Baboon Pirates

Scribbles and Scrawls from an unrepentant swashbuckling primate.

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Location: Texas, United States

Thursday, April 30, 2009

2001: A Blog Odyssey

Did You Ever Wonder if DOS Is Running Underneath HAL-9000?

"You'd like an entertaining blogpost?

I'm sorry, Dave. I'm afraid I can't do that."

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

2000th Post

I Love These Odometer Rollovers

Just for $h!ts & grins, this is the 2000th post here at Baboon Pirates.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

I'd Rather Be Waterboarding

Another Long Overdue Book Review!

Just finished reading 'Banquo's Ghosts', a spy thriller written by Rich Lowry & Keith Korman. I heard about it on the Hugh Hewitt radio show, and picked up a copy via eBay.

It's got a pretty good mix of timely source material. Craven political hacks, evil Iranians, clueless liberals, torture, gunfights, escapes, bloody demises, and a shitload of radioactive material in a major American city.

It's an exciting page turner for most of the book. It's not perfect, there's a bit of uneven prose here & there. I'm sure if the authors do another book or two, it'll smooth out. Still, it was a fun read overall. I'd recommend it.

One thing the book reinforces is the sure knowledge that no matter how much we bend over backwards to make the world love us, there will *always* be those that will make it their sacred mission to do us harm. The Appeaseniks out there would do well to remember that.

Monday, April 27, 2009

Hope That Prius Floats!

I Didn't Even Need To Shift Into 4WD!

Used 1998 Ford 4x4 Pickup - $8500

Annual Fuel Bill for V8 Engine - $2200

Rebuilding Transmission - $1500

Four New Oversized Tires (on average) - $1000

Plowing through 11 miles of knee-deep flooded streets, crawling up over the curbs and medians to go around dozens of flooded out compact cars and sedans and making it home safe & dry -


Delicate Plumbing

It's All That Lean Cuisine... Ain't Quite So Lean Upon Leaving, Is It?

The toilet down the hall just flushed for the 22nd time. I've been counting.

My new office is situated so that the women's accessible restroom is not 20 feet down the hall. Therefore, I have a ringside seat for the non-stop string of females that don't want to walk to the regular terlits on the other side of the floor, but prefer the solitude of the single-hole facility.

Apparently one of our delicate blossoms just deposited a gopher-sized grogan or some sort of hygiene product, 'cause the poor sap from Maintenance has been plungin' & flushin' for 20 minutes now. It's starting to grate on my nerves, to tell ya the truth.

Ladies, if you'd just remember your Zappa lyrics, this wouldn't be a problem!

"Well, my toilet went crazy
Yesterday afternoon
The plumber he says
"Never flush a tampoon!"
This great information
Cost me half a week's pay
And the toilet blew up
Later on the next day!" - 'Flakes'

Sunday, April 26, 2009

Largest Swimming Pool On Earth

Have Fun Skimming That Pool When You Get Home From Work!

Located in the resort of San Alfonso del Mar in Algarrobo City, Chile, the largest pool in the world is over a kilometer long (3,323 feet), covering 20 acres and containing 250,000 cubic meters of water.

It's a saltwater pool, they pump in seawater at one end, filter it, then dump it back in the ocean at the other end.

I'm thinking it will take at least 20 cases of Baby Ruth candy bars to clear that pool of swimmers...

Friday, April 24, 2009

Nothing Ever Goes As Planned

Suddenly, Living In A Trailer Looks Promising...

Nothing like feeling wet cement underfoot at 3 a.m.!

A simple in & out job in the bathroom turned out to be slightly problematic. The old sink & vanity were going to get pulled, the carpet removed, and a new prefab unit slid into place. Lay a bit of tile, reconnect the plumbing, a splash of paint, and bingo-bango, new bathroom!

Not so fast, Sparky... Turns out that underneath the old cabinets and vanity was a pile of botched flooring that hadn't seen the light of day in 40+ years. The floor was about as level as the Himalayas.

50 pounds of concrete solves a lot of problems, but it's taking longer to dry than I expected. I didn't leave a footprint in my late night bathroom visit, but next time I'll remember to put some shoes on, and turn on the light!

Waitaminnit... What goes on here? Someone else left footprints!!

Hmmm, one of my cats is going to have wet paws and a guilty expression...

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

BlownStar Blogfest 2009

"I felt a great disturbance in the Force... As if a million bottles of Shiner were opened and instantly consumed... I feel something terrible has happened..."

By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes!!

Via Denny and his Criplets, I see the annual Texas Blownstar Blogfest has been announced.

Full details here: Camp Blownstar 2009

Three days of mirth and mayhem, fueled by barbecue, beer and bloggers bent on debauchery!

C'mon out and join the fiesta. I'm a socially reclusive happy-pill eatin' balding overweight curmudgeon with hermit-like tendencies, so if I can drag my fat lazy ass out to Kerrville, you ain't got no excuse at all! Fire up the scooter, duct-tape the kids to the wall, and join us for some fun in the hills!

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Still Life With Jimbo

Farookin' Good Hair Throughout The Ages!

Just an FYI...

If you post online a picture of yourself with a kazoo in your gob, rest assured someone out there will have too much time on their hands and some rudimentary Photoshop skills...

Jimbo At Emmaus by Michelangelo Caravaggio

Jimbo At The Folies-Bergere by Edouard Manet

American Jimbo by Grant Wood

Jimbo Out A Window by Bartolomé Murillo

Death By Jimbo by Jacques-Louis David

The Last Jimbo by Leonardo Da Vinci

Night Jimbo by Edward Hopper

Friday, April 17, 2009

Fictional Friday Finale!

We Need A Publisher & An Agent!

Christina just posted the last chapter of this spring's Friday Fiction series! It's an excellent ending to a fun collaborative effort! Go have a read!

Here's the complete story:

Chapter I Half of Two by Christina
Chapter II Collar & Cross by Phoenix
Chapter III Emerald Eyes by El Capitan
Chapter IV Revelations by Alexis
Chapter V Half Of One by Christina

Can't wait until the next opportunity comes around!

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Teabagging on TV

Calling Them 'Scumbags' Does A Disservice To Scum.

From Fox News:

For thousands of Americans, Tax Day was a moment to protest what they see as bloated budgets and a pile of debt being passed on to their children.

For CNN, MSNBC and other media outlets, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to use the word "teabagging" in a sentence.

Yeah, Anderson Cooper, I imagine you, Schuster and the other knob-gobblers at the Communist News Network and at Marxist Socialist Neverending Bull Crap are extremely familiar with "teabagging".

What a douche. I hope you get some of Rahm Emanuel's jizz under your contact lens at the next "talking points briefing".

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Tomato, Onion & Basil Salad

Yes, I Have Been Known To Consume Vegetables Every So Often!

I haven't posted a recipe in a while, so here's one of my favorite salads. It's gotten pretty good reviews whenever I've served it at campouts and picnics, and it travels pretty well. You can keep the ingredients at room temperature until it's time to prepare it, so no need to haul around a cooler.

It's also easy to prepare. I'd gotten absolutely wrecked on some top-grade homegrown marijohoonie on a campout some years back, and still managed to hold my shit together long enough to make this tasty salad to go along with the grilled weenies and the magic brownies.

You'll need:

Roma tomatoes
Red onions
Fresh Basil leaves
Key limes
Olive oil
Balsamic vinegar
kosher salt
black pepper

Big bowl
Cutting board
sharp knife
Citrus squeezer
large measuring cup

Now, the amounts you need depend on how many people you're serving. For a buffet, figure on one tomato per person, and split an onion 4-5 ways. For a dinner salad, maybe two tomatoes per person. For one person pigging out, well, that's kind of up to your internal capacity.

Have yourself a seat, mix a strong drink, set the bowl and the cutting board in front of you, along with the ingredients, and commence to chopping.

First, core the 'maters by holding a paring knife flat against your thumb, about 1" of blade sticking out. Stick your thumb into the core center, then rotate the 'mater into the blade 360 degrees with your other hand, and the core should drop free. If the 'maters are full of seeds, give 'em a bit of a squeeze to de-seed.

Cut the 'maters in half, then quarter the halves. You want big chunks, not a fine dice. Toss 'em in the big bowl.

Next, get your red onion and peel away the papery outer layer. Then, peel away the layer under that. You want to get into the tender part. Half the onion top to bottom, then cut out the woody core from each side. Lay the cut side flat against the cutting board and starting at the core end CAREFULLY slice PAPER-THIN slices. You'll get some short slices and long stringy slices, and that's perfectly OK. This takes a while, so don't rush it. Make yourself another drink. I recommend Bombay Sapphire gin & tonics, with a Key lime squoze in.

Dump the onions in the bowl, and get out the basil leaves. Stack several leaves on top of each other, then roll 'em up like a doobie. Take the knife and slice the roll in very thin strips. You're essentially shredding the basil, or if you want to get fancy, making a chiffonade. Try not to squeeze or bruise the basil in the process. Dump the shred into the big bowl.

Next, slice up a big pile of limes, and squeeze the juice out into the measuring cup. I have a big, heavy aluminum squeezer that I like to use. You might need to strain for seeds after squeezing.

OK, now you get to add the olive oil and the balsamic vinegar. How much? It's really up to you. You're making a vinaigrette, but some folks don't like mixing the mellow balsamic with the tangy citrus juice. I like to go light on the oil, and heavy on the lime juice, with just enough balsamic vinegar to add some depth. Pour over the veggies, and mix well.

Add some salt & fresh-ground black pepper, also to taste, and let marinate for half an hour, or until hunger pangs force you to gobble up the salad in a fit of herbivorean frenzy.


Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Muchas Gracias!

You Like Me! You Really Like Me!!

Thanks for all the kind words of support from the readers of BP. I'd like to also recognize the "special" support messages from some of the Blown-Eyed Blodgers. I sometimes think some of y'all would stand around a guillotine and debate whether you should apply Thompson's Water Seal to the neckpiece before inserting the guest of honor...

As for the various suggestions, they're noted, but it's one thing at a time. Could be there needs to be an adjustment as time goes on, time will tell. Adding religion to the mix? Dunno about that. I gave it up for Lent some years back, and haven't picked it back up.

Ah, well. Back to the grind.

Here's a bonus pic of me, since I never post any. Proof positive that I once had significant amounts of hair on my scalp...

This is probably Xmas 1970 at Grandma & Granddad's house in Arlington, TX.

Monday, April 13, 2009

RIP Marilyn Chambers

All Flags To Be Flown At Half.. Um.. Staff...

Damn. Hate to see this sort of thing:
Adult film star Marilyn Chambers dies at 56

One-time Ivory Snow model became famous for ‘Behind the Green Door’

LOS ANGELES - Marilyn Chambers, the pretty Ivory Snow soap girl who helped bring hard-core adult films into the mainstream consciousness when she starred in the explicit 1972 movie “Behind the Green Door,” has died at 56.

Truth be told, Ms. Chambers was the first porn star I knew by name. As a 15 year old watching "Insatiable" and "Insatiable II" on the same afternoon way back in the day, well, let's just say she made an impression.

I suppose her next film will be 'Pearl Necklace At The Pearly Gates'...

And Then, Depression Set In...

All Things Being Equal, I'd Just As Soon Smoke Some Weed.

I started out writing this huge post on my current state of affairs. It was running 2000+ words, so I had to shitcan it and cut to the chase.

Bottom line is this: My shit's fucked up. I could fix my shit, but I don't give a fuck. I don't give a fuck because, well, I just don't, 'cause my shit's been fucked up for too long. What's the fucking point...

This past Friday, Doctor B. is all "Dude, you need to fix your shit." I'm like, "Doc, I just don't give a fuck. Haven't for some time."

Doctor B. says "Look, you're still young, you've got time to fix your shit and still manage a real life, kids, the whole shebang." I'm saying, "Yeah, it'd be nice, but my shit's fucked up, and I'd just as soon sit on my ass and watch shit fall apart than get up and do sweet fuck-all about it."

Doctor B. says "Dude, that's fucked up. I'm writing you this scrip for some happy pills, so you'll start to give a fuck." I'm all, "Fuck! Not the got-damned happy pills! I like my brain, even if it's fucked up!"

Doctor B. says, "Fuck no, dude! These are righteous happy pills. Just let me know if you feel like killing yourself. That happens every so often." I'm all, "FUCK THAT!"

In the end, Doctor B. prevailed. I'm going on the Prozac this week, in an effort to break loose of this all-encompassing depression that's been riding my ass for a while now.

I have no clue how this will turn out. I have no idea how it will affect my blogging. I don't know if it'll turn me into a complete asshole. (I know, I know, how could you tell the difference...)

There it is, friends & neighbors. 100% disclosure. You'll have a ringside seat for the main event.

Let me know how it works out.

Saturday, April 11, 2009

Friday Fiction Part Four!

Get Your Read On!

Lady Silk continues the story with an incredible 4th chapter entitled:

This is good stuff, y'all! Don't miss it!

Next week we're back to Christina's place to wrap things up.

Chapter I: Half of Two
Chapter II: Collar & Cross
Chapter III: Emerald Eyes
Chapter IV: Revelations

Wednesday, April 08, 2009

What Floats In Mercury?

Apparently, Just About Everything...

Here's an eye-opener...

A cannonball floating in mercury!

I don't know that I'd have been that casual about splashing in the cannonball. Mercury makes some pretty miniscule droplets that can be almost impossible to clean up short of an E.P.A. HazMat team.

Mercury, as shown by the floating iron cannonball, is pretty dense. I have a metal camera-film canister that's full of mercury, and it's got quite a heft to it. Probably 3 lbs or more for an object no bigger than a C-cell battery.

You have to wonder about the construction of that mercury "bathtub" in the film clip. That's an enormous amout of pressure being exerted on the walls. You can't really tell how large the container is, but at a guess, it looks to be about 6 feet long by 4 feet wide, with a depth of around 4 feet. A bit of quick figuring gives us a capacity of 96 cubic feet, which will hold (roughly) 718 gallons of mercury. A pound of mercury occupies a volume of 33.48 cc, so a bit more math fiddling gives us over 81,180 lbs of mercury just waiting to break loose and engulf the nearest school. 40 tons of mass in a space the size of a decent deep freeze. Or, it could be 30 or 35 T-1000 Terminators having a bathtub orgy.

So, you might be asking, why does El Cap have a container of mercury, at a time when people are going apeshit over the tiny amount released into the environment when the newfangled twisty fluorescent lightbulbs break?

Well, as it happens, pure liquid mercury isn't all that hazardous, providing you leave it alone and aren't rubbing it into your skin or soaking your sushi in it, or leaning over a skillet making a mercury omelet & inhaling the vapors. It's the compounds made from mercury that really tend to warp brain cells and dissolve kidneys. I had the opportunity to "borrow" a measure of mercury out of a laboratory bottle, knowing that the need to make mercury detonator switches might someday come along, and I've kept it in a cool & dry location, and I don't ever play with it.

Incidentally, the "Torricelli" experiment in the film clip referred to the mercury barometers used in the 1600's to show the existence of air pressure and the existence of a vacuum, much to the consternation of the powers-that-be of the day.

Video spotted at BoingBoing

Well, I'll Be Damned...

Slicker Than Goose Shit On Ice!

Huh. Just dip me in gravy and call me "Muffin". Looks like some barroom tricks aren't just an author's fancy!

Didja ever hear of that stunt of opening wine or champagne bottles where a cavalry officer would use his saber to whack the neck off the bottle, and not shatter the bottle or get any glass chips in the wine?

Turns out it works just like advertised. One smooth firm stroke, and BLAP! off comes the neck, and out the wine pours, pretty as you please. Didn't even need a sword, a tomahawk worked just fine.

Now, if that wine was a 2005 Beaujolais Nouveau that you forgot in the back of the pantry and was now so vinegary that you could use it to scrub road grime off hubcaps, well, that's the only downside to the experiment...

Monday, April 06, 2009

Not The Best Idea For Breakfast...

I Coulda Had A V8!!

Left the house at the crack of dawn this morning for a training class across town. I'd been real busy last night, and neglected dinner until after 10 pm, when it's too late for much of anything, but I managed to rustle up a bowl of some kind of oaty flaky nutty cereal.

So, this morning, I'm a bit peckish, and stopping in at a convenience store when hungry is rather ill-advised. I come out with a tube of Ritz crackers, a tin of devilled ham, a bag of Fritos and a little can of bean dip.

It was great going down, but I fear for my co-workers this afternoon...

Friday, April 03, 2009

Friday Fiction - Chapter Three!

Y'know, I'd Kinda Like To Know How This Ends...

OK, ladies & jellyspoons, it's time... First, make sure you've read Chapters 1 & 2!

Chapter One: Half of Two
- By Christina

Chapter Two: Collar & Cross - By Phoenix

Chapter Three: Emerald Eyes - By El Capitan

Jake Cole pulled the old Lincoln into the morgue parking lot just after 10 pm. Usually there was brisk traffic in and out of the morgue at all hours, but for some reason the lot was almost deserted. The night, already overcast, was laced with patches of mist & fog that the sodium vapor lamps seemed to have trouble penetrating.

The power steering belt moaned as he wrestled the car into the space reserved for the morgue's Director. Flipping down the visor with its attached 'POLICE VEHICLE' sign, Jake mused that the Director could complain all he liked if he showed up and needed his parking spot at this hour. The Connie dieseled a few times after Jake cut off the ignition, and by habit he reached for his pack of smokes as he exited the driver's door. Damn. That habit would take a while to get over, he thought. Maybe he needed to get some gum, or roll like Kojak with the Tootsie Pops.

The Mk. IV Continental sputtered once more as he slammed the door to ensure it would stay shut. Despite the aging car's quirks, it was a luxurious ride, especially when you considered the department was picking up the fuel bill. That, and the trunk was big enough for 3, maybe 4 perps if they needed a bit of softening up on the way to the precinct house.

Jake quickly crossed the parking lot and entered the lobby of the nondescript concrete block facility through a steel door just as a light rain began to fall. The entry light was flickering, and aside from a lamp at the receptionist's desk, the place was dark & silent. No one was at the desk, and there didn't appear to be any crews from the MediTrans service or the local funeral homes hanging around. Odd, for this time of night... Usually there was at least one geezer that had gacked it waiting for Leno's monologue.

Jake pushed open a few doors, calling a loud hello down hallways, but no scrub-suited intern or custodian appeared. OK, he thought, maybe there's a crowd gathered in the teaching theater watching a memorable autopsy. That happened every so often, and was probably the source of the term 'morbid fascination'.

Jake wandered past several offices and exam rooms back to the main storage vault. Only one in a dozen of the overhead fluorescents seemed to be working, and that in fitful flashes and flickers. Pausing by the heavy door, Jake peered one last time up & down the darkened hallway, then pulled on the actuator handle.

Like an oversized refrigerator door, the vault door clicked, sighed, then swung open easily. A rush of frigid air tainted with the undeniable smell of death blew past him, causing Jake to wrinkle up his nose in distaste. Unlike the rest of the facility, the vault was well lit. Indeed, it seemed that every available light was set on 'High', even the exam table lights.

Walking over to the bank of cold storage locker doors set into the far wall, Jake looked for an ID tag or some way to figure out which drawer had held Pandora, or Lyric, or whichever sister was supposedly dead and/or missing. Jake had just reached for the first handle when a rush of cold air up the back of his neck barely preceded the sound of the main door slamming shut. Then, of course, the lights went out.

"Shit, I just KNEW that was going to happen..." Jake spun in place, his right arm sweeping his jacket aside to uncover his sidearm. The place was pitch black, colder than a well digger's ass, and Jake felt the first tendrils of fear at the base of his spine as his fingers brushed the butt of his service revolv...


Jake, frozen in place, watches himself as if from across the room. A tall man in a long coat has plugged in a lamp, rising to face him, the light silhouetting his...


"STREGA!!" shrieks the son of the shoemaker, hurling a jagged paving stone at an old woman huddled beneath the basin of a public fountain, the crowd behind him in the town square screaming curses and making the sign of the horns. "STREGA DIABOLICA!!"


Two pairs of green eyes, backlit as if fueled by old lamppost gas jets, piercing from across the room, weaving closer as he struggles to...


***He is not of the Blood. We can take him.*** The voice is low, sultry, compelling, somehow Jake knows he's hearing it directly in his skull. ***No, he is... Protected... Do not harm him.*** The second voice is a polished baritone, evoking images of wild honey and rough-tanned leather. ***...Pity...***


"And what do you burn, apart from witches?" asked the warlord. "MORE WITCHES!!" shouted the crowd, shuffling closer, eager to smell burnt flesh.


Jake is standing out in the hallway of the morgue, facing the viridian embers of the paired eyes as they pass from view behind the closing door...


"Una maledizione sulla vostra decima generazione, voi mosca ripugnante!" Baby Jake jerked awake in his bassinet set by the window to catch the afternoon breeze as Gramma Constantino hurled epithets and curses at a tall man below on the stoop of the brownstone walkup.


The kilted man, grunting with the weight of the sandstone boulder, adds it to the pile threatening to topple out of the woven reed basket that's slowly collapsing the torso of a gasping young woman, her splayed limbs staked into the cobblestoned street beneath her.


A darkened movie theater up in Midtown, his aunt Gillian's fox stole piled in Jake's lap, her shaking in laughter the next seat over at the dialogue from the screen: "I sit in the subway sometimes, on buses, or the movies, and I look at the people next to me and I think..."What would you say if I told you I was a witch?" Little Jake didn't see what was all that funny, and wondered why his aunt was so amused...


Jake is standing behind the receptionist's station, seeing the missing night shift clerk tucked under the desk, wondering how human legs can be knotted behind one's own neck...


The old Philco, flickering hesitantly in static-filled black & white as young hands manipulate the tinfoil-covered coat hangers used in lieu of an antenna. Almost got it tuned in... got the sound anyway! "Just try and stay out of my way. Just try! I'll get you, my pretty, and your little dog too!"


..standing by the front bumper of the Connie, leaning over to let his dinner escape at maximum velocity. Cold chills from the rain and... much else... "Jake, get out of here now!!" It was Dave, pushing Jake to the door of the Connie, the keys somehow in his hand. "Hurry, pard, I don't have much juice left!"

He's in the driver's seat without experiencing another one of those damnable 'jumps' in his head. The huge V8 rumbled to life on the first try. Still groggy, Jake turned to where Dave used to sit and asked "Where to, partner?"

"Finn MacCool's on 18th. Drive, Jake."

Finn's place. Perfect. Nothing like a bar full of cops to put a cap on the evening. Still, there were a LOT of guns in the place...

Jake struggled to remain awake as the Connie splashed through the darkened streets. Flashes of who knows what were still spilling through his skull, and he was beginning to question his sanity. Green eyes were always peeking at him from behind streetlights and inside vacant shop windows, except when he slowed to turn on the spotlight, there was nothing there...

"Dave, ol' buddy," muttered Jake. "I'm fairly certain there was at least one blue eye mixed up in all this. Whaddya think, pard?" His query was met only with the slap of the windshield wipers and the hum of the radials on the pavement. Wherever Dave had gone off to, he wasn't returning anytime soon, it seemed.

The parking lot at Finn MacCool's was only half full, so Jake didn't get too soaked from the rain as he staggered into the bar. Inside was a typical mix of tables & booths with a long bar against the far wall. Jake nodded absently at people he knew, and the hum of the room's conversation dropped by half as he was given the cop stare by most of the patrons.

Jake half-collapsed against the bar, and motioned vaguely towards a line of brown-colored liquor bottles. He was still feeling like an ocean wave was washing through his skull, and the nausea was returning.

Hoping for a double Scotch over ice, Jake was surprised to see a chilled bottle uncapped and slid in front of him by Reginald, the bartender on duty. The odor of ginger was strong and unmistakeable. Looking up at the dreadlocked Jamaican with a quizzical glance, he got a bark of laughter in reply.

"Trus' me, mon! You goin' want ta settle your gut before ya go to pourin' on the flames. You been rode hard tonight, looks like."

Jake was about to go ballistic when a hand vice-gripped his shoulder and shoved him down onto a stool. He snapped his head sideways, and relaxed when he saw the lined face of Shawn Doyle, a retiree from the force and semi-permanent fixture at MacCool's.

"Jaysus, Mary'n Joseph, and would you look at the bye?" said Doyle. "Ye've been slimed, boyo!" As he spoke he pulled a wad of odds & ends from his pocket and dumped them on the bar. "Go on and take a sip, it'll do ya good."

Still too dazed to be contrary, Jake took a long pull off the bottle, and grimaced as the full-strength ginger beer burrowed a path down his throat. Setting the bottle down, Jake placed his hand flat against the bar to steady himself, the other reaching for anything to soothe the burning ginger taste.

"Like that, do ya, lad?" asked Boyle. "Well, yer gonna love this!" With no warning, he scooped a thin sliver of metal out of the pile and rammed it into the back of Jake's hand, pinning it to the bar.

For a second, Jake could only stare in disbelief at the nail transfixing his hand. As he watched a thin rivulet of blood arc down over his knuckles, his first thought was that he couldn't very well pull a gun with his mitt nailed to the mahogany... Overtaking that thought was the realization that the nausea, disorientation and general fuzziness were gone. Gone completely. He felt as sober as a temperance worker. Jake turned a quizzical eye towards Doyle.

"Nothin' like a bit o' cold iron to cut through the faerie glamour, eh?" said Doyle. "Welcome to a world you never knew existed."

Reginald leaned over the bar with a damp towel and a pair of pliers and removed the nail with a quick *sqwonk!* He dabbed at the bar before tossing the towel at Jake.

Wrapping the none-too-clean towel around his hand, Jake gaped at Doyle . "Did you just call me a fairy?" he asked.

"No, you bloody spalpeen!" barked Doyle, taking a pull from his pint of stout. "God save us from mick/wop half-breeds with no proper larnin'! Faeries as in the Fae Folk! The Sidhe! The Jinn!" Pointing at the Jamaican, Boyle said, "What Reginald's people call the Loa. The Bible-thumpers call 'em demons. I call 'em no end o' trouble."

Even with his newly found sobriety, Jake was having a problem with all this. "I think I'll have that Scotch now, please. Why'd you stick me with the nail?"

"Look, boyo," said Boyle. "I know you think I'm fulla shite, but someone's seen fit to give you a debutante ball with the Old Ones this evening. You're known to them, now. That wooziness ya felt was their glamour, kind of a stupefyin' spell, if they used spells. Whether you call 'em faerie or loa or jinn, the one thing they all can't stand is cold iron. Here." Doyle handed Jake a ring that looked to be forged out of a horseshoe nail. "Wear this all the time, and ye'll be able to resist much of their mischievous ways, like gettin' froze up by them burnin' green eyes."

Jake looked dubious. "I dunno, Doyle. How do I explain this thing?"

Doyle chuckled. "Ye don't have to, boyo." Turning to the barroom, he shouted "Ring Check, you gobs!!" A sizable number of hands arose, each bearing a steel or iron ring. Oddly enough, those not wearing rings didn't seem to even notice what was going on, but carried on their conversations uninterrupted.

"It's an old, old world, Jake, fulla things beyond our ken, and most mortals are lucky to live their lives without ever gettin' a taste. You made it, what... 36 years without a clue? Those of us on the Job, well, we see more than most."

Reginald cut in, sipping from a coffee mug. "Some cultures be more in step wit' the Loa, Jake. More able to jus' believe wit'out tryin' to fix reason upon de t'ing."

"There's their world, our world, and something a bit in-between," continued Doyle. "Folks that can see 'em, talk with 'em, get 'em to do things, well, they usually get called witches. As it so happens, your mother's kin ran pretty heavy towards that sort."

Jake was beginning to be a bit overwhelmed. Gramma Constantino a witch? She did tend to cackle a lot...

"Why me, Doyle?" asked Jake, swallowing a large slug of whiskey. "What did I do to get wrapped up in this?"

"Yer ol' Da, I suppose," said Doyle. "The Faerie world is all about balance, boyo. For all the folk that spend time workin' with the Sidhe, there's just as many that devote their days to hunting 'em down & clipping their wings. Well, if they had wings, anyway... Yer father was one of them, even while still on the force. Could be they want to know which way you're gonna swing, hunter or helper. Could be you've got nothing to do with it at all, and just stumbled in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"How much danger am I in from these... fairy demons?" asked Jake.

Doyle chuckled. "It's sorta like bein' mobbed by cows, boyo. One or two o' th' daft buggers, well, they're mostly harmless. Get a whole herd of 'em wantin' a thing from ya, well, that's summat else entirely! Look, lad, you're just about done in. Y'ought ta get home and get some sleep. We'll talk again come daylight."

Sleep sounded like an excellent idea to Jake. He turned towards the door, the stopped abruptly and faced the old retiree. "Doyle, what about someone with one blue eye and one green eye? Are they a Faerie?"

Doyle thought for a moment, then replied. "Likely they're half in, half out of the spirit world already. A foot in both realms. Kind of like standing on the yellow line in the highway, though. Sooner or later, you get squashed like a skunk..."

To Be Continued...

Next chapter on or about next Friday at this site!
Final chapter in two weeks where it all began!

Thursday, April 02, 2009

Monica y Miel

Ah, To Be A Honeybee... With A Loooooong Tongue...

Just because she looks so very tasty, here's Monica Bellucci covered in honey.

Makes ya want to slide hot biscuits all over her, don't it?

Wednesday, April 01, 2009

Fictional Fridays

Actual Literary Talent! No Foolin'!

Howdy, y'all.

I made a brief reference a few days back about the return of Fictional Fridays. For those of you who just fell off the turnip truck, the Fictional Friday posts were/are an opportunity to do some shared writing with other bloggers. Several bloggers would each volunteer to take a chapter in a story about which they knew NOTHING! You took what the others handed you, and did your best to keep ridin' the bull until you got your chapter in.

Some were more structured than others, some were a mixed group, others were hen parties, but they all were a lot of fun! I haven't participated in one for quite a while, so I'm looking forward to seeing how this turns out!

Feisty Christina led off with Chapter One on March 20th. Phoenix of Villains Vanquished took Chapter Two last Friday. I've got Chapter Three day after tomorrow, Silk of Shared Space has Chapter 4 on the 10th, and Feisty Christina's evil twin will finish up the Friday following.

So, go read the first two chapters, then get ready for mine right here on Friday! Hope you enjoy it, 'cause we certainly do!

Chapter One: Half of Two
- By Christina

Chapter Two: Collar & Cross - By Phoenix