Author Archive
The new phone book’s here! The new phone book’s here!
I’m an old-fashioned guy in some ways. As a long-time programmer of the “old school,” I was skeptical of these new programming paradigms, such as I used in updating my web site (see, “It’s a Brave New (Virtual) World”), or for some of the new hardware platforms like my Droid. Having delved into this at some length, however, I am convinced. Enamored of these new programming methodologies, I’ve decided to apply them to an everyday use:
I’m redesigning the Phone Book.
Chances are, you’re still using the OLD phone books: behemoths of many hundreds of pages with the names listed alphabetically (if you can believe that!). Well, no more!
My Phone Book (actually a “Communications Resource Retrieval Library”) will have only one page. One! How’s that for efficiency? (It will be preceded by maybe a hundred pages or so of set-up, headers, disclaimers, and licensing agreements, but the content itself is only a page.) When looking to enhance you communication, do not hesitate to change to get the best mobile plans.
Of course, that one page can’t hold all the phone numbers. Instead, it will list a hierarchical control set that will ensure you find your number in the easiest, most efficient way imaginable.
For example, say I want to look up the number for my friend Kyle. In the old days, I would have to know his last name–and the alphabet–and leaf through many many pages to find his name. How inefficient!
With my new book, I simply turn past the scores of pages of headers, find the Control page, and start at the first line, which directs me to the correct initialization book. E.g., it might say, “Retrieve country identification, use Country ID Book.” So I pull my Country ID Book (bBook_Country) off the shelf, skip over the dozens of header and disclaimer pages, and find a list of countries with their appropriate identification numbers. I get the ID number (referred to as ID_C) for United States, say “100125,” and go back to the Control page in the first book and go to the next step.
Seven more simple steps, involving a few more books, and I’m done!
Observe the new, streamlined process, and try to imagine why we ever did it another way:
-
- 1 ) Get Country identifier from Country ID book (bBook_Country)
-
- a) in bBookCountry: “USA” => ID_C = 100125
2 ) Get nRegionName from Region Book (bBookRegion)
a) Under ID_C, find appropriate nRegion_Name (“WestCoast”)
b) Using nRegionName (“West Coast”), get ID_Reg from Region ID Book (bBookRegionID) => “99842”
3 ) Get Sub Region ID from Sub Region Book (bSubRegBook)
a) Under ID_Reg, find appropriate SubRegion_Name (“WA”)
b) Using “WA,” go to Sub Region ID Book (bSubRegionIDBook”, and get ID_SubReg => “9349842”
4 ) Use ID_SubReg and refer to Locale Book (bBook_Locale)
a) Under ID_SubReg (“9349842”), find appropriate locale name: nLocale_Name => “Tacoma”
b) Using “Tacoma,” go to Local ID Book (bBookLocalID), and get the ID_Locale => 3449345
5 ) Using ID_Locale, refer to Gender Book (bBook_Gender)
a) Select “Male,” “Female,” or “Other” and find appropriate ID_Gender => “35449”
6 ) Using ID_Gender, refer to correct Occupation Book (bBook_Occupation)
a) Under ID_Gender, select “Student, College” => ID_OCC=35449_C
7 ) Refer to Name Book (bBook_Name)
a) Find names associated with ID_OCC, select “_____, Kyle” and get his ID_NAME => “49-4775-54”
8 ) Refer to Phone Number Book (bBook_PhoneNumber), which has only males in college in Tacoma and, using his ID_Name (“49-4775-54”), get his number!
Critics may point out that this means having hundreds of books to look through, totaling perhaps a half-million pages, and that it would take maybe fifty times as long to actually look something up, but these Luddites are missing the big picture: It’s now a process! If someone’s number changes, like Kyle’s, the Phone Company need only replace a single, thin book (the final bBook_PhoneNumber) which is only 100 pages or so, 99 of which are exactly the same!
How simple is that! And just think how easy it will be to maintain!
As soon as I can get major universities to start a degree program in Phone Book Design, we’ll have literally scores of people with the skills necessary to produce this 21st Century Phone Resource Retrieval Library. So start building your new bookshelves soon!
The Matrix: Retar–, er Reloaded
A note about my rating system: I assign vacuums not on an absolute scale, but according to how good the movie could/should have been. For example, Manos: The Hands of Fate was filmed with a hand-held, hand-cranked 8mm camera with no sound, and its creator dubbed the dialog in himself afterwards. Given that . . . okay, it would still get a load of vacuums. My point is, so does the Matrix sequel.
Plot Summary: You’ll have to ask the screenwriter, but I doubt he has any better idea than I.
The Story: I’m quite a fan of the original Matrix. Even on first viewing, I could tell it was a groundbreaking film, all the more astonishing because it came from a couple of doofi like the Wachowski brothers. True, the concept of giving humans energy (nutrients) in order to get back energy was fundamentally stupid, but at least it was understandable. Well, they didn’t make that mistake again!
The story opens aboard the Nebuchadnezzar where we find our heroes: Neo, Trinity, Morpheus, and some new guy named Link (played by the winner of the annual Franklyn Ajaye look-alike contest). They are returning to humanity’s home base: Zion, named after the Jewish homeland yet with an astonishing lack of white people.
Zion is in trouble, as giant mole-machines are slowly eating their way toward it. Zion’s ruling Council responds by calling a massive assembly during which Morpheus gets everyone so jazzed at the thought of being human that a massive orgy ensues–like Mardi Gras but without the tasteful understatement. Trinity, having swapped out her skin-tight, rubber catsuit for something sexy, finds Neo and suggests he “come plug into my matrix,” which he does.
Soon, the Nebu is on the road once more, off to save humankind through ways no one can explain nor understand. Neo visits the Oracle again, a computer program that has given up chain smoking for candy. The Oracle explains the Meaning Of It All to Neo: She’s figured out that if you rearrange the letters of his name, he is the One. He must now learn the Meaning of the Reason behind the Question to the Answer before he can hope to advance to Dungeon Master. To do so, he must find a guy to lead him to some other guy who makes keys for a door that will take him to Donald Sutherland’s brother, where he won’t find his answers, either. I’m paraphrasing, of course; the real explanation was kinda senseless. It had something to do with Colonel Mustard in the study with a lead pipe.
Well, you dance with the one what brung ya. Every time the story bogged down (which was about every five minutes), another high-speed, slo-mo karate fight would ensue. Martial arts instructors are apparently cheaper than screenwriters. In one protracted sequence, the Warchowski Brothers show an astonishing level of regret for having killed off Agent Elrond Smith in Matrix I by bringing him back–about eight thousand times–to attack Neo. Keanu must have felt like Judy Garland on the Munchkin set. We discover the Multitude o’ Smiths must attack and destroy Neo because–well okay, I don’t have the damnedest idea what that part was all about. But it was an impressive fight. All ninety minutes or so of it.
Neo escapes and finds one of the men he seeks, makes out with the guy’s busty wife, whose see-through dress demonstrates the producers forgot to include a panty budget (I did say the movie reminded me of Sharon Stone), and ends up on the run with Milli Vanilli in hot pursuit. Our heroes end up on a Los Angeles freeway in the biggest, most destructive car chase since the original Blues Brothers Movie. This brief, two-hour scene included the best action sequence in the film: Trinity stealing a motorcycle and racing down the crowded freeway in the wrong direction, dodging traffic like a Congressman dodging subpoenas. Unfortunately, this sequence occupied only about 30 of the movie’s 8,000+ seconds. Neo escapes via magic and, after confronting a few hundred more Agent Smiths, is ready for the Big Finale.
So as not to give away the dramatic ending, I’ll say no more, except that the Wachowski Brothers have watched the Superman movies a few too many times, obviously confusing their Reeveses. When I saw the movie in the theater and the final credits suddenly appeared, the theater filled with groans. We all knew another one of these things is headed our way in a few months.
Performances: Keanu was typically Keanu, Carrie-Anne Moss was still tough and sexy as Trinity, and Lawrence Fishburne continued to drone on about Prophesy, reminding us why he’s named after the god of morphine. I liked the new character, Captain Niobi, played by Jada Pinkett Smith. She, like Carrie-Anne, could kick ass while looking hot. Though why Niobi’s attracted to Morpheus is beyond me; maybe she has trouble sleeping.
Since I can’t recall anyone else being in this movie, it’s safe to say I found their performances less than riveting.
Like its predecessor, Matrix: Reloaded has another cutting-edge soundtrack, including the closing credits number (lyrics: “Whadja say, whadja say, whadja say, what?”) which was a creative blend of random bass notes and some guy screaming in agony, probably from one of the test audiences.
Disappointing, but because of the excellent motorcycle sequence, I hereby bestow my rare and coveted three vacuum rating.
All Rights Reserved
It’s a Brave New (Virtual) World
When I set out to update my ancient, five-year-old site, I thought, “I’ll bet the Internet community is up to like HTML 5 or something by now!” and prepared myself to acquire a new HTML skill or two.
Ha.
The first few days went something like this:
“HTML?? Dude, that is like soooo 2007! You need to learn XHTML, now!!”
“XHTML?? You smokin’ 2008 weed, bra? He needs XML!!”
“Whachu talkin’ XML?? That went out way back in the spring, summer of 2009! I’d give up my PS3 Slim before I’d read an XML site! It’s PHP now, dog!”
So I dutifully jumped into the shark-invested waters of PHP, CSS, CMS, OMFG, WTF, and several other euphemisms for insanity. My learning curve quickly became an MC Escher pretzel and the life insurance premiums on my Mac went through the roof. However, just a few weeks and another hundred blood pressure points later, I’m (mostly) up and running! At least until the next, best, greatest programming standard kicks in, probably later tonight.
In the meantime, I hope readers get as much joy out of reading this site as I did in creating it.
Okay, maybe a bit more.
If you are looking for ways to earn money with the help of the Internet, I suggest you try investing in VT markets.
Space Probe 6: Nightmare on Vega 3 (by Charles Huntington)
I’ve written numerous movie reviews, but this is the first time I’ve felt obligated to review a book. Obligated, in a “Look out! That man is about to throw a bucket of flesh eating bacteria on you!” kind of way. My opinion has always been not to criticize (in print) a book unless I knew without question I could write a better one.
Gentle Surfer, that day has arrived.
I acquired Nightmare from a former friend of mine. It appeared to be a classic, Heinlein-style pulp novel: the cover depicted a spaceman wielding a smoking light-saber (huh?), who had just blasted open someone’s skull to reveal some kind of anime’ tentacle-monster beneath. Okay, maybe not exactly Heinlein. But I thought it would be fun.
Passing a kidney stone is fun; this was painful.
The Space Probe 6 series features buff spaceman Matt Foyt and his intrepid sidekick Intra-Vehicular Android Navigator 3-69(M), aka Ivan (seriously). This is the point at which I should have closed the book. From there onward it gained momentum in a train-wreck sort of way: much as I wanted to look away, I could not–my eyes scanning line after line of text, the like of which has never before appeared in non-vanity print. Take a swig of Pepto-Bismol and check out some samples:
Action: As Matt was almost reaching Megnus, he was struck on the head and shoulders by a crate that had been hurled by the rawboned thug from the other side of the small room.
Technical: “Sequential system operative for automatic launch sequence,” Ivan reported to Matt.
Love: Matt returned the kiss and knew how she felt. It was not a happy thought to him that he would never see Ryana again after he blasted off Alcentar.
Sex: [Her large breasts] were full, perfectly shaped, and thrusting at him.
Now for the “story” itself. I’ll include page numbers, lest you think I’m making anything up.
Matt works for the Federated Space Agency (page 112), cruising the universe in his starship Scorpio at speeds up to warp factor twenty (page 8). Ivan says androidal stuff like, “That does not compute” (page 7). Matt lands on Vega 3, a planet where rape, murder, and assault are part of everyday life, and the government prevents victims from using lethal force in self-defense (much like Chicago or Washington D.C., but without pro football). After an encounter with a pterodactyl (page 14), Matt loses his memory and wanders the streets of Alcentar, a major city. In the course of his adventures, Matt fights off rodents of unusual size (page 52), gets into about two dozen fistfights with the locals (multiple citations); screws the lovely Ryana 2435, a native Alcentarn with huge breasts (many, many citations); and kills most of Alcentar’s population by incineration or bacteriologic gas (pretty much the entire novel). I guess the Federated Space Agency has yet to jump onto the Prime Directive bandwagon.
Struggling to regain his memory, Matt tries to protect Ryana from being murdered by her spurned lover Megnus 3712, save Ryana’s mother from mandatory execution on her 60th birthday, and rescue her sick brother from almost certain death. He fails at all three, but at least he has the best sex of his life in the process.
And for the record, no tentacle-brained aliens ever appeared in the book. (If something wasn’t good enough to appear in Star Trek or Lost in Space, then by God it wasn’t good enough for Nightmare!)
In summary, this book is the Plan 9 from Outer Space of novels. But at least in Plan 9, Bela Lugosi had the decency to die before it was completed. Charles Huntington showed his audience no such compassion.
The most astonishing aspect of the book is that it’s a sequel! Both creations were foisted upon the unsuspecting world by Award Books in New York. I could find no Internet references to a third; I imagine after Nightmare hit the shelves, the citizens of the Big Apple took up pitchforks and lanterns, stormed the publishing house and dragged out the publisher, covered him with hot tar and chicken feathers, chained him to a railroad tie, threw him into the Hudson River, then returned to the building, burned it to the ground, buried the ashes, salted the earth on which it had stood, and staked the author’s head on a pike as a warning. But being New Yorkers, they might not have been so polite.
(Sidenote: My Internet search did turn up something called the Deep Space Probe 6-Speed Butt Plug. I’ll leave you to draw your own inferences.)
I feel I must apologize to Mr. Heinlein for thinking anything in this book might have been in any way reminiscent of anything Mr. Heinlein ever wrote, thought, or dreamed in his darkest nightmares. Indeed, I apologize for even mentioning him in the same article as Nightmare on Vega 3. In fact, I think Congress should pass a federal law stripping Charles Huntington of the first letter of his last name, lest some lone copy of his work escape destruction and end up in some roach-infested used-book store in the same section with any book ever written by Heinlein.
Indeed, my greatest fear in writing this review is the infinitesimal chance that it could lead to a demand for Nightmare to reappear in print, much like Mystery Science Theater 3000 did for Manos: The Hands of Fate. This is scarcely the legacy for which I hope to be remembered:
“Terry Burlison? Wasn’t he the guy who invented the zero-point energy cell, eliminating all pollution and providing inexpensive, safe energy for the entire world, freeing billions from poverty and ushering in a new era for humankind?”
“Yeah, but he also led to the reprinting of the Space Probe 6 series.”
“The bastard!”
So, please, please, please do not try to find this book. Do not search for it, do not call your local used book stores, do not mention it to others, do not even think too loudly about it. If you are so full of self-loathing that you want to read it for yourself, contact me and I’ll send you my copy.
I’ll even pay the shipping.
All Rights Reserved
Star Trek: The Motion(less) Picture–Director’s Ed.
“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” (Scotty to Sulu in the Star Trek episode, “Friday’s Child.”)
I went to see the original Star Trek: The Motion Picture when it was released in 1979. I was astounded by the great special effects; even more so by the stupid plot, terrible acting, and–most of all–the plodding pace.
Recently, Paramount decided to release a “Director’s cut” of the movie. Director Robert Wise had never been completely happy with the original release (imagine that), and wanted to turn it into the movie he had set out to make. Since Wise has directed several movies that didn’t suck, including The Sand Pebbles, The Andromeda Strain, West Side Story, and something called The Sound of Music, I had high hopes.
It’s amazing what a few edits, improved sound, and updated visual effects can do. Wise has turned a two hour, twelve minute piece of crap into a two hour, sixteen minute piece of crap.
PARENTAL WARNING: This movie is rated “PG” for “Sci-fi Action and Mild Language,” whatever the hell that means.
ST:TMP sets a new Hollywood record by sucking three minutes before the movie even starts. Wise decided to get the viewer acclimated to the movie’s pace by starting with a one hundred-eighty second shot of stars moving toward the center of the screen, kinda like the old Windows screen saver in reverse.
Any viewers still awake then get to watch the jazzy opening credits, followed by the great scene of three Klingon cruisers filled with heavy smokers getting vaporized by the Great Death Cloud from Outer Space.
Enough action. Back on the planet Vulcan, we discover Spock has decided to leave the Kohlinar Renaissance Fair and rejoin his lesser human comrades. He had returned home to eliminate any last vestige of emotion. He succeeded, and immediately was rewarded with a contract offer from Paramount
We now jump to Star Fleet Headquarters in San Francisco where they are celebrating Gay Pride Week, judging by the uniforms. Admiral James Kirk has been reassigned to the upgraded U.S.S. Enterprise. The Death Cloud is heading for Earth and, due to phenomenally bad deployment orders from Star Fleet Command, there are no starships in that half of the galaxy. Only the Enterprise stands between us and almost certain excitement.
Kirk and Scotty board (or is that “bored”) a shuttle and spend a week or two flying around the Enterprise, since Scotty won’t call and ask for directions to the docking port. Eventually, they find their way aboard where Kirk discovers his bridge has been painted entirely in brown primer. Kirk finds the ship’s real captain, fifteen-year-old Will Decker (Stephen Collins), and informs him that “rank hath its privileges,” which sadly included script control.
Emergency! The Enterprise‘s transporter is malfunctioning in the process of beaming up the ship’s Science Officer! Kirk rushes to the scene, shoulders the transporter chief (the formerly gorgeous Yeoman Rand) aside, and proceeds to melt the two upbound crewmen. Ever the sensitive Captain, he assures Rand, “It wasn’t your fault,” and walks away.
Kirk assembles the entire crew to show them Star Fleet’s home movie of the Klingon ships getting utterly disintegrated by the unimaginable power of the Death Cloud. He then patches into a live feed from a Star Fleet space station directly in the cloud’s path. The station is also utterly destroyed, except for the exterior cameras which continue to function long after the Death Cloud passes. (Note to Star Fleet engineers: Build the stations from the same material you used for the cameras.)
Having inspired his crew with the utter hopelessness of their mission, Kirk returns to the bridge. Here we meet the sexy Lieutenant Ilia, a Deltan. Deltans love being bald (as does Captain Kirk), and she warns Kirk up front that her “oath of celibacy is on record.”
The lovably irascible (and heavily bearded) Doctor McCoy now beams up, cutting short his tour with ZZ Top. For some inexplicable reason, he didn’t completely trust the transporter, maybe because of the two piles of protoplasm left over from the last time someone tried to come aboard. Kirk tells McCoy, “I need you. I need you–badly!” which should lay to rest all the rumors of a Kirk/Spock romantic entanglement. McCoy heads off to sickbay to make Doctor Chapel’s day by demoting her back to bedpan jockey.
The Enterprise finally leaves orbit. After Kirk accidentally drives the ship into a wormhole, a Vulcan shuttle arrives and delivers Mr. Spock, sporting his classic 1966 haircut and wearing a black dress. Kirk then breaks McCoy’s heart by announcing, “I need him, Bones!” and reignites the old rumors.
The Enterprise finally reaches the Death Cloud, and Kirk orders the ship in. For the next several days, we watch:
Kirk stare at the viewscreen.
Spock stare at the viewscreen.
Sulu stare at the viewscreen.
Chekov stare at the viewscreen.
Decker stare at the viewscreen.
Ilia stare at the viewscreen.
Several combinations of the above.
Repeat until budget overrun.
Eventually, the Death Cloud gets tired of being ogled and sends a pillar of fire onboard the bridge. It bounces around and finally dissolves Ilia. Everyone on the bridge blinks heart-rendingly, then Kirk calls “Next!” Another young woman arrives and takes Ilia’s place, but not before staring with some concern at the scorch marks on her seat.
Kirk cleverly gets the Enterprise trapped in the bowels of the Death Cloud. Ilea re-appears, completely naked but behind a shower stall. She emerges, miraculously clothed in a crotch-length bathrobe and announces she is a “probe” from the cloud, which is called “V’Ger.” We discover she is now an automaton, completely unable to feel or project any emotion whatsoever. She fits in perfectly.
Spock now decides to assault a fellow officer, steal a spacesuit, and venture outside the Big E. He awaits the perfect moment, then hurtles himself through V’Ger’s Enormous Space Sphincter. Once inside, he discovers the cloud is actually a giant hi-def TV. He attempts to mind-meld with it, which expels him back through the sphincter and into Kirk’s waiting arms.
Back in sickbay, Spock awakens, grinning like an idiot, and tells everyone he’s seen the error of his ways and is ready to embrace humanity. He starts by holding hands with Kirk.
V’Ger arrives at Earth. It tries to communicate with our planet, but is foiled by the copy-protection technology on all our electronic devices. So it decides to obliterate our world.
Spock, back on the bridge, faces Kirk, a single tear rolling down his cheek, and asks, “Why am I here?”
So did I.
The Enterprise makes its way through the big sphincter and finds V’Ger’s heart. Kirk and company leave the ship and discover V’Ger is actually a NASA probe that was lost three hundred years ago due to a Y2K bug. V’Ger, it turns out, has wandered the cosmos for centuries, alone, and is unimaginably horny. Kirk, ever willing to put his own probe “where no man has gone before,” is disappointed to discover the V’Ger/Ilia probe wants to “join” with Decker. The two come together in a colossal orgasm that throws Enterprise clear and most likely knocks out all communication on the Earth for decades.
Kirk then settles in to his captain’s chair and orders the Enterprise away from Earth, probably so he won’t have to bother with all the paperwork for the four dead and missing crewmen from his first mission back.
Okay, those of you who saw the original release (and remained conscious through it) are probably wondering: “What the hell was different?” Well, the differences are obvious to anyone who watches the supplemental material on the DVD.
New visual effects: Several of the original effects were not what Wise wanted, so he decided to replace them. In a move that no doubt came as a surprise to the check-writers at Paramount, the new artists decided to create brand-spanking new visuals whose quality would be indistinguishable from those done in 1979! All the way down to “the dust on the film.” (Actual quote.) So basically they took what are (by today’s standards) mediocre visual effects and replaced them with mediocre optical effects.
The Opening: It seems that three of the additional four minutes in the Director’s Cut are–believe it or not–the new opening sequence of stars going in reverse! In fairness, adding this pointless, mind-numbing scene did improve the overall pace of the movie.
Editing/trimming: In some scenes, as much as several seconds were mercilessly hacked out of the new release. Ironically, the movie would have been better off if they had kept those seconds and thrown the rest away.
If you’ve seen the original Star Trek: The Motion Picture, there’s no need to spend several weeks watching it again.
Still four vacuums.
All Rights Reserved
Gift of the Heart
Brynn adjusted the canvas bag under her arm, wiped a sweaty palm on her skirt, and rang the doorbell. The door opened and Kaitlyn peeked out, blonde hair framing her beautiful blue eyes. “Oh, it’s you.”
Brynn smiled up at the taller girl. “Hi. C-can I come in?”
Her heart seemed to seize within her chest when Kaitlyn hesitated, but then the blonde sighed. “Okay, but just for a minute. I’ve got to get to practice.”
Brynn stepped through the doorway, dizzy with anticipation. Today her life would change forever, she was sure. She sat on the edge of a couch; Kaitlyn slumped into a chair opposite.
“Are we alone?” Brynn asked hopefully.
“Yeah, my parents are still at work. Look, I’m in kind of a hurry–”
“I–I brought you something,” Brynn blurted out, fumbling with the bag.
Kaitlyn frowned. “Why?”
“It’s Valentine’s Day, silly. Here.” She held out a small gift-wrapped package.
Kaitlyn didn’t move. “Look, Brynn–”
“C’mon, open it!”
The blonde sighed and took the package, tore off the hearts-and-smiley-face wrapping paper, and frowned again. “Pills?”
Brynn nodded. “Steroids. They can make you all-state!”
Kaitlyn gaped at her. “Are you crazy? I’d get kicked off the team, lose my scholarship offers! What were you thinking?”
Brynn fought back tears. This was not going well, not well at all. “I-I guess I didn’t think it through. I’m sorry, Kaitlyn.”
Kaitlyn stood. “Maybe you should–”
“Wait! I brought you something else, something I know you’ll like.” Brynn pulled out a larger package, tearing the paper off in a rush. “I heard that bitch Victoria call you ‘stuck up.’ She–she also said something very rude.”
Kaitlyn’s eyes narrowed to silvery blue slits. “What?”
“That you needed a good . . . ,” Brynn lowered her voice to a whisper, “a good lay.” She opened the garbage bag within the box and stuck her hand inside. “Or at least . . . some head.” She pulled out the gift and held it up for her love to see.
Kaitlyn stared, blinking and confused. Then her eyes widened, and she let out a gasping shriek. She stared at Brynn, not with love or gratitude, but horror. She screamed and fled down the hall, slamming a door behind her.
Brynn stared after her, crestfallen, blood dripping from Victoria’s severed head onto her nice new skirt. She couldn’t believe what had happened. That ungrateful bitch! She threw the head onto the chair, reached back into the bag, and pulled out a large, bloodied knife. She stood and started down the hallway.
The only gift she ever wanted from Kaitlyn was her heart. And today she would have it.
Copyright 2009 T. L. Burlison
All rights reserved
Summer Heat
“We need your help, Detective Summers.”
I put down the Sports section and moved my size twelves from their perch on my desk so I could get a better look at Deputy Chief Maria Ortega. The view was worth it. She had legs that went beyond the call of duty and could throw more curves at you than a Cy Young winner. Twenty years ago I never thought I’d be under a woman like her. Not in the professional sense, anyway.
“What brings you in so late, Chief?” I asked.
“Another Krispy Kreme arson. Over by Soldier Field.”
I grunted. The young kids would take the news hard. Personally, I prefer donuts you could play horseshoes with and coffee stronger than a Bears linebacker. But without their KK fix, these new kids wouldn’t be worth tits on a lizard.
“I’ll see what I can do, Chief.”
I rolled my old Chevy up to the crime scene just past midnight. I left the lights on and climbed out. All that remained of the Kreme was a few charred timbers and piles of smoldering soot. The whole block smelled like a chain-smoker’s ashtray. I found a young cop sitting on the curb, his red-rimmed eyes glazed with the thousand yard stare of a man who’d seen one tragedy too many.
“Excuse me, son . . .” I began.
“It’s . . . gone,” he muttered.
I patted his shoulder to give him some strength. My partner had that same look, back in ’69 or ’70, after the orphanage fire. It took the shrinks a year to get him talking in multiple syllables.
A portly civilian stood near the KK’s remains, his loose jowls jiggling as he shook his head. I walked up and flashed my shield. “You the owner?”
He sighed. “Manager. At least I was. Jacob Mallows.”
I took out my notebook. “Any idea what happened?”
“Just like the others; someone broke the back door window, climbed in and set the fire.”
“How do you know that?”
He pointed. “I’d just closed and got to my car when I remembered some paperwork I needed. I saw some black kids running out the back. I chased them for a block, but they got away. By the time I returned . . . ”
I scowled. My instincts told me this guy was dirtier than a bus station men’s room. “Don’t look like you worked up much of a sweat.”
He glared at me, but kept his flabby jowls shut.
I walked over to the back door. The frame and door were still upright, but leaning like a drunk on Fat Tuesday. Broken glass lay scattered around. Mallows followed, watching me carefully.
“Looks like the glass blew out, rather than in,” I observed. Fat Boy squirmed in his fifty-dollar suit. I pulled on a pair of latex gloves, bent over and carefully picked up some shards. “Interesting.” I pulled out my magnifying glass and examined them in the beam of my Impala’s headlights. “You see these edges?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Mallows answered cautiously.
“Clean break. That’s caused by fire. If someone breaks in, the edges have curved stress lines from the impact. I’d guess this door was opened with a key. You have a key on you, Mr. Mallows?”
Fat boy squirmed some more.
“I don’t much care for all these new hi-tech gadgets the youngsters got,” I said. “But there’s one I do like: it’s called a Gas Chromatograph. They can test the remnants of the accelerant used, say gasoline, and match it to a liquid sample. Is that your car over there?” I pointed.
He made a break for it, but I guess all those free Krispy Kremes came with a price. I may be pushing sixty, but I had him on the ground quicker than a four dollar hooker.
“Good job, Summers,” Ortega said, a fifty-thousand watt smile complementing her big brown eyes. “Mallows was our guy. Insurance scam with the owner.”
I nodded. This time I didn’t move my feet; I had a good enough view where they were.
She sat on the corner of my desk. “You know, Summers, if you were twenty years younger . . .”
I arched an eyebrow at her. “Yes, Ma’am?”
She grinned. “I’d say that you had a hell of a career ahead of you.” She stood and left the room, hips rolling like the ocean on a good day.
I just smiled and turned back to the Sports section.
Copyright 2009 T. L. Burlison
All rights reserved
A damn site better
At least, that’s what I’m aiming for.
Just spent the week updating my website, bringing into the mid-eighteenth century (in computer time). I’m now using CSS for the structure, which is geek for Completely Sanity Sapping. It helps that one of Microsoft’s motto is: “Standards? We don’ need no stinking standards!”
And of course, there’s this blog. I spent mucho time using 1and1.com’s built-in blogging service, then much more time trying to find how in the hell you customize it. A tech call to India (“We put the ‘dots’ in dot-com”) solved the problem: you can’t. Another tech call put me on course for installing WordPress myself and here I am!
Still got some more HTML/CSS crafting to do, but I’ll be going live soon.
Ipso facto dumbo
“Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, adipiscing elit.”
This stuff is popping up everywhere in the webcrafting world. I finally relented and looked it up: just a bunch of nonsense, which is pretty much what I thought of real Latin back in high school. I stuck a bunch of it here to test the page length and word wrapping. Don’t read more into it than that. I’m assuming there’s nothing horrific hiding in the declensions and conjugations.
The alleged purpose of using such drivel is that it enables the designer to focus on the layout rather than the text. Maybe; but now I’m suffering post-traumatic nightmares of 10th-grade Latin and Mrs. Gilmore.
Nullam dignissim convallis est. Quisque aliquam. Donec faucibus. Nunc iaculis suscipit dui. Nam sit amet sem. Aliquam libero nisi, imperdiet at, tincidunt nec, gravida vehicula, nisl. Praesent mattis, massa quis luctus fermentum, turpis mi volutpat justo, eu volutpat enim diam eget metus. Maecenas ornare tortor. Donec sed tellus eget sapien fringilla nonummy. Mauris a ante. Suspendisse quam sem, consequat at, commodo vitae, feugiat in, nunc. Morbi imperdiet augue quis tellus.
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, emphasis consectetuer adipiscing elit. Nullam dignissim convallis est. Quisque aliquam. Donec faucibus. Nunc iaculis suscipit dui. Nam sit amet sem. Aliquam libero nisi, imperdiet at, tincidunt nec, gravida vehicula, nisl. Praesent mattis, massa quis luctus fermentum, turpis mi volutpat justo, eu volutpat enim diam eget metus. Maecenas ornare tortor. Donec sed tellus eget sapien fringilla nonummy. Mauris a ante. Suspendisse quam sem, consequat at, commodo vitae, feugiat in, nunc. Morbi imperdiet augue quis tellus.
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, test link adipiscing elit. Nullam dignissim convallis est. Quisque aliquam. Donec faucibus. Nunc iaculis suscipit dui. Nam sit amet sem. Aliquam libero nisi, imperdiet at, tincidunt nec, gravida vehicula, nisl. Praesent mattis, massa quis luctus fermentum, turpis mi volutpat justo, eu volutpat enim diam eget metus. Maecenas ornare tortor. Donec sed tellus eget sapien fringilla nonummy. Mauris a ante. Suspendisse quam sem, consequat at, commodo vitae, feugiat in, nunc. Morbi imperdiet augue quis tellus.
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, emphasis consectetuer adipiscing elit. Nullam dignissim convallis est. Quisque aliquam. Donec faucibus. Nunc iaculis suscipit dui. Nam sit amet sem. Aliquam libero nisi, imperdiet at, tincidunt nec, gravida vehicula, nisl. Praesent mattis, massa quis luctus fermentum, turpis mi volutpat justo, eu volutpat enim diam eget metus. Maecenas ornare tortor. Donec sed tellus eget sapien fringilla nonummy. Mauris a ante. Suspendisse quam sem, consequat at, commodo vitae, feugiat in, nunc. Morbi imperdiet augue quis tellus.
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, test link adipiscing elit. Nullam dignissim convallis est. Quisque aliquam. Donec faucibus. Nunc iaculis suscipit dui. Nam sit amet sem. Aliquam libero nisi, imperdiet at, tincidunt nec, gravida vehicula, nisl. Praesent mattis, massa quis luctus fermentum, turpis mi volutpat justo, eu volutpat enim diam eget metus. Maecenas ornare tortor. Donec sed tellus eget sapien fringilla nonummy. Mauris a ante. Suspendisse quam sem, consequat at, commodo vitae, feugiat in, nunc. Morbi imperdiet augue quis tellus.
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, emphasis consectetuer adipiscing elit. Nullam dignissim convallis est. Quisque aliquam. Donec faucibus. Nunc iaculis suscipit dui. Nam sit amet sem. Aliquam libero nisi, imperdiet at, tincidunt nec, gravida vehicula, nisl. Praesent mattis, massa quis luctus fermentum, turpis mi volutpat justo, eu volutpat enim diam eget metus. Maecenas ornare tortor. Donec sed tellus eget sapien fringilla nonummy. Mauris a ante. Suspendisse quam sem, consequat at, commodo vitae, feugiat in, nunc. Morbi imperdiet augue quis tellus.