The Forest of Yellow Fingers

 I thought this was hilarious.  It made me miss the Allen boys, you both made great pages.  I would only recommend watching this if you have some time to waste. Here

Or at Youtube

Sister Selma

Really funny Brazilian Nun.  (I did the sub titles)


She tells a joke...and then you laugh...got it?

Watch here

Or on Youtube

November 22, 2010 Wild Open Skies

Body scanners...So?

Who gives a crap? Just strip down.

We'll all fly naked

Her Twilight Years; Tales of a Granny Vampire. Part 3, "Friends and Enemies"

 
 

          “Back already?  Are you sure you plugged all the leaks?”

            “Yes, I spoke with Sergeant Dawkins myself, he was the first to arrive on the scene. He suspected paranormal activity immediately, quarantined the area and confiscated the security tapes. The copy you’ve been watching is the only one left.”

            “What about the witnesses.”

            “Taken care of.”

            “Memory spell?”

            “Yes, by one of our top mystics.”

            “Zula?”

            “No, Zula couldn’t come, we sent Astron.”

            “Zula would have been better.”

            “Yes sir.”

            “What about the other cops?”

            “Astron got them all.  Dawkins is the only one outside of the Bureau of Paranormal Investigation who has any knowledge of the incident.”

            Commissioner Walters nodded, put his pen down on his desk and leaned back in his chair.

            “Have a seat Parker,” he said, as he hit rewind on the old VCR.

            Parker pulled a chair around the desk, so he could see the T.V. better and sat down next to Walters. 

            Walters looked over at his Parker.  He was so young just a kid really.  He’d been with the bureau for almost six months but he was still green. Walters still resented being assigned such a young partner.  The kid had no experience, he’d only been a cop for four years, but the bosses insisted.  They hadn’t told Walters the whole story but there was something in Parker’s past that qualified him for service into the Bureau.  Probably some tragic encounter with the supernatural, vampires got his parents or something like that.  Parker never talked about it and Walters never asked. In his twenty-five years with the Bureau he’d heard enough horror stories, he didn’t need to know the details of Parker’s.

                   He hit play, the monitor flashed white for a second, then the bank scene appeared.

            “There are robbers,” Walters narrated, “the guy at the front of the line, the one next to the guard and the one by the door.”

            “They are human?”

            “They are the victims.”

            Walters hit fast forward, the man went to the teller and took out his gun, the second man moved in to cover the guard.

            “There,” Walters said, hitting pause, “see he turns there, something behind him drew his attention.”

            “But none of the hostages moved.”

            “You gotta follow his line of sight. Ghouls don’t show up on tape.”

            “He’s looking toward the back of the line.  You mean there’s something there?”

            “Just watch.”

            He hit play.  The man covering the door moved forward and spoke to the air at the end of the line. Then suddenly drew his gun then began struggling.  The gun flashed and he stepped back. 

            “Poltergeist?” Parker asked.

            Walters grunted, “maybe, but keep watching.”

            The shot had upset the other two.  The man at the teller started shoving money into his pockets.  The one who fired the shot took off out the door. The other two moved to follow but, as the man with the money passed the end of the line, he fell, tripped over something. 

            As the rest of the video played Walters watch Parker’s eyes grow wide and his face grow pale.  The kid was still too green.

            “It went for their necks,” Parker said when the tape snapped to an end. “a Vampire.”

            “Probably, but this was in broad daylight, Vamps tend to be more discrete, it could be a poltergeist tearing out their necks to throw us off course.”

            “Maybe a malevolent spirit, someone who was killed in a robbery and is taking his revenge post mortem.”

            “It’s possible but I’m still leaning toward Vampire.  The guy who fired the shot thought he was firing at someone.”

            “But people often shoot at ghosts and why would a Vampire be killing bank robbers?”

            “I’ve seen it before.  Some Vampire thinks that just because he’s a demon doesn’t mean he’s gotta be all bad and takes to killing criminals.”

            “Like some kind of super hero,”

            “Yeah but remember that the Vamp still has to feed.  Whoever it is isn’t going to wait for due process.  We’re talking about a crusader, monster on a righteous mission.  Have you any idea how bloody the crusades were.”

            Parker nodded slowly, “it’s a pity if a Vampire really could be turned, if we had one on our side…”

            “It’s impossible,” Walters interrupted, “a demon is a demon.”

            “Okay.  So what do we do now?”

            “What descriptions did we get before Astro wiped their memories?”

            “Nothing solid.  A female maybe, the witnesses were freaking out.  Two said the robbers just started sooting.  On said they were killed by an old lady.”

            “People have trouble processing this stuff, I don’t think we can trust the eye witness accounts. Go downstairs, pull up everything that could be linked to vampire activity in the area and put out an APB on the third bank robber, the one that got away. My guess is that our ghoul will be hunting him.  We’ve got to get to him first.”

            “Right.”

            Walters watched Parker go, then stood up and walked toward the monitor. 

            “A crusader,” he said into the monitor, “I’m getting to old for this.”

           

            Margery sat in her living room with her grandson and his girlfriend.  They were sipping glasses of fresh blood and laughing.  Margery smiled over at Lilly.  At first she hadn’t like Billy’s girlfriend, she was a banshee after all and had piercing all over her face, but Margery had recently began to embrace her own demonic nature and, as she did, she began to enjoy the company of other monsters.  She played bridge twice a week with a couple of hags from the witch’s coven and Bloody Mary, from the graveyard, had introduced her to some fascinating ghosts.  One of them, shrieking Tom, had known her father during the war.  Best of all, since she had begun acting more like a vampire, Billy had been lest embarrassed by her. Yes, if Lilly made her grandson happy then she could get used to the piercings and the shrieking and the floating around the room. Margery still didn’t care for her Zombie friends but she tried to be pleasant and keep some brains in the fridge for them

            For the past three weeks, since incident at the bank, Lilly came by nearly every day and gone hunting with them twice.  They’d taken out that mugger and that man who lived near the park.  Everyone knew he murdered he wife several years back but the cops had never been able to pin in on him.  Well, he’d finally got his comeuppance, thanks to Grany Vamp and her righteous grandson.

            “So what’s our next plan?” Billy asked.

            “Well,” Margery said setting down her glass, “the girls from the coven say their seer has predicted a string of muggings in the city, a couple of women...street walkers…have turned up dead.”

            “Great so we should start there,” Lilly said, “I’ll talk to some of the sectors I know from the city see if they’ve seen anything and I can start haunting some alleyways tomorrow night.”

            “That would be great dear,” Margery smiled at Lilly again, “and you know I’ve been looking at patterns, if your still not against it, I really could sew us some outfits, I mean if we’re going to be evil fighting evil we should dress the part.”

            “Grandma,” Billy sighed.
            “Besides you always wear your nice sweaters and the bloodstains are terrible, if you had something in a washable polyester…”

            “Grandma,” Billy cut her off but after a pause added, “if it means that much to you I guess we could look into it.”

            “Great!”

            “But nothing fancy.”

            “Oh and you’ll have to get the coven to enchant anything you make for me,”  Lilly added, “otherwise I won’t be able to pass through walls with it on.”

            “Of course dear.”

            They went on talking and drinking for another half an hour.  Then Margery excused herself.  The sun was coming up and she really did need to get some sleep but if Lilly wanted to stay a little longer that was fine as long as they kept the volume on the T.V. down.

            “Thanks Grandma,” Billy said as she went to her room.

           

            From the window two green eyes also watched her go. The charchol black cat, sitting in the windowsill, had been watching them for some time.  When the old woman was gone to her room the cat jumped down, slunk across the yard and disappeared into a storm drain.  Like a shadow it slipped through the endless maze of tunnels until it came out into a large cavernous chamber, a crypt directly beneath the cemetery. 

            The enormous room was dimply lit by a hundred melting candles.  An old crone sat in a high backed silver chair gazing off into nothingness.  A dark figure, dressed in a long cape and top hat, paced back and forth across the wet floor.  The cat dropped down and slipped over to the old woman’s chair.

            “Back so soon,” the woman creaked as the cat jumped into her lap, “we’ll tell me what you saw.”

            The dark figure stopped pacing, “we’ll what is it? Did she find her?”

            “Yes,” the old woman said stroking the cat’s dark fur, “she found her.  The one we’re looking for. You were right they’re planning to take down some human criminals in the city.”

            The figure turned away from the old woman.  Then it was true, they had another righteous vampire on their hands.  Why couldn’t they just feed discretely, embrace their nature, hero types like these invariably brought down the hunters.  That d*@# Bureau was probably on their scent already.  Why couldn’t these stupid vampire’s see that their flashy “heroics” were bad for all ghouls.

            “Call the boys,” the figure ordered without turning back to the chair, “we’ll put a stop to this before it gets out of hand.”

            The old woman smiled and the cat in her lap purred deeply. 

                

                 

           

Her Twilight Years; Tales of a Granny Vampire - Part 1

A Gift from Grandma

Margery Stellworth sat alone, in a sagging yellow armchair, in her dark living room. It was Sunday and she was expecting her grandson. She had been waiting all morning but he hadn’t come. She sipped absentmindedly at her mug of blood. The Mug was a gift, which read “world greatest grandma,” on the side. The blood was cow blood from the butcher shop, sour and unfulfilling. But the nights had been too cold to go out hunting lately, the chill air made her hip ache. She’d thought of setting a trap for the postman. But she rarely got letters and besides she knew the postman, Mable Jenkins boy. She couldn’t bite him. At this thought she laughed dryly to herself. She really was a pathetic Vampire.

Those hoodlum vampires who’d turned her must have thought it was terribly funny. An old Lady vampire, hilarious. She was just one of their frat-boy jokes, a prank to impress their girlfriends. Well, they got what was coming to them. She’d heard through one of her few demonic acquaintances, that they’d been caught by the vampire hunters. Staked through the heart, all of them, well it served them right. The young vampires these days are all too showy. It was the whole Twilight, teenage vampire craze on T.V. It made the whole thing look romantic. Perhaps it was romantic, for them, but for her it meant an eternity of hip pains, rheumatoid arthritis and cow blood mixed with Metamucil. It meant she had to meet her grandson in the dark living room with the curtains drawn. He’d often ask her to take a walk in the park and she’d have to make some excuse about back pain and convince him that she preferred to stay indoors.

In the months directly after her infection she’d considered turning someone else, a companion. Darla from down the street, her grandkids never came by. She’d thought they could move in together, try out new recipes, make this cow blood tolerable, but no she couldn’t do that to Darla. She’d considered Jenkins, from the bingo hall, he wasn’t so bad looking and he’d flirted with her a couple of times. But in the end she’d given up on him too. She just couldn’t condemn another person to eternal membership in the AARP. In the two years of vampirism she’d only killed seven people and she hadn’t turned anyone.

There was a knock at the door.

“It’s open Billy,” she called and heard her grandson push through the screen door. With her heightened sense of smell she could tell he’d brought flowers, daisies, her favorite.

“I’m in the parlor dear,” she said.

He went to the kitchen for a vase then brought the flowers in and set them on the coffee table.

“They’re lovely,” she smiled.

“We’ll they’d look better in the light,” he said, “are you sure we can’t open the curtains.”

“No, the doctor says it’ll just aggravate my skin condition you understand.”

Billy nodded and sat down. He looked sadder than normal. Though in general he’d always been a melancholy boy, bright but unfocused. He was a senior at the community college and he didn’t have a girlfriend. His mother suspected it was because he was, you know, that way. In life the thought of a gay grandson would have horrified her, but now that she was technically the spawn of Satan, it seemed hypocritical. Pity though, he was such a handsome boy.

Yes, she thought as he sat on the sofa telling her the latest news from the family, he was very handsome. He must be going to the gym or playing tennis or something. His shoulders were broader than before and his arms thicker. Yes, she could see the veins, well defined, on his forearms.

“I just feel like I’m getting old,” he said and she looked up. She’d been distracted by the veins and hadn’t heard what he’d said.

“What was that deary?”

“I just mean, I’m twenty eight and I’m barely graduating college, and who’s going to hire a Political Science Major? I’ll have three more years of graduate school at least. If I can even get in, I’ll be thirty one before I graduate and I can’t keep living at home…”

Billy stopped. His grandma wasn’t listening to him. She was staring blankly at his right arm. For a moment he was alarmed. Maybe she’d had a stroke.

“Grandma?” he asked

“Yes dear,” she shook her head and looked up at him.

“I was saying,” he went on slowly, that I think I’m getting too old to be going to school and living at home,”

“Yes,” she sighed, “I suppose you are.”

They sat quietly for a moment. It was such a pity. He was right, soon he would be old and he’d have wasted his youth, not only that but when he did graduate, if he did go away to school who would visit her on Sunday afternoons, but I guess they can’t stay children forev… she stopped mid-thought, why had she not thought of this before.

“Billy,” she said slowly, “don’t be afraid of growing old.”

“I know, I just…”

“Here hand me my dentures dear,” she said pointing to a pink plastic case on the table. He handed it to her. She turned away as she slid them in, so he wouldn’t notice her new, “enhanced,” set.

Her fangs in place she softly said, “Come here and let me give you a hug, for the flowers.”

He smiled and stood up, stepping toward her and bending down.

With a jerk she pulled him off his feet and into the chair. He jerked back but she held him.

“Don’t struggle dear, it’s just a gift from grandma,” and she sunk her teeth into his young warm throat.

Notes from English 6410; Teaching World Literature (in haiku)

Notes from English 6410; Teaching World Literature

(in haiku)

Here’s a few Haiku

Just a midterm assignment

Yes I’m cynical

A quick blue scribble

A simple Haiku assigned

Is this real home-work

Are you crocheting

Teachers make the worst students

Is that your cell phone

Leaves, stream, trees and stuff

A Haiku about nature

Is that what you want

Abortion and death

A woman suppressed by man

A Modern Haiku

Realism in vogue

Real people prefer Potter

What now NPR

With modern Haiku

We've a nation of poets

Every text message

Rules of the Water Front

As requested here are the rules

Rules of the Waterfront



1. Don’t (c)rack yourself on sharp rocks.
2. Don’t drink the fish urine.*
3. Shut Upa ya mauth.
4. Hey, were nice guys.
5. Wretched women.
6. There is but one lord in heaven and one captain of the Pequot.
7. Relax take, it easy, wear a bucket on your head, whatever.
8. Grass is grass; flips are flips; and chicks are chicks.
9. In your face space coyote!!!!
10. And ya really clumsay, tha’ swy ya fell ovfa.
11. Ye be sharks sartn but if ye gobern de shark in ya, why den ye be angels for all angels be jus sharks well goberned.
12. Easter do not mean about hats.
13. Leesen to da reethum don be scaret.







*Addendums

a. Don’t drink any urine

b. Don’t pee up stream, up wind or up above, any of your friends; or enemies cuz man that’s just mean.

Feeding Time

This vignette I wrote for a class

Feeding Time
I collapse back against the tree trunk. I fight to harness my raging breath and pounding heart. How could I have been so stupid? The old man told me the tiger, a man-eater, had been stalking the camp for days. I curse my youth and arrogance.
The air stands still. The wet heat shimmers green. He must be close, the birds hold their chirping, the saar beetles fall silent. No breeze. Perhaps he won’t smell me. I must control my breathing.
A moment passes. Where is he? Run! No! Stay. I clutch the revolver, pressing its cool barrel against my lips. Why didn’t I bring my rifle? A crack, a rustle, birds screech fleeing the treetops.
He’s right behind the tree. I must run. Right or left? One chance. Crack. I whirl left. Wrong choice. The striped demon crouches low in the grass. Paralyzed in the amber fire of his eyes, I can’t even scream.
I raise the gun. He springs, slashes. My hand! The gun! They disappear into burning pain. An eviscerating swipe tears my torso. I’m flung to the ground, the beast crushing my chest with an iron paw. Golden eyes pierce through the black pain closing in around me. He throws his head back. The roar crashes against the pain and crushing pressure. His fangs flash to my throat.
“Boys!”
He whips his head around. His ears perk up.
“Time for lunch.”
My nephew rolls off my chest. I sit up.
“Uncle Shaun?”
“Yeah?”
“After lunch could we be cowboys?”
“Sure."