anyone seen Philip Eugene Palmer whom lived in Hardin,Mo 64035
cause I am his devoted friend
Philip used to be in the U.S.Army
today he`s got a wife named Sharon Palmer
whom was a Stevens before she got married

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Mr. Gerg sat in his office like a cyborg with no legs, that's not saying much I know, but in order to understand how he sat, we must travel to an earlier time, in which we ask ourselves, why the hell is Mr. Gerg a cyborg.

 

He wore glasses, two cups, filled with an expensive type of champagne, chevignon or some crap like that, I'm not much of an alcoholic connoisseur, but I can understand how some people might choose to employ it for giving themselves an air of prestige, or class. This particular class of people belonged to an underground family that was borne in the last phase of the Soviet union, the Gorbachev phase which really ended at the eve of the gulf war.

 

See the gulf war was really a demonstration of force, the Americans wanted to be understood once and for all, in a clear wordless language that everyone can understand, even Pumpernickel the friendly scout bear, who trudges across mid west forests in search of fantastical honey groves that stretched like golden bubbly rivers.

 

On this particular day he had his fill of honey, but something was missing, a reason for his existence, this he thought he would find in the honey groves, where his princess in the clouds found her abode. She sat on a pedestal that only she could see. For all those who surrounded her, you may haply know that they were in fact giants of a very high caliber, in gun terms that would mean anything greater than an AK 47, which is in fact a weapon superior to its more modern counterparts in many ways, for example reliability in jungle theatres, furthermore they gained popular attention and even celebrity status when they were used to murder Gorbachev, 'he's still alive' you say, that's what you think, you hadn't really planned on saying anything, just thinking, which is in fact a passive process, like a water passing through a filter.

 

Little did we all know, we are all bound by our unspoken thoughts, in ways which we cannot imagine, so for that reason, what's the point of trying to elucidate on this matter with words, or maybe I should use Lego pieces in order to demonstrate my contentions?

 

Alright, after purchasing any major Lego set, take all the human Lego representations and place them in a microwave for 5 seconds, this will initiate them into becoming cyborgs. Take the red pieces and throw them all away, you should do this whenever you come across Lego, because the red pieces contain a special tracing substance known as Myoplex, during the Reagan years they tested this substance on captured Soviet soldiers, yes they fought a major unpublicized war, off the coast of Siberia, media coverage was disallowed, and all the major historians were hapless victims of pressure groups, and NGO that don’t give a crap about people's right to know stuff.

The result, of course, took place in a matter of short years that you could count on Chinese beads, if you have a beard, do you have one, you should its good for you, the result is the WTO which is really a crap place.

 

 Anyways, make an office out of your Lego parts and put one of you 'cyborgs' in there, on the seat, yes have him sitting, and we'll call him Mr. Gerg, he will be our main character.

Hypochondriac

Patient: Hi Doctor!
Doctor: Hello …I remember you … it’s been along time? So how have you been?
Patient: well…ok. I have been fine.
Doctor: so that’s why I haven’t seen you …you’ve been well.
Patient: …(smiles) well yes
Doctor: So tell me what’s the matter.now?
Patient: Well doctor it’s my back..Its still giving me problems..
Doctor: Oh yes..(Looking at the computer) …Ok so you want a referral to see a Psysio right?
Patient: yes exactly…
Doctor: scribbles down some details on a referral form.
Patient: …ermm well there is something else …I ‘ve got this mole I want you to look at …it’s new… (Wow I bet he’s really excited…)
Doctor hands over referral form …
Doctor: ok show me this mole?
Patient lifts shirt to expose …the tiny spot.
Doctor: Is that it? (A look of tired amusement)
Patient: yes…
Doctor: that’s nothing …it’s not even a mole …its just skin mould.
Patient: oh ok …(idiot)
Doctor: is there anything else?
Patient: well yes …(go on say it…you might as well now..after the mole thing) I have been getting these occasional heart pains on the left side of my chest …
Doctor: So … you think you have Heart disease…(with a come on..Are you serious face)
Patient: (chuckles) well no …I was hoping you could tell me what it was?
Doctor: Yes..You seem to have developed Hypochondria…its quite common.
Patient: (laughter…I knew I shouldn’t have said anything….) .
Doctor: (sighing) sit down let me take your blood pressure…..do you still smoke?
Patient: ermm yes sometimes..
After a quick check… blood pressure and stethoscope checking my heartbeat.
Doctor declares there is nothing wrong with me..
Patient: (feeling foolish) ok thanks…so what you think its nothing?
Doctor: its normal…
Doctor: types some notes on computer.
Doctor: So you’re still working at such and such? (Some IT company)
Patient: yes.
Doctor: well maybe you can tell me … I have an old Ipod …and it doesn’t work..
The dial has gone on it… do you think I can get it fixed anywhere?
Patient: well … is it still under guarantee?
Doctor shakes his head…
Patient: well …I think it will cost a lot..Perhaps its better to get a new one.
Doctor: well that’s what I thought ..
Patient: Well I don’t really know about Ipod’s ..Maybe it can be fixed …but I imagine that apple may charge a lot…
Doctor: it’s the old Ipod ..You know the 30 gb one’s … I think they aren’t very reliable?
Patient: no I think the new ones are better …the first generation ones had some glitches.
Doctor: oh ok.
Doctor: You know ….a friend of mine …just spent £65 on a new cable lead for his camera… do you think that’s crazy … he could have bought a new camera …better spec..newer model …and it would have come with the cable..
Patient…yeah crazy…
Doctor: Well anyway. Its good to see you again. Take care.
Patient: bye doctor! (Wow that was and abrupt goodbye…still I guess he has patients to see…)
Patient…Whilst I’m still negotiating my way back to my car..I start thinking..(Spells trouble)…what was that all about?was the doctor testing me … talking about Ipods… Cameras…
Perhaps he wanted to know if I believed all things should be fixed… or whether I had the attitude of …out with the old in with the new.. .. Maybe he realised that I was fucked and couldn’t be fixed …but didn’t want to tell me … ..yes that was it… he was trying to tell me that he believed some things shouldn’t be allowed to be fixed … was it cos I smoke… sheeeet (shit)…
So he was just trying to gauge my reaction to his ipod and camera stories… crafty beggar!
…Or perhaps he was just being polite and having a normal conversation …and I am just a paranoid hypochondriac.. . It’s quite feasible…
I get home and quickly begin to scan google for ipod repair websites and eventually find a cool site …fixing old ipods … I call the surgery and get the receptionist to write down the link to pass on to the doctor…my good deed of the day...what a loser..

pls send comments to migperu@mac.com

The house in Pleasantville was finally finished and furnished. Now it was time to move in.
 Gil Calentina had a body shaped like an apple; reddish brown hair combed over to hide an expanse of bald scalp; rectangular eyebrows hanging over his narrow, beady eyes; pursed lips and a piggish nose. Quite possibly the worlds shortest neck led the way to a red pullover fleece with a little alligator on the left breast. XXXL khaki cargo pants greeted the pullover fleece way up at Gil’s belly button. A pair of Nike tennis shoes rounded off the queer ensemble. Gil Calentina had style.
 On his way into the house, Gil picked up the days newspaper. He was going to need a job and that was a good place to start looking.
 Gil’s living room was cramped at best. A green loveseat with a wood frame, looking like it came from the fine art of trash picking, was pushed way up towards a small black and white television. Behind the loveseat was a round dining table with four uncomfortable looking chairs. Surrounding all of this were four walls, with one entrance to a hallway leading to the bedroom and bathrooms, and another entrance to the kitchen. A cramped space indeed with Gil’s girth, but Gil couldn’t afford much and needed less.
 He sat down on the loveseat with a creak and thumbed through the want-ads. A job in the service had a very inviting salary of $350.00 a week, but Gil was hardly military material. Gil was quite the oboe player, but a job paying $90.00 a week as a street musician didn’t quite cut the cheddar. Gil spotted a job on the next page paying $250.00 a week to be a guinea pig for lab experiments. It was more than he could ever hope for. Gil made the call and a car agreed to collect his overly large ass at 8:30 the next morning. All this reading was making Gil extremely hungry.
 Gil had little or no skill at cooking, but after landing that killer lab rat job, with the potential to be promoted to the cheese, and maybe one day…the labyrinth, he had such a load of confidence, he felt like an iron chef.
 The kitchen had even less room to work around than the living room. It was furnished with an old Coppertone refrigerator, a couple of counters and an old gas stove that very well could have been the prototype. Gil waddled in and weighed his options. Grilled cheese sandwiches would make a delightful appetizer. After that…who knows? Either way, Gil was beside himself with excitement!
 He opened the fridge, got out the butter, bread and American cheese, and sat them down on the countertop. Reaching over to the stove, he turned the knob on the front burner to high. Gil waited a moment, but the flame didn’t catch. He tried the other three with the same result. Gil stood with his arms laying flat against his ample sides bewildered. Gil waited…still nothing. In the silence, it did appear that the gas was coming out, but it just wasn’t catching. Gil stood and pondered the situation while he eyed the cheese and licked his chops.
 After a few moments, Gil observed the knobs on the oven. Next to “high” was the word “lite.” Adeeerrrrr! Gil flicked the front knob to lite and heard a faint clicking. Presto!
 Blammo!! A ball of flame engulfed the oven top and the air above it all the way to the ceiling. Gil leapt awkwardly in surprise. That quickly, the ball of fire was gone. All four burners were going strong and Gil quickly gathered himself and shut three of them off. He set the fourth to medium, put a pan over top of it and took a moment to catch his breath and slow his thumping heart.
 Something was burning. It was Gil’s reddish brown comb over. Gil flailed his pudgy arms, patting his head wildly. The flames spread to his fleece, quickly engulfing it. Gil flailed more aggressively, his heart trip hammering, arms pin-wheeling in a fabulous futile effort. Eventually, Gil stopped trying to put the fire out. Soon after, the kitchen was a roaring inferno, and the close quartered living room followed suit. By the time the fire fighters arrived, Gil Calentina was nothing more than a smoldering glob of gelatin.

Todd Tucker laughed to himself and almost fell off his computer chair. It took him well over an hour to build the little house and create his Sim, Gil Calentina, and less than three minutes to burn it all to the ground. Hilarious! Todd clicked on Gil’s remains and dragged them to the yard out back of the house. His ashes became a headstone. Classic! The first of many! Todd had the rest of the day off from work, so he imagined there would be quite a cemetery by days end.
He had just started on his next Sim when there was a knock at his front door. With a sigh he got up from his seat to answer it. “Eddie Schleb,” he thought to himself; a killer name for his next Sim. Classic!
Todd opened the front door and immediately found himself tackled and pinned face first to the ground.
“*Cough*, hey…what gives!?!” Todd managed to choke out.
“Stay down scum and don’t struggle!”
Josh squirmed as the Police officer dug a knee into his back. “What…what is going on!?!” Josh tasted blood.
The cop’s voice was stern
“Sir, you’re wanted for the murder of Gil Calentina.”
Josh felt cuffs close on his wrists and he was dragged to his feet. He was flabbergasted.
“Gil Calentina,” Josh said between quick breaths, “but, he was just a Sim…a game.”
Another cop approached Josh with his computer tower in hand.
“We have all the evidence right here sir.”
“Great work Johnson,” said the first cop as he began dragging Josh out the door toward his cruiser.
Josh was in full panic now. “This is a joke right? This is insane! You can’t be serious!”
Johnson stepped in front of Josh and put his face right up to his. “As serious as first degree murder and arson. You’re going away for a long time.”
Josh tilted his head back to the heavens and let out a bone-chilling wail.
“Sabaducia!!!!”

    The Cut-Off Man

Getting a hair cut can be a scary task for a 12 year old boy. Girls are fresh on your radar, your peers are harsh, and what 12 year old wants to sit still for 20 minutes? And of course the backlash of a bad hair cut is quite daunting. Every trip to the barbershop is potentially a one way trip to a month worth of merciless abuse and ridicule. Nobody wants to be the dork with the bowl cut, and absolutely no one wants to be the kid taunted into the bathroom crying.
 Unfortunately, everyone eventually needs a hair cut and there isn’t much wiggle room in that regard. And no one hated getting a trim more then me. That and the dentist. Basically anything where I had to sit in a chair with man holding sharp objects having his way with me. I was content to look like Austin Powers, terrible hair and bad teeth, that was fine with me. Yet somehow my mom was able to drag me to the barber once a month, much to my chagrin. Over the years I had a few bad cuts, but nothing earth shattering. That was about to change.
 In my small neighborhood in Brooklyn a new barber shop had opened, The Cut-Off Man. It was everything a young sports fanatic could dream. It was a baseball themed shop (hence the clever name) and the walls were adorned with all kinds of cool stuff. Memorabilia and baseball cards, autographed posters, arcade games, this place had everything. They even gave free hot dogs with every hair cut. Besides cutting hair they also sold all kinds of sports jerseys and hats. With a necessary hair cut looming, I agreed to give this place a try without my usual huffing and puffing. I remember walking in and thinking that this was the coolest place on earth, I walked out with my first full-fledged suicidal contemplation of my adolescence.
 Things went well at first, I waited for my turn and browsed the various Sports Illustrateds and even played NBA Jam for a while. When my turn finally came to have my locks sheared, I saw a bevy of intriguing hair stylist options. There was a hot twenty-something chick that would have at least kept me in a giggling trance even if she cut my hair with a blowtorch, and then there was a cool looking guy with a badass gelled coif that could definitely hook me up. I casually strolled towards their chairs when the owner pointed towards the back of the store, right to a burly hairy man that definitely wasn’t smiling. The guy looked more like a Turkish sumo wrestler then someone who was going to give me the new look to blow away the 7th grade. I had my mind set on a very specific look: Brad Pitt in the movie Seven. (For my money that is still the coolest cut of all time. Come on, remember the scene when he just rolls out of bed and shakes his hair and it falls into a perfect edgy flip?) Nervously I looked at my mother and motioned her to follow me to the chair. As I sat down in the chair my mother began to describe the masterpiece I had envisioned, he brutally replied “Da!” and mumbled something what I now believe to be a combination of street Ukranian and American curse words.
 As he raised up the chair my stomach immediately sunk. My mind quickly entered a state of paranoid chaos as I envisioned him slicing my throat with the straight edge in a horrible barber shop accident. As he began ferociously lopping off my curly mane, I began thinking of some worst case scenarios. How bad could it get? Hair grows back quick I told myself, but as more and more of it fell to the floor I realized I was screwed. He turned on the buzzer and it sounded like a chainsaw. In retrospect he probably could have used a chainsaw with similar results. He shaved away hair like my father cutting the Thanksgiving turkey with an electric knife. As I watched more and more of my hair fall to the floor I wondered if I should just cut my losses and run directly out the door. I looked at mother hoping to get a sympathetic smile; instead her face looked like someone told her I was wanted for murder. The haircut was so bad that my mother actually told him to stop. I looked more like 12 Monkeys Brad Pitt then Seven Brad Pitt. The haircut was so bad that the owner of the Cut Off Man actually had to come over and get another barber to fix my haircut. To keep with the sports theme, the manager had someone pinch-cut my hair.
 It was too late. What was once a cute untamed mop was now an uneven Mohawk that started half way up my skull. I looked over at my Mom and she was now crying. Do you know how a bad a 12 year olds hair has to be for his Mother to cry? All the customers were now watching the new barber frantically and ineffectively try to save me from a month of non-stop torment. I tried my best to choke back my tears but I couldn’t. I was now sitting in a barber shop filled with boys crying. Mercifully the disaster came to an end, and my mom gave me a handful of quarters and told me to wait by the arcade games. After talking to the owner for a while he agreed to let me pick out any fitted hat I wanted. (On the house of course.) A gray Baltimore Orioles hat, I’ll never forget.
 We left the store, jumped into our navy blue Dodge Caravan and headed home. I wished we lived in Florida because I never wanted to get out of that car and face my friends. When the car pulled into my driveway I ran into my room amidst the yells for a two hand touch football game. I vowed never to play another sport besides hockey, because at least there I could wear a goalie mask. I locked myself in my room and began to write my suicide note. I could hear my sister asking my mom if she could see my new do, “LEAVE HIM ALONE!!!” yelled my mother.
 After an hour or so of sulking I heard the door opening and the distinct entry noises of no one else but my father. I vowed never to let him see my head, I was going to wear that baseball hat until I turned 21. Eventually I was called down for dinner, and with the no-hats at the dinner table law in my house, I was ready to beg for a pardon. As I walked into the living room I saw my father sitting on the couch, “Hey James, that’s a cool hat.” I figured my mother told him about the horrors of our trip to the Cut-Off Man, “Come on let me see your hair.” I looked at my mother for support, but she nodded motioning for me to take off my hair mask. I tentatively removed my hat, trembling. I will never forget that half smile smirk he had on his face. He took one look at me and said, “James let me give you a little piece of advice. Never get your hair cut at a place that sells hats.”

The whites are small stone cowards full of narrow-minded jealousy, hatred, and unwarranted obstacle and disturbance creation in the name of competitiveness; incapability in the name of innocence,ignorance, and arrogance; immaturity in the name of white christianity; privilege in the name of bias; trespassing, infiltration, colonialism, and wars, in the name of business, technology, education, and job creation; weaklingness in the name of networking; financial freedom in the name of loan-dependence; Bravo the immature predatory white military oriented race!

http://www.topix.com/forum/world/TANLIDS431DC05FGF

The night was bitter cold and the snow was falling; it seemed as if the light of the lamps made the snow shine yellow on the wharf. A man with an unshaven gaunt face, bare headed and wearing a snappy gabardine was climbing up the gangway. Junky took his guard stance toward the embarking stranger, blocking the way.
“What do you want?” I heard him enquiring.
“Looking for the friends of mine,” was the reply.
“What’s the name?”
“Legion Kane is the name of the stoker I am seeking. I am also a stoker you know; now no job - it’s winter, you know. The winter is theirs, the summer is ours,” the man said, nodding with his head toward the bridge.
“No man like that onboard here,” said Junky.
“Should be.”
“No one.”
“Let me come onboard for a bit to have some drink and warm my feet.’
“No way.” Junky held his mind and the man turned around and started for shore. I bent to look down over the rail and saw as this freeze-dried Lazarus descended to shore and then crossed the quay and disappeared behind a storage hut on the quay. For a moment I had feeling of being advantaged; the familiar shipboard behind me with its warm interiors and all that food and driks that made me feel cosy and I felt belonging to the ship’s company.

Edited by author 11-14-2007 07:57 PM
Please send all comments, criticisms, or rebukes to neutronnate@mac.com ... much obliged!
 
Pacing around the floor, hands behind his back. It’s snowing outside, maybe. Who knows. He’s sweating, it seems he’s nervous about something. He sighs. Again. Light bulbs are burning out somewhere on the other side of the world and he doesn’t know anything about it.
 His friend enters the room through the door leading out into a long hall. They’re in the first friend’s room. Are they friends? I think they must be. Yes, that’s the only logical solution. And they’re in his room. They’re both boys that look to be about seventeen. One has straight hair and the other one has a hat on. But I think he’d have to have curly orange hair, just because I said so and I’m the narrator and whatever I say goes. No creative liberty for you.
 The first one looks up when his friend enters. To make this less confusing, we’ll call him (the one who looked up from his feet) Prologue. His friend’s name is Epilogue. Maybe there’s a Dialogue or a Storyline somewhere, but not here. No, no story for you. Maybe some dialogue, though. Presently, in fact.
 Prologue: “You came.”
 Epilogue: “Why wouldn’t I?”
 A gauche silence. Weird. They both seem kind of uneasy. Perhaps they each have uncovered some horrible secret about the other. Perhaps one is an ax-murderer and the other a cannibal. Maybe one ate his friends. Or maybe he just did drugs or something. Maybe one of them liked guys. Maybe the other one did, too. That’s unlikely though. It was snowing too hard for that. Sweaters could be nice and all, but hot chocolate seemed much more appealing to all parties involved, even at seventeen and God knows how old I am.
 Epilogue approaches Prologue and takes him into his arms. “Prologue, I’ve been really worried about you. You haven’t been yourself lately. You know I love you, you’re my best friend. Tell me what’s wrong.” Maybe he’s stroking his hair or something comfortingly platonic. Maybe they both plan to murder the other one, and that’s why they’re uneasy. Maybe by taking Prologue into his arms, he has sealed his fate. Perhaps Prologue has a knife and is just waiting to stab in the back.
 (Yes, I can see it now. He does, Prologue does have a knife. He raises it up, and the fluorescent light from the ceiling glints off the blade as he brings it down into his friend’s back with all his weight behind it. His friend cries out in agony, and Prologue chuckles deviously to himself. “One for the vaults,” he says. The audience laughs.) Wait, no. That didn’t happen because there is no audience. They were going to come, but they got snowed in and didn’t want to risk walking out to their cars.
No, they’re just two good friends and one of them is trying to comfort the other one because he’s been acting a bit peculiar lately. He seems depressed, perhaps.
 Prologue: “Epilogue, we’d still be friends, no matter what, right?”
 Epilogue: “Of course, dude. I love you too much to just toss you off because of some emotional conflict. You can tell me anything.”
 Perhaps Prologue makes him promise not to freak out. I prefer that, actually. I mean “Perhaps Prologue” to “Prologue.” That will be his name from now on.
 Perhaps Prologue whispers in a fragile voice, “You know I love you, and I don’t want anything to come between us. So if I tell you, I want you to understand it and not freak out.” *Perhaps Prologue makes him promise not to freak out.* I was correct, it seems. But that’s irrelevant. Let’s continue:
 Epilogue: “Perhaps Prologue,” (I’ve stopped liking that now. Perhaps Prologue. He’s plain old Prologue again.) “I swear to you that I will not freak out. You’ve been my best friend since grade school. What--”
 But he doesn’t have time to finish. (Prologue raises the knife and stabs him right between the eyes. A horrible, satisfied scream erupts from him: “I got you, you goddamned motherfucker! You’re dead now, ain’t you? Nothing you can do! Nothing, nothing, nothing!” He stabs him again and again, over and over, but he misses his spot between the eyes and gets his whole face until it’s nothing but shredded meat and hanging eyeballs. His laugh become uncontrollable when Epilogue stops shrieking – he)
 Prologue kisses Epilogue full on the mouth. *Maybe one of them liked guys.* Maybe, but maybe he was just faking, too. No, this seems real to me. It’s here, right before my eyes, and I’m absolutely sure this time. I think. *Maybe the other one did, too.* Now, that’s a little hasty, don’t you think? Why would you assume such a thing of them, reader? I must admit, I’m VERY DISAPPOINTED. (?he had seen that word before. Those two words: very disappointed. Perhaps someone he knew had said them, or perhaps he had seen them on a billboard somewhere?)
 Prologue (not Perhaps Prologue)’s perspective: Oh god oh god I’m on top of the moon oh god nothing can stop me hahahaha see me now feel me I’m invincible I’m really doing it he’s not pulling away he loves me oh god oh god oh god
 (KILL HIM)
 oh god oh god I love him so much I’ve never felt this happy before oh god it’s not snow it’s
 (DIE)
 flowers falling down and it’s gold all around and everyone’s happy and this was meant to be like this and oh god oh god
 Epilogue (he doesn’t have a nickname, but this should be here anyway; it’s not complete without it)’s perspective: what the fuck is he doing oh god why is he doing this he thought I loved him like that jesus I meant that platonically what the fuck is he doing oh god he’s gonna kill me oh god why can’t we just be friends what’s WRONG with him
 And then Epilogue pulls apart, maybe. Prologue’s eyes go wide and he starts to mouth, “No, no…” Epilogue slaps him cold across the face, and it makes a flat hollow sound like when a train going full speed hits a body on the tracks. The mark starts to redden in the shape of a hand:
 (why not Foreword and Afterword?)
 Epilogue’s hand.
 Prologue’s eyes are full of terror now, and, after a petrified silence (both bereft of speech – Prologue raised the knife and reached into Epilogue’s mouth, pulling out his tongue tears rolled down Epilogue’s face and he tried to beg him to stop lord how he tried but its hard when you can’t move your tongue and it’s being held out of your mouth and IF I CAN’T HAVE IT NEITHER CAN YOU the knife comes down lord knows he can’t talk no more they’ll say mute and dumb poor bugger got his tongue cut out oh god oh god poor baby my poor baby your poor sweet mouth bloody and full of grace oh god oh god what to do what to do what to say can you say anything my poor sweet baby oh god), Epilogue said in a shaky voice: “What the hell was that?”
 Prologue looks at him. The pain he feels is beyond description, maybe. I don’t really care, I’m just the narrator. You’re just a fourth party, so you don’t need to care or worry about him, either. Just read the story, if you’d like. It may be interesting to you. Is it? Isn’t it odd that words on a page can convey an emotion?
 Then, in an even shakier voice than Epilogue’s, he tries to explain himself. "Oh god I’m sorry I swear I didn’t know you kept saying you really cared you really did and I thought I just thought I don’t know what I thought I don’t know what I was thinking please don’t go I love you! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I love you so goddamn much! Please!" He found himself on his knees before his friend, begging forgiveness. He’s crying, maybe. It’s starting to snow harder and the snow is making a kind of whooshing sound. No, that’s the wind, silly. It says, “Whoosh!” and it goes by the window and around the house and picks up speed and rattles the window, banging on the glass, screaming in a loud angry voice, “Let me in, you little shit! Let me in so I can tear you limb from limb ‘cause it’s a big mean world out there! Let me in or I’ll let myself in!” But sometimes the wind just sat out there forlorn and ugly-looking, tapping on the window like a tree branch, maybe, never saying anything. And that made it more all the more fearsome, when it did that. You didn’t know what to expect.
But it’s warm inside, and we’ve somehow drifted outside with the wind now. It’s too late to go back in, maybe the doors of the house are locked. Maybe the phone lines are dead, maybe the killer’s in the attic just waiting for all the lights to go off so he can LET THE GAMES BEGIN and have his fun. We can’t hear their dialogue out here, reader. It seems to have totally escaped us. Horror films aren’t any good without the volume. Let’s go back inside. Forget what I said earlier, I was just being the narrator then. Now I’m the NARRATOR and it’s very different – I can bend space and time, warp the story itself. Let’s go back inside. It’s warm in here, I think. Yes, I’d have to agree with myself. But whatever it is they’re saying is more interesting.
Epilogue: “I didn’t mean it like that, Jesus! I meant it in a platonic way, Prologue! What’s wrong with you?”
Prologue’s laying sprawled out before him, crying like a little kid, whining like a hungry dog you’ve tantalized with steak never to be given. Or maybe you’ve kicked it. It’s not important. You see the point. Maybe part of Epilogue feels awful (he is his best friend, after all). Maybe part of him wants to kneel down and pull his friend close and say, “Shh. Shh. It’s okay, I know. I know it hurts. So goddamned much.” But maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe he doesn’t want to give his friend the wrong idea. He’s already said too much, it would seem.
(Oh, but it would be so easy. Prologue lying on the ground like that, the very back of his neck facing up. He had the knife in his pocket, all he’d have to do would be to draw it and shove it right in there, right through the brain stem. Maybe he could wiggle it up in there and get some of the medulla, too. Ho ho, that would be sweet. Prologue had put him through so much hell, he should know better than to stretch out like that.)
“I don’t want to lead you on, Prologue.”
“I don’t care! I don’t care! Just please! I love you so much!”
Epilogue darted out of the room, tears forming in his eyes. He couldn’t have stayed any longer, he would have had to comfort him, which was something he was afraid to do, now. Perhaps they were both afraid of each other – they had disturbed some slumbering quiescent monster. As the door slammed shut, Prologue howled on the ground, the cruel wind bellowed in response (it played around Epilogue’s shoulders as he stole away from the house, pushing him this way and that, saying, “You asshole! Look at what you’ve done to him! Some good friend you are!” While saying to Prologue from the other side of its mouth, “Boy, you scored on that one, didn’t you, you stupid ass? Just let me in your window so I can gobble you up; you’re better off dead anyway!”), and perhaps there was a chuckle up in the attic.
LET THE GAMES BEGIN.

Somewhere, on the other side of the world, a light bulb burned out.

I'm going through this phase where I kind of judge myself by other people's opinions (of my writing, of all things! What's next?). So I'd really appreciate it if you would send all your comments to nathan.caldwell@sstx.org. Thanks!

Two old men sat on a bench somewhere. It doesn’t matter much where. Canes held in wrinkled hands and little hats on their balding heads. When they spoke, you could hear the age in their voices – it rattled around like coins in a cup, squeaking and growling way down at the bottom. Their faces folded in on themselves, rippling a black entity in the loneliness of an insignificant candle of life on the ocean of the world. They sit and watch birds on the lonesome pavement before them, occasionally grunting at the monotonous lives of the birds. All they do is eat, what’s the point, they would say. All they do is flap their wings around like they’re so hot; they’re nothing but a bunch of feathered pansies. Other than these sporadic complaints against the nature of birds, they sat in silence for most of the day. Sometimes when the sun set, they would grunt a forlorn approval.
 One day there were no birds. One day the clouds obscured the sun. “Where’re those damn birds?” One remarked.
 And so they sat in silence for a long, long time. Without the sunset to tell them when to go home (“the history of mankind is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations”), they stared down at the friendless pavement until the rain began to speckle the grass and the moon opened up its arms to the stars.
 By the time the drizzle had progressed to a steady downpour, they had reached the end of their patience. “Where’re those goddamned birds?” They cried, their voices raspy and hoarse. “Where’re those goddamned birds?” And they shouted and shook their fists until they lost their voices and ran out of energy. And, after hours of sitting there without accepting their defeat, they began to speak.
 “Nice weather.” A laugh. “Yeah.” A gauche silence. “You know, Bush got elected.” “Oh, did he? This country’s going to hell.” Another laugh. “Yeah.”
 Silence.
 Then, “I love you.”
 A pained sigh, but not without a sense of ambivalent poignancy. “I know. And I love you, too, you old fart. Wrinkles and all.”
 And they nodded their heads at the clouds, the rain dripping under their trembling eyelids. Bottom lips jutted out and their hands tapping their legs complacently.
 And so they passed the hours, thinking about nothing and talking about less. And when the birds came the next morning, having enjoyed their day off, the old men, wet and discolored, shook their fists and cried, “Where were you, you goddamned birds?”
 And the sun shone and the birds chirped and the old men sat fuming on their bench somewhere about the monotonous lives of birds. So began another day.

BRAVEHEARTS CHILDRENS' TRUST APPEAL

Dear Readers, I NEED YOUR HELP!

The user known as 'hypnotoad' on the eBid online auctions has thrown down his gauntlet and challenged me. I have accepted his challenge and the deadline is dawn on 23rd November 2007.

Should I succeed in this challenge, an extra £30 will be donated to Bravehearts Childrens Trust, who grant wishes for sick and dying children.

All that I need of you for my challenge to succeed is to follow this link and VOTE. If you cannot click the link, copy it and paste it into your browser and then go vote, please.

 http://helpdesk.ebid.net/showthread.php?t=98218

It will cost you nothing, I only need to raise a minimum of 80 votes in order to succeed and raise this cash, which I will personally make up to £50. I already have 34 votes - I need at least another 47. Voting is completely anonymous and it is a simple one click polling system. I ask you as friends, as neighbours, as associates, as fellow eBid members and as supporters of all that Cyberdosh stands for - the freedom to earn, and spend, as we like.

Thank you.

If you are not a member of eBid, you can join at http://www.cyberdosh.co.uk and then go to the forums, look for the KT (Kitchen Table) and then click on the link that says Poll, Polls, Polls...

Thank you, in advance, to anyone who chooses to support this cause.

Alert for all travellers to North America: Abuse of Human Rights and Privacy Violations:

Racially intolerant white canadian cops and security and their henchmen claim to be despots; following parasitically in the footsteps of their american counterparts, and wilfully engage in their racial profiling of non-whites, in racial harassment of non-whites, and in racially dehumanizing attempts to racially harass non-whites through intimidating physically, mentally, and spiritually; portraying their racial hatred of non-whites through causing wilfull and dehumanizing disturbance to non-whites through using illegal wall-see-through technologies and audio-bugs on non-whites' homes; through listening and watching through the walls of non-whites' rented and owned homes, and through their internet and private telephones. The perpetuators of these evil deeds do this from their cars using illegal equipment slyly given to them by the unworthy cops, and then
accelerating their cars loudly and intimidatingly near non-whites' homes and driving intimidatingly in presence of non-whites on streets, making threatening u-turns, driving intimidatingly right up and over sidewalks when a non-white is on the sidewalk, and throwing their ugly bullying weight around, in their shameless acts of cowardice. It is all done slyly, supposedly smartly, however, they cannot fool all the people all the time. The cops also participate themselves to wail their sirens abusively everytime non-whites move and talk inside their rented and owned homes in daily routine living, in addition to having their henchmen, and often, using their non-white gutless henchmen in cars, transport, shopping centers, neighborhoods, etc, to commit these ugly harassing racially profiling
deeds at all times day and night. Using non-whites to engage in racial harassment of other non-whites is an obnoxiously evil sinister humanely disgraceful intelligent move of the whites well-known for their ugly divide and rule tactics through their non-white henchmen.

It's a shameful disgrace when the so called protectors of law turn into abusers of law themselves and throw the weight of their uniforms and law around as cowards. So, they and their henchmen, appear to be very law respecting on the outside; however, they network cowardly to commit sly acts of provocation to non-whites all the time, which is supposed to
be legally acceptable. Is watching through walls of non-whites homes, bugging their homes, working in networking syndicates against them, committing human rights and privacy violations against them, supposedly lawful for the whites? Who makes those laws that favor
only the whites? The law itself has racism in its clauses. The ugly inner dirt of the perpetuators of these evil deeds of racism do not deserve to step into religious institutions for their ugly deeds - such as, if you ain't white, you ain't right? Oh! Really? Nicely dressed, beautiful people, magnificient concrete jungles, clean roads and lawns, sweet polite talkers on the outside, full of ugly stench in their souls, that is the
cause of these racist policies that are outrightly biased against non-whites. What a shame!

Most of these ugly acts of dehumanizing racial profiling depict the cowardice of the doers of these deeds in the real sense, and are done at the behind the scenes insistence of the racially intolerant white cops through their frontline stooges. However, without physical evidence, the white cops, security, societies, and their henchmen are laughing sinisterly
at their heinous deeds and the legal system seems to support this evil through its inability to take action without physical evidence. Their racial profiling penetrates public transport systems, shops and stores to do all they can to make the non-whites feel unwelcome in their dehumanizing acts of racial profiling against non-whites and those who don't conform to their nonsense. The white cops, security, and white communities use their
henchmen who do just as they are told and from behind the safety cushion of their oil-guzzling, pollution creating, often dark-glassed vehicles to intimidate and harass non-whites in obnoxious racial profiling that reflects the immoral, despotic, and cowardly behaviour of racially intolerant white cops, security, communities and their dumb henchmen
who do just as they are told, fuelled as they are in their racial frenzy, thanks to the racially manipulative corporate controlled media.

For more information, visit:

http://www.yourluckytoday.blogspot.com

Volunteers are welcome to circulate this information to all they know to put an end to this abuse and violations of human rights committed by immorally misbehaved white cops, security, white communities, public transports, shops, stores, etc, and their dumb henchmen who do just as they are told in their racial frenzy.

Save this information on your computers before any cowards remove it from the websites.

Racism is immoral and dehumanizing behaviour that reflects the "incapable to perform humanely" quality of those who are racist and are being watched from God's court above in ways they cannot be expected to be capable to perceive yet.

It's a shame when obnoxious stench of racism comes from people in so called rich countries. It's even more of a shame when words are twisted by media to influence young minds with lies. It's even more of a shame when so called authorities perpetuate racism and behave racistly and enforce racist policies and behaviour through intimidating means amidst outer sweet and polite talks. Racism seems to be prominent among so called white people in rich countries who cannot bear non-whites from other countries of origin. Planet Earth belongs to people of Earth. Highly educated people of high intellectual calibres, rich bosses and CEOs, etc, of rich countries are a blotch on humanity and their material levels when they
haven't yet evolved to basic human concepts of all humans have red blood irrespective of race.

Racism stems from social attitudes that are perpetuated by racist societies, the media, the authoritarians, and the peers. It's time to say, shame on all those who perpetuate racism and racist attitudes.

Thank you.

Assailant

 I still remember when things where peaceful. No war, no death, just people trying to get along in life. The universe just trying to survive. I was born on Mongoth, the most advanced civilization in the universe.
 The Mongothains were at war with the Androids. The Androids started out as mere servants, but decided to rebel. The war had started just when I was turning nine-teen, and I was just about old enough to join in the military. A few years of working with computer screens and galactic maps, I was promoted captain of all the Mongothain army.
 I had a clever idea to disguise a war ship filled with explosives as a Universal Transport. I was on the ship with about two hundred-fifty or so men. We slowly crept beside the Androids’ mechanized planet. If the ship explodes right now it wouldn’t reach the planet, so we had to move in a bit closer before abandoning the ship to let it explode right by the mechanized planet.
 We were closing in, trying not to stir up any suspicion. Then we saw green lasers coming from above our ship. Only one force in the entire universe uses green lasers; Kornans. My only conclusion was that the Kornans and Androids were working together.
 Green lasers kept hitting us with full blast. Then suddenly an alarm was triggered, it took me a while to figure it out but one of the lasers had hit the room where all of the explosives were being stored. Out from the hallway into the bridge, came a burst of flame. The pain was so intense that I blacked out.
 I woke up and my eye and lungs felt like they were on fire. I looked around and saw that I was in space. I couldn’t breathe; I felt my right arm was missing along with my right leg; my left hand was missing, my torso had been blown open and worst of all my head had been partly blown open. My left eye was missing along with my nose. My internal organs were badly burned. What a crappy way to die I said to myself.
 I started to fade when I saw out of the corner of my eye, there was a man. I turned my head to look expecting it to be a piece of debris. It actually was a man; he was in a space-suit and put a tank of oxygen to my mouth. I faded and thought I really had died.
 I woke up in a bed and doctors of some sort were sitting all around me. I pushed myself up with my right arm. Wait. Right arm? That was blown away in the explosion. I swung my arm in front of me and saw that the robotic arm. Then I realized I was seeing with two eyes. I felt my torso and noticed that my lungs weren’t burning anymore. I sat up on the edge of the bed and saw my new right leg and new left hand. By now I was pretty scared but relived.
 I asked one of the doctors to come to me. One of them came to me and I asked him “Were there any survivors?” He looked down. Getting angry by him not answering my question I grabbed his shirt with my robotic arm and pulled him closer to me “WERE THERE ANY SURVIVORS?!” He shook his head. I let go of him and he sat back down. I held my head in my hands.
 They said they wanted to do some tests to make sure every piece of metal was working properly. They put me into a tank that looked like a scanning room. Suddenly a burst of electricity shot into my torso. It lasted for about fifteen seconds.
 I felt like lashing out, so I did. I realized that I was levitating to the ends of the tank. This made me think and forget all about lashing out. I tried to go up and I did. They put a block of steel inside the tank. “What do you want me to do with this?” I asked.
“Levitate it.” I shrugged and tried to make the steel cube soar. I got it about five feet off the ground and decided to have a little fun so I crushed it.
They told me to think of fire. I thought they couldn’t be anymore blunt so I did, I thought of a burning fire. When I opened my eyes I saw that I had fire style armor around me. Fire helmet, shoulder pads, chest armor, everything. Then they told me to think of other elements; water, air, rock, lightness, darkness. I got through water, air, and rock pretty easily, but lightness was a bit more challenging. They told me this form would be very difficult to transform into. I tried my hardest but got nowhere. The told me to go onto the last one, darkness. I thought of black an then I felt a sharp pain in all of my joints. I felt my teeth getting sharper, my eyes became black, horns started to grow from my forehead.
I tried to fight this form but it equally matched my will power. Purple lightning was being thrown everywhere. I gathered up enough will power and the symptoms resided. I sat down and I touched the top of my head and there were no horns. I sighed
Suddenly the doctors came rushing in and put a gas mask around my mouth and where my nose use to be. I tried to resist but the gas that was coming into my lungs was over powering and I fell asleep.
I woke up and felt that I had a helmet on. I looked in the mirror that was on the wall. I did have a helmet on but one side had a kind of eye that was like a scope. I could zoom-in on objects. On my right hand, there was a claw. It was like a finger claw, each finger being ten inches long. I had new shoulder plates, forearm and shin armor, and torso armor. And I had a cape. The inside was red and the outside was white.
I still had sharp pains in my joints but they weren’t as sharp as before. I asked the doctors why they had put the suit on me. They said that the darkness power that they put into me was trying to take control of my body, mind, and soul.
I was surrounded by doctors when the sharp pain came back. Purple lightning poured from under my suit. I could feel my teeth becoming sharper again. I actually fainted, and don’t remember much after that.
I woke up and I was in the dead of space, there was no debris. I could survive now because the suit had special filters that take in any gas, and turn it into oxygen. My bionic eye predicted Mongoth’s orbit around the sun and told me where to fly to get there. I know most of the space-way from knowledge, and from training. I started to fly using my supernatural powers. I was going home.
I flew for a few hours and finally I got to where my bionic eye had told me to go. There was nothing there, except a few asteroids. I checked and rechecked, but my eye told me that this is the spot where Mongoth was supposed to be.
Then I took a closer look at the asteroids that were floating around. These asteroids weren’t formed by clashing into another, they were cut apart. Some sides of the asteroids were perfectly cut. Then I realized that this was debris, this was Mongoth.
I sat there on a piece of Mongoth for about a hour, moaning. The Androids had obliterated my home planet, I had no where to go, nothing to live for. They say an enemy with nothing to lose is the most dangerous enemy of all.
I went to the planet of Rugh (Roo-sh), the “scum” planet of the universe and posted an add for an army. After a while many people joined in just the first few months, I still had to wait for much more people if I wanted to defeat the Androids. Soon after, I had enough men. I scrounged up enough money to make weapons and armor for all of my troops.
Ships, bases on other planets, and combat training followed soon after. After months of physical and mental training, my troops and I were ready to take revenge.
Three ships approached the Androids mechanized planet. I was in the lead ship. The turrets started to shoot at us but we destroyed them easily. I still can’t believe that we were able to actually land in the loading zone. Apparently my men were better than I thought. They had already captured the Android leader and brought it to me unharmed.
“Android Leader.” It looked up at me. “You are here by arrested for the destruction of Mongoth.”
It chuckled.
“So you’re the avenger of the Mongothains? I hope you know there are none left. They’re extinct!” I removed part of my armor on my left arm very close to my shoulder, and showed it my tattoo. All Mongothain soldiers are required to get it. The tattoo consists of a red X and an iron fist where the lines of the X intersect.
 She looked at my tattoo and gasped. “You are here by sentenced to death.” I raised my laser-pistol at it’s head. It smiled, and then I pulled the trigger.
 I went to the loading dock and got into my ship. When we were about five-hundred yards away, I asked the pilot to stop. When he did I flew from the ship out into space. I faced toward the mechanized planet opened my arms really wide and then closed them at about one-hundred miles an hour. Five seconds later the mechanized planet started to fall apart and then exploded.
 I came back to the ship and praised my men a job well done. We had to set our next course and I had avenged my people.

Joey Vee

It all began on a typical monday night over at Caldwell Avenue.
The guys would sit outside the club talking amongst one another, throwing a joke into almost every line they said.
It was the year 1972, the streets of the Bronx belonged to Ettorisanto's.
Adriano Ettorisanto was the Boss, he would sit in the backroom with a few of his most trusty men, talking about business.
Sonny Mancini was a Caporegime in the family, Caldwell Avenue was where most of his crew would hang out.

Over on the left was Joey Vitelli, Sonny's right hand man, people called him Joey Vee because of his surname, if you asked the guy to do you a favour, he'd attend to that favour with great effort.
Joey was originally from a small neighbourhood in Brooklyn, his mother and father were Sicilians that had moved to New York due to trouble that had been caused in their home town, they never returned.
Joey's father was named Enrico, his friends called him Rico, he died when Joey was twelve years old, shot down in the streets.

The man who had killed Enrico was aventually found out in 1962 when a certain rumour passed through the streets.
A man named John Lazzero had strolled into the neighbourhood with a pistol tucked into his trousers, pulling up at the side of the road.
The men outside the club watched as John walks into the club, looking from one side to the other.
Sitting down a few seats away from where Joey was sitting, he watched his every move, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Joey had noticed him at last, everything went silent around the table, everyone had noticed that out of every person in the room that was talking, John was the only one sat on his own, no smile to be seen.

Sonny whispered into Joey's ear, he could tell that this was something serious, something that shouldnt be happening.
Sonny stood up from his seat, making his way to the entrance.
The table was one person short, with Sonny out of the way, Joey had become an easy target.
Sonny reappeared by the entrance of the door, staring over at John who was still waiting for the right time.
Joey stands up, walking to the entrance to meet Sonny.
Walking out from the club, the both of them head down the street, making their way to Sonny's bakery.
Standing outside the bakery, Sonny begins to speak.
"Right, as soon as that cock sucker appears round the corner, get the fuck in the bakery, I'm gonna make this quick".
"That guy killed your pap, you dont wanna let him get away with a thing like that, not in this day and age".

John had appeared at the corner, a gun weilded to his hand, this was his only chance to finish the job.
Joey walks into the bakery, leaving Sonny to do the dirty work.
Two of Sonny's men had appeared a few metres behind John, guns in their hands, waiting for the sound of a gunshot.
Sonny points his gun in John's direction and begins to speak, his eyes focused on John's every move.
"Right, put the gun down".
"You've got two guys behind you, you've got no way to run, what the fuck do you expect to do now?"
"Put it down".
John throws his gun to one side, giving himself up to the two men standing behind him.
Being thrown into the bakery, John knew that he wouldnt get out of the place alive, these were the last minutes of his life.

Tied to a chair, John sit there, his face beaten by the savage men stood before him.
The time had come, Sonny stand there, a gun aimed at John from his waste.
A few gunshots had shut him up for life, Joey's head was clear from all problems, his father's killer was dead.

> Date: Sat, 12 Jan 2008 12:33:38 +0000> Subject: Post a Short Story for Review> From: qtopic-31-PctTXbNuxJh@quicktopic.com> To: qtopic-subs@quicktopic.com
 
 
 
 
 
Yes seeng it I have to say that the setting without knowing the backroung of this story is very dificult to elect it's good or not. There seems be great dela of practucale writing yet I couls see the writer being rather young. On the good road to go. cheerio.
I a back when i soper up.> > --QT-------------------------------------------------------------> Reply by email or visit> http://www.quicktopic.com/31/H/PctTXbNuxJh/m69>; -------------------------------------------------------------- --> > Joey Vee> > It all began on a typical monday night over at Caldwell Avenue.> The guys would sit outside the club talking amongst one another,> throwing a joke into almost every line they said.> It was the year 1972, the streets of the Bronx belonged to> Ettorisanto's.> Adriano Ettorisanto was the Boss, he would sit in the backroom> with a few of his most trusty men, talking about business.> Sonny Mancini was a Caporegime in the family, Caldwell Avenue> was where most of his crew would hang out.> > Over on the left was Joey Vitelli, Sonny's right hand man,> people called him Joey Vee because of his surname, if you asked> the guy to do you a favour, he'd attend to that favour with> great effort.> Joey was originally from a small neighbourhood in Brooklyn, his> mother and father were Sicilians that had moved to New York due> to trouble that had been caused in their home town, they never> returned.> Joey's father was named Enrico, his friends called him Rico, he> died when Joey was twelve years old, shot down in the streets.> > The man who had killed Enrico was aventually found out in 1962> when a certain rumour passed through the streets.> A man named John Lazzero had strolled into the neighbourhood> with a pistol tucked into his trousers, pulling up at the side> of the road.> The men outside the club watched as John walks into the club,> looking from one side to the other.> Sitting down a few seats away from where Joey was sitting, he> watched his every move, waiting for the right moment to strike.> Joey had noticed him at last, everything went silent around the> table, everyone had noticed that out of every person in the room> that was talking, John was the only one sat on his own, no smile> to be seen.> > Sonny whispered into Joey's ear, he could tell that this was> something serious, something that shouldnt be happening.> Sonny stood up from his seat, making his way to the entrance.> The table was one person short, with Sonny out of the way, Joey> had become an easy target.> Sonny reappeared by the entrance of the door, staring over at> John who was still waiting for the right time.> Joey stands up, walking to the entrance to meet Sonny.> Walking out from the club, the both of them head down the> street, making their way to Sonny's bakery.> Standing outside the bakery, Sonny begins to speak.> "Right, as soon as that cock sucker appears round the corner,> get the fuck in the bakery, I'm gonna make this quick".> "That guy killed your pap, you dont wanna let him get away with> a thing like that, not in this day and age".> > John had appeared at the corner, a gun weilded to his hand, this> was his only chance to finish the job.> Joey walks into the bakery, leaving Sonny to do the dirty work.> Two of Sonny's men had appeared a few metres behind John, guns> in their hands, waiting for the sound of a gunshot.> Sonny points his gun in John's direction and begins to speak,> his eyes focused on John's every move.> "Right, put the gun down".> "You've got two guys behind you, you've got no way to run, what> the fuck do you expect to do now?"> "Put it down".> John throws his gun to one side, giving himself up to the two> men standing behind him.> Being thrown into the bakery, John knew that he wouldnt get out> of the place alive, these were the last minutes of his life.> > Tied to a chair, John sit there, his face beaten by the savage> men stood before him.> The time had come, Sonny stand there, a gun aimed at John from> his waste.> A few gunshots had shut him up for life, Joey's head was clear> from all problems, his father's killer was dead.> _________________________________________________________________> To unsubscribe: http://www.quicktopic.com/31/X/PctTXbNuxJh>; Start your own topic in 20 seconds: http://www.quicktopic.com |QT _________________________________________________________________ Express yourself instantly with MSN Messenger! Download today it's FREE! http://messenger.msn.click-url.com/go/onm0...STRIPMIME_JOINLINES