can afford to eat there very often, and while the service might not be so hasty it sure does have a pretty walk.

We made our way past the Stopwatch and a ways out of town turned down the road Tokie lived on. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we don't. Today Ray wanted to talk.

"Bunk, you ever feel you deserve more out of life?"

"I don't know Ray. Wouldn't mind a job, I guess."

"Not a job, Bunk, but more." He drew out the word as he said it, kind of faded it to a whisper and got a look in his eyes like he was thinking real deep. As usual, I had no idea what he meant and said so.

"Ray, I have no idea what you mean. More what?"

"More, Bunk. More...freedom, more money, just something more...than this. What does all this get us?"

Now I was truly confused and decided to keep quiet and see if he would say any more or hush up himself. I have since learned that what I was hoping was that the question was rhetorical. I like that word. Unfortunately it was not a rhetorical question and the confusing conversation contintued.

"Well?"

"Well gee, Ray, I don't know! This isn't so bad, is it? We've got friends, a place to stay, some beers now and then. Sure, I wouldn't mind some more money, maybe a girl to spend it on, but how much do you really need?"

"I need more life. I need more out of life, something to live for, something that makes me want to get out bed in the morning!"

"I thought you said Starla wants you out of the house by nine?"

"That's not what I mean, Bunk, and I think you know it. There's just got to be something more than this. Bunk, I have a feeling that today I might find it."

Ray sure found something alright, but if you ask me he lost more than he found. Just then Tokie came running up the road at us.

"Hey! Hey you two! Holy shit!" He came running so fast that he slid along the gravel road and just about knocked Ray over. Wrong place, wrong time, as usual. Ray pushed him back.

"Damn it Tokie, watch it! You just about knocked me on my ass!"

"I'm...sorry...Ray...but...but..." He was breathing hard, having a hard time talking.

"Now just slow down, catch your breath. What's so important that you had to run up the road and nearly send me sprawling to the dusty Earth?"

Tokie finally calmed down and was able to speak clearly. "You guys are never gonna believe what I found!"


(More to come. I lied when I said I'd finish it over the weekend)


M. PotPie

Crazy Ray Part II

Let me start off by saying that while my recollection of that particular night is mostly clear, there was some corn liquor involved. And we all know what that stuff can do to a man. I ain't sayin', I'm just sayin', if you catch me.

It was a Sunday in June, a fine spring day that had dawned warm and clear, one that made you happy to be alive, even if you did live in Alabama, which we did. Ray and I were out of work (which was nothing new) just like a lot of folks in Elmore county. Third fastest growing county in the state my ass! The only thing growing at any rate at all was the collective ass of the county commissioners. But that's another story.

Seeing as we were out of work we had plenty of spare time to get into trouble, and let me assure you we took advantage of it. We had a friend named Tokie that we would hang out with, and most days we'd just sit around in his back yard and talk. Of course when I say 'talk' I mean sit around and say nothing 'cept the usual stuff. You know, 'how you?' or 'how's your mama?' or 'nice day, ain't it?'. More often than not one of us would have just enough money to buy some beers or corn liquor, so we'd sit around and drink as well. We didn't hang around my place because I lived with my mom at the time, and we didn't hang around Ray's place 'cause he lived with Starla, an ex-dancer, ex-hooker and current employee of Monster Mountain, a dirt racing track in Tallassee. Supposedly she worked the concession counter, but Ray and us were pretty sure she really worked the back door, so to speak. Old habits die hard, I guess, but she let Ray stay there for free and gave him stuff me and Tokie weren't getting, so I didn't blame him for staying on. She didn't like me or Tokie anyway.


(more to come, this is all I have time for today)


M. PotPie

Crazy Ray

Ray lost his first finger when he was seven to an angry mother and a refrigerator door. Sure, his Mom had told him a thousand times (which seemed like a lot, but Ray was pretty sure she had counted) that he couldn't have any more chocolate milk, but he just couldn't help himself. Chocolate milk was like heroin to Ray and the euphoria he felt when that brown liquid slid down to his gut was much the same way junkies feel when they tie off and shoot up. So that thousandth time he was rebuffed and went for the chocolate milk anyway...well, his Mom had had enough. To teach him a lesson she decided to slam his hand in the door. Only Ray decided this was a bad idea and yanked his hand away...almost in time to avoid injury.

At the hospital later on the surgeon said "Well, look at the bright side, son! At least it's only your pinky on your non-dominant hand!" The second time that surgeon saw Ray he chalked it up to coincidence. The third, fourth and fifth times over the next few years he began to grow suspicious and called social services, which led to Ray spending some time as a ward of the state.

The truth of the matter was that Ray was just unlucky. Very, very unlucky and he always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or at least certain parts of him were. By the time Ray was fourteen he had lost the pinky on his left hand (regrigerator door), the index and ring fingers on his right (Firecracker and stray dog), and both big toes, accidents that still haven't been explained. Ray to this day maintains that he woke up on consecutive mornings to find one toe gone one day, the other the next.

You'd be surprised how much you need your big toes to walk properly. After losing both of them Ray developed a curious gait which led to the running joke "Say, Ray you sure have a hop in your step today!" Ray just took it in stride.

Now maybe you'd think that all these lost digits would make Ray a bit timid, maybe on the careful side, afraid of taking chances. I'm here to tell you that is definitely not the case. No sir, I've been Ray's friend for twenty-some years now and if there's a more reckless man on the planet, I haven't met him. Ray has wrestled alligators, run moonshine and even did some bare-knuckle boxing for a time. I always thought that was a bit unfair, him being short three knuckles and all, but I never said anything. If Ray saw fit to ignore his missing pieces I figured I could do the same.

Well all this leads me to the story I set out to tell you: How Ray lost his left ear and bottom lip. It's not a pretty story, I don't see how it could be, but if you're interested I'd be happy to tell you. What do you say?


M. PotPie