Tendering My Resignation

To Whom It May Concern,


Thirteen years. Thirteen interesting, rewarding and ultimately enjoyable years as a writer have passed, and with them a sense of regret. A lack of fulfillment, some may say, but I say otherwise. In all lives, great change must come to do great things, and I have come to the realization that day is today.

As of this day, August 30th, 2011, I am no longer performing duties as Administrator, Editor and Writer for the weblogs "Weathering the Storm" and "Delicious Caek," effective immediately and indefinitely. This is not a retirement but instead an opportunity for personal growth and reflection.

Should I return to writing, I will not be doing so on this site. With this page I've gone about as far as I can go. So with this, in the spirit of literary metaphors I close one chapter in order to open the next. Thank you all for reading, you have my deepest thanks.

Sincerely,

Patrick "Rey Fawkes" Owens

Bill Bratton: Will He Spoil Scotland Yard's Broth?

Bill Bratton, NYPD commissioner, LAPD chief and all-around supercop has been considered for the honored position of commissioner to New Scotland Yard and the London Metro Police. But, is he the right man for the job?

Well, is he?

This writer has been following the Britain riots for quite a while now, trying in vain to pinpoint what exactly brought about such societal cannibalism and have since been dragged down a wild and roundabout path. A path so winding and double-sided that it encourages one to utter the age-old American axiom "not my problem." Being better than that, of course, my attention was drawn in like a barracuda (or gold-digging wench) to a shiny object when the name of Bratton was uttered recently.

The saying "too many cooks spoil the broth" come to mind when the facts are considered. Given his background in events such as these and subsequently, having been consulted periodically by Britain's law enforcement professionals, it would seem as though it was a no-brainer. Unfortunately, the fact that an American is even remotely entertained as thought for a prospective commissioner has UK Home Secretary Theresa May's "knickers in a bunch." This is by virtue of the fact that he is, quite obviously, not a citizen of the UK though there are no legal stipulations making this a requirement.

What about the fact that adding an extra hand to bark already inefficient (by virtue of the fact that the riots are still raging) orders may spoil the proverbial "broth"? Is this a ruse? What exactly is going on across the pond that would warrant such an action? Perhaps we should stop asking why things are broken, and instead deduce precisely how they were broken in the first place? Why such reluctance from May on the case of Bratton's help? Will he expose what brought this about in the first place and in turn disgrace the government officials who may have an unseen hand in this?

An Open Letter To That One Nutritionist (Who's Name I Can't Remember)

Dear Nutrition-Fascist,

Hello, it's Rey, the guy you said shouldn't be in such good shape given the fact that he smokes, drinks and puts gravy on everything? The fella who can (and will) smoke your ass in sprints or any other physical challenge you throw at me?

Yeah it's me, and I've got a proposal for you...

Normally, I'd tell you to eat a dick, but this time I've got something special cooked up. Cooked up especially for you; it is bacon. Yes, cut-from-the-hog, thick-cut, applewood-smoked bacon. An entire plate of bacon, from me to you, bitch. I wish to force-feed you bacon through a funnel. Like bacon water torture (bacon-boarding?)

Lets be honest, I didn't like meeting your ass that morning while I was on that business trip. I enjoy business trips, and you tried to wreck it for me. This affront to my business-trip happiness will not go unanswered. Especially considering you are, to put it lightly, overweight. Pardon me if I may seem rather untoward and vociferous, but I am confident in the fact that you'll understand my next question, since I know I'm not too "ghetto":

How in the fuck a fat bitch like you thinks she can roll her jello-ass in and tell me how to eat? I should have cut some bacon off your back for that! Seriously, what makes you think you're even fit (no pun intended, well, maybe a little) to do so? Were you the butt of a joke? Did you lose a bet? Did you not think someone besides myself would react this way? That's like a Victoria Secret model lying face-down,ass-up with no pants on at Tiger Woods' house and expecting NOT to get fucked!

...'cause she's getting fucked, no way around that...

Before you carelessly use the excuse that you're "recovering from food addiction" as I was recently informed, let me just say that I have seen the face of addiction. I've known alcoholics who would boil down aftershave to get at the sweet alcohol that lay within, and heroin addicts who shot up in some of the most incomprehensible body parts (here's a hint: their fucking cock!). When you don't care about the quality of what you're getting so long as you get it, then you're "qualified" to call yourself an addict. I don't see you fishing around a dumpster to get at a Big Mac, so please spare me that load of bull.

I hope this letter speaks to the part of you that know's to hold itself accountable, or drives you to the brink of sanity; either/or.

Sincerely,
Rey Ignatius Fawkes

The Only Exception

"American Exceptionalism," the very phrase that adds an air of mystique to U.S. culture and politics. But just what exactly constitutes such exceptional qualities that sets our nation apart from all others? Apart, of course, from the fact that we're on the Western Hemisphere?

According to Wikipedia's uncommonly comprehensive entry on the very subject, American Exceptionalism has gone by several different definitions by several different personnages throughout history, but the theme is still the same; it is merely a theory. No different from the "American Dream," it is a thought-up, made-on-the-fly and ham-handed pretense for our successes and in this century, our failures; much in the same spirit as the term Manifest Destiny, which (unironically)is mostly responsible for the virulent propagandist mantra that nearly wiped out the indigenous Americans of this country. But is such an abstract concept a detriment to the mindset of the American public?

I set out to analyze the theory of American Exceptionalism in lieu of how often it had been bandied about by political pundits, and have since been sorely disappointed. To my findings in this, it amounts to little more than a rhetorical formula not unlike how Pascal's Wager (in the realm of lame excuses) is thrown at religious skeptics like an impotent spitball at a granite wall. A reason to "not play ball," an idea that had only been enforced over the centuries by people who are not even American-born, but still hold in awe the potential strength of our nation.

So, can it be said that other nations see that there is so much more the United States are capable of than we ourselves can see? Perhaps so, as our nation's credit rating immediately tanked, as foreign investors are wary of the nation that used to produce but produces no more. The country that went from being the world's supermarket, to the world's police precint, to the world's hospitality suite in our growing role as a "service-based economy." It is no wonder to this writer that foreign investors have pulled out.

Instead of this flimsy pretense for not accepting our respective roles as world citizens, perhaps it's time to accept our spot in the global economy as an alternative to barking back and forth across the aisles? Or, do we keep drinking the Kool-Aid of American Exceptionalism?

You know, this stuff is starting to taste more and more like Nationalism as of late.

Representing More Than a Law School Reunion

If you were watching the informative and decidedly left-wing hilarity of Real Time with Bill Maher (aired Friday, 8/5/2011), you undoubtedly noticed the presence of Dr. Neil deGrasse Tyson and a rather astute observation he made.

The observation regarded the fact that from 540 current members of Congress, 236 hold law degrees (58 Senators and 178 Representatives). That means 44%
of people in congress are, essentially, lawyers by trade. He went further to ask "Where is the rest of life?" or why more scientists, economists, entrepreneurs and basically people from other areas of expertise don't take on postings in public office; people that can give a more rounded representation of the American public's goals and necessities? To paraphrase Dr. Tyson's remark, given the nature of law and the courts it is an arguer's forum. He whose arguing skills are superior will win the favorable ruling and not the one with the superior argument. Therefore, the facts are null and void unless in hands of the appropriate, purple-faced loudmouth with a law degree.

Long story short, he made me think.

Precisely why is it that more of the aforementioned scientists, entrepreneurs and economists don't apply their expertise in a leadership role? A role so significant, a "second pair of eyes", that can provide insight on how the government can better serve the public? Are the able, decidedly, unwilling to participate? Is it acceptable to stay in their positions as academic leaders, but not political? Ain't that a damn shame?

With the recent drop in the U.S. credit rating, despite all the valid and pertinent facts that the Democratic party argued, 98% of the debt deal sided with the Republican Party's wishes. Now, suppose actual businessmen who know that to make money you must spend money, made up the greater majority on both sides? Even if there was a compromise, would it not have been a 50/50 split? No one can say for sure, but given the actual result, would it be so wrong to have a different type of professional in congress? A more diverse base of knowledge from which the decisions that shape the future of the nation could function?

Well? What's so bad about that?

Carpetbagger

(And now for a preview from my upcoming book "Carpetbagger")

CHAPTER 1: F.Y.P.M

It was a frenzied crowd, the congregation of dazed onlookers and city emergency personnel packed the streets. Rubberneckers one and all, but who am I to criticize? I'm a journalist, that's who. Jeremiah Price, to be exact, and without my camera crew, about to make a written report. A written report on a man who I later learned was the, until recently, personal assistant to Roy "Minister of Offense" Boyington. I had every right to rubberneck, and every intention of getting a quote from Mr. Boyington himself. Boyington intrigued me; he was something out of an Ayn Rand novel, and something out of hell, which I know can be touted as being one and the same. Still, no one real estate or business giant could compare to Boyington, the Liberal "Donald Trump." Which of course if you did compare Boyington to Trump, he would have you killed, vice Trump merely swearing at you. In many ways, they were much alike. Both of which were born into a vast real estate fortune and were both business geniuses. However, Boyington was a supporter of civil rights, the Democratic Party and a widely outspoken "Cold-Blood Liberal." He'd shaken the hand of President Obama several times, and refused invitations to dinner events with President Bush several times more during his administration. As a man, you really couldn't tell Boyington anything without facts and information that supported your claim. He was not an "objectivist" but he looked at the world objectively and took every good idea into account. Boyington would seem like a rather likeable character, but he wasn't. As the crowd grew larger, someone noted that Boyington was also in the crowd with some of his aides, including Amy Park. Park was a shrew of a woman and a strong-willed over-achiever from a prominent Korean-American family that had no sense of humor when it came to making money. She was brushed aside when first looked upon as an assistant to Boyington. However, right about now, Park was glad she had been. Park stared up at Boyington's previous assistant, standing on a ledge about to take the proverbial "plunge." One couldn't help but wonder what drove him to the brink of such a horrifying act? I wondered this, elbowing my way through the throng of downtown Pittsburghers, several of whom called me a "jagoff" but I brushed it aside. I was willing to get trampled to get the oratory gold that was veined in the mouth of Boyington. Never had anyone ever encountered such an outspoken businessman and anything he said was news-worthy; if not to inform than to entertain. Squeezing through my last group of suicide spectacle revelers, I made it to Boyington around the same time a plain-clothed police officer approached him. I remained silent as the police officer, a short and slim man years past retirement in a cheap gray suit, asked "Mr. Boyington, I know you know this man. We called you down here in the hopes that you could possibly talk some sense into the boy." Boyington, taking a swig of his iced tea after a mouthful of popcorn, replied. "No thanks, let him jump."
"Can I quote you on that?" I shouted to Boyington. He nodded, saying "sure," with a disinterested shrug as if I'd asked him if he wanted french fries with his burger. The old police officer stood in dismay, still trying to hand the megaphone to Boyington. Boyington looked at him with a paternal gaze of disapproval, somewhere between pity and being sick of him. "Well I can't make you do this, sir. Just thought you had some more respect for human life." Boyington, growing slightly annoyed, said "I respect human life. That man, on the other hand, is a grabasstic piece of human wreckage who almost cost me a fortune. He was problematic, and he couldn't make coffee to save his fucking life. I mean, who does that? Who in fuck's name can't make a decent goddamn cup of coffee in addition to his other mistakes? So yeah, I respect life and trees and shit, but not him." Turning to me, he said, "Off the record, but that kid can eat dicks in Hell for all I care!" Behind me, amidst the chaos, I heard a small female voice screaming "Do it, faggot!" I whipped round to see a small blonde who introduced herself as Christine Wagner after I asked about her seemingly "personal" acquaintance with Garrison. As it turned out, Wagner was an intern who was consistently hounded and bullied by Garrison for everything from her work ethic, to her tacky shoes. "Fucker even said he wouldn't date me even if he was straight; the bastard." Giving credit where it was due, I did note to myself that her shoes were indeed tacky. "Were you trying to pursue something with him?" I asked as innocently as one could ask such a question. Wagner scowled at me, saying "No, why would I? With that big ass Jew-beak he calls a nose?" I frowned at the sexist and racist intern before asking "So, may I quote you on any of this?" Wagner shook her head, apparently a closeted racist/homophobe, and replied "Well, there is one thing that I'd like people to know about him, that Garrison was always afraid of someone stepping on his toes. He got jealous real easy. Nobody liked him anyway, he was a douche bag and he always got in my ass about 'taking too much initiative'." Wagner took a brief moment to screech "Jump" at the top of her lungs. She then turned to me, saying "The way I see it, don't get butthurt at me for having the testicular fortitude to take the initiative you apparently could not; you know what I'm saying?" I nodded, taking note of her massive metaphoric "balls." I noticed that after Wagner, everyone began to chant "jump-jump-jump." It was a group dynamic effect, whipped into a fever pitch. I can almost swear I saw a firefighter mouthing the words "jump" and as I turned my gaze upward to see the silhouette of Garrison against the overcast sky, he dove. Screams, cheers, jeers and noise erupted from the crowd as they watched Garrison. As if he had a second thought, Garrison's arms and legs flailed wildly before coming to terminus on the pavement below. Boyington raised his arms in triumph. Turning to me, he asked "Do you think he heard the 'thud' he made before he died? Because you know he's dead!" Boyington laughed boisterously; Park chimed in. "It was more of a pop if you ask me, I can't tell but I think his skull probably got busted open!"
"I swear to fuck that kid bounced; that was awesome." I couldn't help but stare at Boyington, rejoicing in a private victory or so it seemed. I couldn't help but wonder if a little part of me had just died inside. I pondered this, while simultaneously hustling over to get a quote from him as the rest of the media closed in on him. But Boyington pointed to me as the rest of the media gathered round him. He said "You, the short fella, you get to ask me the first question; I like your style." I smiled in acknowledgment. Hurriedly, I asked Boyington "How do you feel about the outcome of this?" Boyington shrugged happily. "Everything went better than expected." Another journalist, a redhead in a crummy red blazer raised a hand. Boyington pointed to her, asking "Yes, Red?" The redhead cleared her throat, obviously perturbed by his remark, then asked. "What makes this a victory? If it is indeed a 'victory'?" Boyington shook his head bitterly. "Garrison was a stoolie and selling our organization's secrets to the highest bidder; bidders who would like nothing more than to see me go under."
"What kinds of secrets?" One young journalist asked. "Well if I told you then it wouldn't be a secret, Einstein." The young journalist clammed up, his eyes downcast in a sort of "no, duh" shame that only a rookie can feel. "Will there be a memorial service, and who will be holding the service?" yet another reporter shouted. Boyington shrugged and replied "I dunno, his family I guess" with earnest apathy.
After fielding a few more questions, Boyington unceremoniously left for his car, escorted by his security. In the hustle, I managed to get the attention of Park, who looked me up and down bitterly. I smiled, making a vain attempt to put on the charm and asked "Will Mr. Boyington be attending the memorial?" Park shook her head and replied "According to executive scheduling, we are always having better shit to do anyway." With that, she brusquely turned and followed Boyington into his car.

(Coming Soon, tell your chums)

So You're Stuck in A Disaster Area?

With Hurricane Season around the corner, flash floods in the Southeastern U.S. and the Japan Megaquake, it's clear that we all have to prepare and stay prepared for a disaster. Water, food, a change of clothes and a change of underwear when aftershocks strike are only some of the things you'll need in the event of an emergency.

Unfortunately for most of us, especially our readers from the U.S., complacency is rather commonplace and foresight to some is "fo' suckas." But rejoice, you slacking-assed slobs, Rey has the key to your salvation! Here are five protips for staying alive, the Fawkes way.

1. ARM YOURSELF!

You've just left the shelter of wherever it is you cowered like a girl while everything you loved was swept away by the fury of an uncaring Mother Nature; congratulations! You're one of the few either too unmotivated (or cash strapped) to evacuate and your very survival is an affront to natural selection; you da' man! Unfortunately, looking out over the dilapidated horizon, a shadow of its former glory, what should you happen to find but minorities! Or worse, WASP's with a sense of self-entitlement and your ass is starting to look like opportunity!

One must remember that in the event of an emergency, your fellow man will revert to his base instincts and attempt to dominate you, sometimes sexually, in order to maintain his status quo and quality of life, however fragmented it is. To survive in this wasteland until the authorities show up, you'll have to key into your instincts as well. That means being well armed. Because the only way man managed to surmount the odds and control his environment was through brute strength, cunning and violence.

Some with you will advise you to help those in need, those distressed, hurt or hungry. Do NOT listen to them, for they are testing your resolve. If you help someone, your survival party's members will take your kindness for weakness and elect a new leader. Then, you will find yourself deposed by blunt-force proxy to the skull. Still, you must ensure that you are well-armed and ready to do battle with any survivors who wish to take what few stores you have until FEMA shows up.

...whenever that is...

Ensure you have a main weapon in the form of a hunting rifle, assault rifle or for those of you in an urban area, a shotgun in addition an accurate sidearm. The Beretta M9, is a heavy piece of shit, but it gets the job done and can be held by any idiot with opposeable thumbs (special care must be given to keep this out of the hands of chimpanzees as they are particularly trigger-happy.) If you should happen upon others with superior weaponry, avoid them or steal their weaponry; which leads us to the second part.

2. START LOOTING!

Your food stores won't last forever, and sooner or later your comrades will start to look like lunch (especially the fat one.) DO NOT EAT PEOPLE! Eating people will make you worse for wear and destroy your nervous system. You're not quite ready for hunting either, and you're going to suck at catching food. But even though it is only a shallow husk, it's still (mostly) civilization. Scavenging will become as American as apple pie and a favored pastime when disaster rears its ugly, gnarled head.

...as if it weren't American enough as it is...

Empty houses and old abandoned supermarkets will be the first choice for you and your fellow leaders. If you can find one, garrison that bitch up before anyone else gets to it. The first few days of finding and dominating supermarkets and food stores will be like playing capture the flag in hell and tantamount to guerrilla warfare. Do not hesitate to cap some fools in order to maintain your survival. Your reward: sweet sustenance and the hard-earned right to see another day. Small unit tactics will be key in this dark period in your hitherto insignificant life.

Speaking of insignificance...

3. PREY UPON THE WEAK!

Human evolution has been hindered by the fact that no matter how stupid, ugly, fat, out-of-shape and generally weak you are, some tool bag will stroll in and save you from your pathetic self. You will live again to tell the tale and your voice will rise in joy, a voice that so offends the ears of Darwin. Unfortunately, if yohttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifu can be lumped into the above category, you may as well stop reading and await the arrival of violent death from a stronger and therefore, better, force. But if you've got the killer instinct and the will to survive there may yet be hope.

In any ecosystem, the strong prey upon the weak. Even in our civilized society, there is always one more powerful who will consume the lesser beings without an afterthought. You may not be the biggest or most powerful, but as long as you avoid the stronger, you can prey upon the weak too! The best time to do this is at night, or in areas that don't provide a lot of cover, especially when its you and your survivor party against one or two. Stealing from the strong also helps if you're the weakest in your neighborhood. In which case, once again, it is best to operate at night. But if you're smart, you'll have some place to store your loot, so make sure you...

4. FIND SHELTER!

The elements are harsh and cruel. You witnessed their cruelty after (insert disaster here) wrecked your super-sweet, double-wide trailer. However, given this fact there's always the local Red Cross Shelter, right?

WRONG! You are so wrong! I want you to take a moment to slap yourself for entertaining such a foolish thought; I'll wait for you...

Now then, those shelters are merely watering holes for the antelope of society, waiting to be run down and savagely mauled by the urban lions that await nearby. When the feces hits the A/C, you'll wish you listened. The best shelters are abandoned homes. Homes that were abandoned in the suburbs typically, as they are large and easy to remain concealed within.

Another option is farm houses, but again no, because haven't you ever seen Deliverance? Your best bet is to take a cue from my favorite children's novel "The Girl Who Owned A City" and convert your old high school into a super-fortress, where you will rule! No more getting towel whipped in gym class for you; you're the Prom King now, dawg!

SUMMARY:

Congratulations! If you've followed this guide to the letter, you're now the most powerful person in your bombed out and depleted husk of a town. When emergency services finally arrive, they will bow to your might and resourcefulness. Do not be surprised if they beg you to return to civilization to share your wisdom and noble savage leadership; most likely at a new-age fitness center.


-FAWKES OUT-

Intern With Boyington United

By Anthony Boyington:

HEY! Need to make the connections that will bring you into the corporate world with not a bang, but a spectacular explosion? Are you a high-speed and motivated college student with an unstoppable desire to succeed that borders on obsessive? Then why haven't you looked into an internship with Boyington United?

I'll tell you why: You're afraid. Afraid that you're not worthy or unable to handle the challenge of operating under some of the greatest real-estate and business professionals in the United States. Why are you afraid? Because you don't know. But as the old after-school specials tell us, "It's Easy When You Know How." But how will you know if you don't try? You WON'T know, and you'll spend years wondering what could have been. Then, you'll have a tragedy on your hands and you DON'T WANT THAT!

Some of the values you'll learn are:

-PRIDE

-PROFESSIONALISM

-INTEGRITY

-AGGRESSION

-DEDICATION

-LOYALTY

-COFFEE-MAKING

...and so much more. Not only that, it's accredited, so no amount of the vital, economy stimulating work you do will be in vain!

You want to know about job placement? JOB PLACEMENT? Get serious! After completion of your degree you'll be able to snap up any entry-level business position IN THE KNOWN GALAXY. We're talking extra-terrestrial job experience, kids! But the Internship of all Internships is not for the faint of heart, before or after a semester with us! It takes tremendous fortitude to serve, even at a minor level, with us. Your resume or application at any job will become catnip for managers. Start with us and you'll be issued a baseball bat!

That's right, a BASEBALL BAT to keep away the droves of companies trying to employ you! I wish I were kidding...

So don't wander the campus of YOUR COLLEGE wondering what you're going to do with your life, mired in a existential crisis due to your fear and lack of ambition! Give us a call at (412)555-1325, and get your credits TODAY!

Boyington: "Everything Went Better Than Expected" In Lieu of Employee's Suicide

(From the Fawkes News news desk, Story by Jeremiah Price)

PITTSBURGH, PA: Hundreds gathered outside a local office building in downtown Pittsburgh today as Jason Garrison, personal assistant to Pennsylvania real estate heir Roy Boyington, plunged the ten stories to his death in a gruesome suicide.

"Everything went better than expected." said Boyington following the death of Garrison. "Garrison was a stoolie and selling our organization's secrets to the highest bidder; bidders who would like nothing more than to see me go under."

The incident, about five blocks from the U.S. Steel building, attracted revelers from blocks around. Shortly thereafter, authorities gathered round to convince Garrison not to jump, even going to the length of asking Boyington to say something to him. Boyington, eating popcorn and drinking a carton of iced tea, replied. "No thanks, let him jump!" This proclamation led the bloodthirsty crowd to a crescendo, chanting "Jump" almost ritualistically. Christine Wagner, an intern within Boyington's organization, said "Nobody liked him anyway, he was a douchebag and he always got in my ass about 'taking too much initiatve'." Wagner also added, "The way I see it, don't get butthurt at me for having the testicular fortitude to take the initiative you apparently could not; you know what I'm saying?"

Five mintues into the chanting, Garrison relented and lept from the tenth floor. Revelers cheered as his body hit the ground with a sickening thud. Some however noted that it was more of a "popping" sound than anything else. When asked if Boyington truly had such feelings against Garrison, even in death, he replied "Garrison was a post-coitus anal discharge, the sort that can not be generated without outside application; I trust this does not bear illustration. He got what he deserved, fuck Garrison!"

A memorial service will be held next week for Garrison. Boyington's new assistant, Amy Park, said that neither he or anyone else would be attending in lieu of their organization "having better shit to do anyway."

The Date from Hell Continues

"That happens," Veronica giggled behind a cloud of smoke. Liam rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly in the way most men do when they're intimidated sexually. "Is that a bit of your 'beguiling' nature coming out then?" Veronica actually had to pause in thought, a second guess, before replying "Well that's probably a knee-jerk reaction, am I scaring you away yet?" Liam shrugged awkwardly, saying "No," then asking "should I be? I suppose it's just a question of one's interest, vice their nature." Veronica leaned with a smile fanged more with skepticism than actual fang. "Care to explain?"
Liam gathered his thoughts, he was so concerned about making the right impression, about saying the right thing. Yet for a moment, he was completely oblivious to the fact that he was quite literally on a dinner date with one of Hell's minions. An under-appreciated, thoroughly disillusioned minion, but a minion nonetheless. Though despite this paltry difference, it was the differences in perspective that made up the grand tapestry of their conversation. Light, and jovial, with much to be gleaned and learned from the other. Despite the imperfections of both, their interaction was the sort that silenced the room. The type that made you unaware of your surroundings or the fact that your date's brown mink stole was belching up the bones of a curious onlooker. "I think your...wrap just ate a customer." Liam said, his train of thought again derailed. Veronica's eyes snapped to the stole, "Murky!" She hurriedly wiped the blood from the mouth of the stole, which drew the attention of a few other patrons that were, quite understandably horrified. Veronica's attention snapped back to Liam, himself a bit astonished at the spectacle of a demon chiding their garment for eating a grown man. Veronica bit her lip in embarassment, and Liam looked round the diner at the other patrons nervously. It occurred to him, that something needed to be said; a moment of truth in the appalled silence. "I guess he didn't tip?" Liam asked, to which the waitress wearing a surgical mask added "He wasn't a very good tipper, to be honest. I know it's not good to speak ill of the freshly and forgotten dead, but the fact remains he was lousy at tipping." The patrons looked at one another, exchanging nervous glances before erupting in raucous laughter. Liam smiled, thinking about how he "made a funny" whilst Veronica beamed at him in momentary admiration. Ladies like a man who can command a room, even ladies from Hell, Liam thought. "Would you like to catch a movie? I hear its good to leave an audience laughing." He asked. Veronica rose from the booth, her savage mink in tow.

Walking to the theatre, Veronica turned to Liam and asked "So, are you going to finish that statement? Something about interest and nature I believe?" Liam again gathered his thoughts before saying "Well, it's in your interest to date someone outside of your...realm...because you're sick of the same old. But its in your nature to seduce me and the who knows what else. So, my deduction is that you were going to do that, you'd already have come round to that so I'm not worried." Veronica flashed him a smile and nudged him, her strength belying her attractive frame. "Or it could be that it's in my 'nature' to give into my 'interest'; I do have mortal desires after all." Liam glanced away, then turned back to Veronica and said with a smile "I could be over-thinking, you know?"
"I wouldn't doubt that." The fall evening chill was a bit less brisk than one would have expected on the walk to the theatre. After a time, they came upon a homeless young man playing a ukulele. He wore a slouch hat, battered by the elements and an equally battered ZZ Top t shirt with beaten jeans. Veronica, taking pity on the man, dropped a bit of change from her purse into the man's open ukulele case. Liam followed suit, but was compelled to ask after walking past "Why'd you do that?"
"What?"
"Drop change in that man's case. I thought it was all torment for you-
His voice trailed off, Veronica stood before him with arms folded, she said "For one, I like to keep work separate and for two, I don't see the point in not helping someone when you're able. In Hell, if I were to show a kindness to the damned then that'd be it for me. Up here, showing a kindness is something I can indulge. You know sometimes you get sick of the same old 'punish this one, scourge the other, burn the next' and so on." Liam scratched his head, feeling that he may have offended her. "I'd like to apologize, I just didn't understand." Veronica walked on ahead of Liam, who still remained and said "At least you asked, and I was willing to answer." Veronica then stopped after a few paces, turned and smiled "Are we going to catch this movie or not?" Liam quickly followed pace, smiling at the thought.

"Excuse me" a rather thoroughly annoyed voice could be heard behind Veronica and Liam as they sat in a now vain attempt to enjoy the movie. Liam was the first to turn round and find a rather obese man with a face still plagued by acne despite his age and an atrociously fierce "neckbeard." "Is there a problem, sir?" Liam asked, his arm draping across the back of Veronica's, trying to crane his neck to look into the man's eyes. There was a pause; the fat man in his stained "Firefly" t shirt did not expect to have his voice heard. With a wheeze, he replied "Yes, could you tell your girlfriend to take off that stupid hat?" Liam's face twitched in offense, weighted with shock. "Now see here mister, I-
"No you 'see here' buddy. I pay good money out of my pockets to blog film." The neckbearded man interrupted him, immediately pressing his defence. "Films like these, I do it gratis, for the love, if you will. Now I'm not just going to sit here and tolerate two rubes who can't appreciate film and instead like to obstruct my view. Furthermore I find it offensive to the work of the director and actors in this film. I'd rather you just show some appreciation and be on your way instead of wearing tall, silly horned hats!" Neckbeard's voice began to carry, annoying the other viewers. During all of this, Veronica was completely oblivious, thoroughly enjoying the film as much as she could. It wasn't like she could see good movies in Hell, or at least movies that weren't written by the Hallmark or Lifetime networks. Relishing the moment, it wasn't until she heard the words "stupid bitch trussed in green body paint like a cosplayer" that she began to pay heed. Liam and Neckbeard had gotten to the point in their argument when a man will begin questioning another man's "manhood" when she turned round to face Neckbeard. Veronica merely smiled. A smile punctuated with malice, not unlike that of a hunter, savoring the moment before the kill. Her eyes shined like a pair of amber jewels, piercing the darkness like a pair of demonic headlights. To Neckbeard, he felt as if he were staring into the very cauldrons of the ninth sphere itself, or a scene from "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom," or whatever goes through the mind of a film geek at a time like that. Regardless of which Neckbeard grew pale and unable to breathe or, wheeze, properly. "Do we have a problem?" Veronica asked placidly. "No, Miss, I was just complimenting your..." Neckbeard's voice trailed off, Veronica turned to watch the movie. Liam looked at her in wonderment and admiration. "You have a way with people, don't you?" Veronica, not taking her eyes off the screen, replied "I see you have to start fights to find an excuse to lay your arm on my shoulders?"
"Ah, well played, huh?" Liam smiled. Veronica giggled, leaning into him.
Veronica resolved to walk Liam home, claiming that he was far more likely to get mugged than she. On the walk, Liam asked her "So how often do you get to come up here anyway? I don't believe we covered that." Veronica let out a calm yet forlorn sigh. "Every full moon, so it would be a 'once a month' thing."
"I see," Liam nodded, staring at the sidewalk as they traveled. There was a period of silence, then Veronica reached over to take his hand. "You know, I've come to realize something in my time here," she began. "It's best just to enjoy the time you have, make the most of every moment. I don't know, maybe its an appreciation for mortaliy, even though it isn't really all that 'over' when you think about it. But still, every passing moment of anything can be enjoyed, as long as you're aware of the impermanence of it, you know?"
"I think I see what you mean," Liam replied with a grin, then said "Oh, this is me" gesturing halfheartedly towards the door of his apartment building. Another pause with the sort of awkwardness that comes with trying to find an appropriate end to a evening. Endings are never easy but taking a nod from Liam earlier, Veronica looked at Liam and smirked, asking as he leaned in to kiss her "Now, I'm not going to fall under you seductive and beguiling spell if I kiss you back, right?"
Liam laughed, it was good to leave them laughing after all.

-END-

(This story was written with the permission of the original artist, Winston Rowntree. "Veronica", "Liam" & "Neckbeard" are character names associated with Rey the Fawkes and in no way claim ownership of the the originally drawn characters. While you're at it, please visit http://www.viruscomix.com/subnormality.html and support the artist.)

LifeSalt

I had a meal today
Best meal I ever had
I read a book today
Best book I've ever read
It seems as though no matter what I do encounter
It all starts with you
See I
Never had something that sweetens the bitterness
Nothing in my life makes me feel less adept at this
And the things I do almost every day
Feels like the first time, it ever happened to me
A renewed vigor
A new found dedication
A new outlook, on the same situation
And all in all, since you became involved
It all starts with you
I fought against the odds
And the odds fell in my favor
But I didn't even have to go lift a finger
The thought of your kiss, and it made my strength linger
Now I know that this seems just a touch insane
But I know that my life can not be the same
I want this to remain
A mainstay, a constant
But I'll just enjoy the time, as long as I've got it
I hear the most beautiful sound today
I heard it when you called to me
A siren's song, that just grabbed hold of me
And I can't let myself turn away
No I'm not going to pass up this today
When I say so long
For a moment, all is wrong
But just the promise of another week
So much to think about, how can I sleep?
Since I
Never had something that sweetens the bitterness
Nothing in my life makes me feel less adept at this
And the things I do almost every day
Feels like the first time it ever happened to me
A renewed vigor
A new found dedication
A new outlook, on the same situation
And all in all, since you became involved
It all starts with you

Overworked and Underfucked

Sorry ladies and gents, but as some of you may know this is merely a side gig for me in addition to being a government wage-slave (who probably won't be getting paid this month, thanks GOP) five or six days a week. So as you have no doubt noticed, I'm without updates, and without time as they've got me pretty hemmed up and slammed.

Ahh...all the responsibility of an HNIC, with none of the authority...

Anyway, standby for sporadic updates both to this site and it's associated YouTube channel. In the meantime peep out Subnormality. It's a genius piece of work both hilarious and insightful, but be warned, it will make you think.

Hopefully the writer of the comic will give me the go-ahead for a piece based on his work, but we'll just keep our fingers crossed, won't we?

What The Hell Are You Waiting For?

In a United States gripped by fears of not being able to find a job, we have to ask ourselves what we bring to the world stage in this day and age.

An old flash article listing the statistics of job availability pre and post September 11, 2001 (found here) courtesy of CNN makes a fine illustration of how the job market had begun it's downward spiral. Today, surveying the consequential crash of that spiral, would it not be prudent to ask "Where is the money going?"

While a year after the attack claimed nigh of 3,000 victims, it claimed numerous jobs in the following year. Meanwhile, the U.S. Military experienced one of its highest base pay raises in decades. No such thing as a "win-win" or so it would seem.

Now the Armed Forces of the United States are some of the most formidable, experienced and "involved" armed forces in the world. Our military spending, topping out $680 billion in Fiscal Year 2010 alone, accounted for 12.7% of federal discretionary spending. But hey, the Department of Education is neck-and-neck so that's a win-win, right?

You do remember I had mentioned that in order to win, someone must lose, right?

Well, the loss inherent, is in global involvement. If all we're bringing to the world is men with guns, how then is it a significant contribution? The last time we were involved in a conflict with an undeniably problematic foe was during the second World War, and after that came the cold war. Now, Eisenhower warned us about this during his farewell address in 1961, however our adherence to this warning is not evident; therein we became reliant on the Military Industrial Complex and became consumers, not producers.

Don't even get me started on petroleum consumption...

The answer lies in building a better tomorrow. To reiterate, BUILDING a better world, not taking what good we can gain from it. You may resent that I use the term "we" in this article vice "they" as it pertains to the Federal Government. But considering this is a democracy, we are all equally at fault for equal votes. I challenge the United States, and everyone who dwells within, to create, innovate, patent, build, fix and abstain from fighting with a new vigor. I challenge you to stop voting for those whose idea of foreign policy involves a deployment to a resource rich country, and wants to scare you into believing that they are a "clear and present danger." when they're about as threatening as a rabbit with seasonal pollen allergies in an arboretum.

"Secular" is Spectacular #1

And now for a story that would have never seen the light of day, save for the journalists Shoaib Choudhury and Farid Ahmed. A tip of my hat to you, gentlemen.

I say it would not have seen the light of day because despite the old journalistic axiom of "If it bleeds, it leads" the same doesn't hold true for reporting killing "in the name Of."

But we all know who's name we're discussing, or avoiding to discuss, don't we..?

But if the axiom holds true, there will be blood, ladies and gentlemen; in copious amounts by and large.

In another example of the brutality of Sharia law gone unchecked, a young Hena Akhter (14) was found guilty of "adultery" and sentenced to 101 lashes under the "fatwa" religious ruling of a local imam. A sentence carried out publicly where the "guilty" can be shown as an example in Shariatpur, Bangladesh.

Or, in little Hena's case, proclaim their own innocence amidst anguished screams, however in vain...

This is the type of thing that makes extinguishing religions sound like a very good idea. But moreover, this sounds more like a motion to hold people accountable.

Accountability where you ask? Well lets speak of facts, lest I find myself trying to convince by conviction alone. The facts are as follows: Enter Mahbub Khan, a nephew to a Darbesh Khan, who returned to Shariatpur after working in Malaysia. Mahbub thought it far from wrong to force himself upon young Hena, himself three times her age. Furthermore he then gagged her, took little Hena behind some shrubbery and...well you know what happens when one is gagged against her will then taken behind the bushes forcibly. What boggles my mind, is how Mahbub Khan's wife could find the two of them, her husband clearly raping the young girl against her will (gags are a sure-fire giveaway, by the bye) then drag poor Hena into her home where she beat and trampled her.

Like a fully expected Spanish Inquisition, the village elders met at the Khan residence to investigate and rule the case. The ruling's technical name was "illicit relationship" between Mahbub Khan and Hena. Either it was opposite day in the Islamic calendar and "no" meant "yes" or this teenage girl's human rights under the United Nations Declaration of Human Rights were violated. According to Sharia law, the Declaration was the only thing violated, as they clearly saw Hena's situation as "asking for it" or "being a slag."

Kids these days, getting raped willy-nilly...

Sultana Kamal was quoted "What happened to Hena is unfortunate and we all have to be ashamed that we couldn't save her life." Kamal heads the rights organization Ain o Shalish Kendra, against Sharia fatwa and I couldn't agree more with this cause. But that's me speaking.

Speaking numbers however:

500, 10, 101, 70, 201.

500: is the number of documented cases of fatwa religious rulings (carried out
against women)

10: is in how many years these cases have been documented

101: is how many lashes Hena was to receive

70: is how many she actually received before passing out, having to be taken to
hospital, where she later died of internal injuries.

201: is the number of lashes Mahbub Khan was to receive until he managed to escape,
no one taking an interest in actually stopping him.

Darbesh Khan (the uncle, mind) stated that he had "...nothing to demand but justice." That's an interesting choice of words, justice, because there is justice. Secular law, the "law of the land" which treats people as equals. The justice Darbesh seeks has already been metered. That is unless he no longer seeks theological justice. But as usual, things aren't a big deal until they turn up on our doorstep. A village ruled by the brutality of Sharia law and it's cruel/unusual fatwas, and suddenly this man who has lived under the auspices of this law now craves the justice of a secular nature? Why? Because someone close to him died from it. I don't know if one calls that a problem landing at their doorstep, or taking out the entire north wall of their house. Hypocrisy by untimely concern aside, I understand.

I understand that this man has just turned a point. The point many of us turn to in questioning just why it is we abide the rules set forth by our so-called spiritual leaders. Hena Akhter paid the price to enlighten many in her village, her example, made.

The link to the actual article is available here: http://edition.cnn.com/2011/WORLD/asiapcf/03/29/bangladesh.lashing.death/index.html

If you wish to support Ain o Shalish Kendra, their link is available here: http://www.askbd.org/web/

Video link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rS4kLMtOYSg

Mean Streak

I had a few misgivings, maybe more than a few
Trust is so hard to come by, so, maybe I'm through
Try to take advantage, manage it, yet alone then
I knew
Sometimes we are all liars
Lack of control?
That's nothing new
I want to say that I can handle it
Put a restraint on my behavior and maybe I won't be so
Full of myself
But then I feel that mean streak
Coursing down my spine
And right then I realize that I'm out of time.
I snap and I give in
Said "I knew you were just gaming me!"
But I didn't mean that
See my fears got the best of me
Coupled with irrationality, losing grip with my reality and suddenly
I can't even remember how we got "here"
I turn my back for five seconds and right then
You are my enemy
When all you ever wanted was to just be such a friend to me
When did it all break down?
When did I just throw it
All away, and now I'm sad to say
This mean streak has been playing me