Impulsive Writing (18)

You did what?

“I quit. Couldn’t handle it anymore. Too much screaming and yelling going on.”

“Where you work? Who the hell is screaming and yelling in a research center?”

“Almost everyone. At least lately. The work we’ve been doing has become increasingly controversial. A few people think it’s too dangerous to continue and want it stopped. Most others, including me, disagree and want it to continue. I was about ready for a change anyway.”

“So…what are you going to do?”

“Not sure yet. Maybe start my own lab. Giving it some thought anyway.”

“Great idea! But where the hell are you going to get that kind of money?”

“I’ve got a little saved up. Enough to get it started. But what I don’t have is a way to keep it funded. For that I’d need a grant, and I don’t know the first thing about how to get one.”

“Actually, it’s not too difficult. Especially for someone with your background. MIT wasn’t it? Then it’s been over 30 years at JPL, right? Hard to top those credentials. What is it you want to work on? More rocket stuff?” (Laughs)

“I haven’t done that crap for 20 years. Too boring. I probably never mentioned it to you, but just as soon as I could I transferred to a small group involved in developing classified robotic projects for the defense department. I’ve been working mainly on combat related “eyes ‘n ears” stuff ever since.”

“You mean like drones?”

“No. Everything we do stays on the ground. Mostly small stuff. Almost all of it mobile, and seldom larger than a suitcase. Up until a few years ago it all ran on tracks. But now the focus has shifted to two and four-legged ‘critters,’ some of which have fire power…and that’s what’s causing all the controversy. Anyway, you’d be amazed at what some of our little ’stumble bums’ can do.”

“I’ve seen some of those tiny bomb-sniffers on the news. You know, the ones that search out IEDs. But I’ve never seen anything on legs. How come your stuff isn’t getting any coverage?”

“Mostly because until recently none of it worked worth a damn. But about two years ago we started experimenting with a new invention that has since solved most of the ambulatory problems. I suspect the samples that we recently sent to the field will be making news soon enough. In fact it may begin to dominate the news, given what these little jerk-bots are capable of doing. It’s pretty scary. You know the expression hit ‘n run? Well, these little guys hit ‘n disappear. On top of that, they know no fear.”

“Sounds a little like robotic suicide bombers.”

“Ummm. Just remember it was you who said that, not me. (Smiles) Gotta go Chuck. It’s getting dark and Snappy will start barking soon if I don’t get her moved to the back yard.”

“Yeah, I know. Remember that night a few months ago?” (Laughs)

“I remember. (Frowning) Talk to you later…”

Impulsive Writing (17)

From Magic Bean

Where did you get that weird thing?

“Found it somewhere on the internet. It reminded me of the way I feel sometimes. Had a copy printed, and there it is. Want one?”

“Yeah, right!”

“Well, if you don’t like it, you probably won’t like the dog house I just built for Snappy either. But she loves it. Come on…I’ll show you.”

…through the living room…
…through the kitchen…
…out the back door…
…across the back yard…
…into the woods…

“So, what do you think?”
.

Sign Of The Times (3)

Soft Porn?

Unusual Discrimination Suit Resolved

Original report from The Daily Buzz

Yesterday the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals found in favor of Ms. “Slim” Pickens, a Bay Area masseuse who claimed her employer was unwilling to meet her special work requirements. It has since been learned that her supervisor has now reluctantly agreed to allow Ms. Pickens to work entirely nude by phone from home.

Sign Of The Times (2)

Michelle Obama’s $540 designer sneakers.

Michelle Obama Wears $540 Sneakers to Feed the Poor

by Fox News – Friday, May 1, 2009

Michelle Obama wore the sneakers, made by Lanvin, while helping feed the poor at a Washington food bank on Wednesday. The pricetag on the footwear? A cool $540.  Read full story…

Sign Of The Times (1)

A backhoe knocking down new homes in Victorville, California

No Sale: Bank Wrecks New Houses

by Michael Corkery – New York Times – May 5, 2009

A Texas bank is about done demolishing 16 new and partially built houses acquired in Southern California through foreclosure, figuring it was better to knock them down than to try selling them in the depressed housing market.

Guaranty Bank of Austin is wrecking the structures to provide a “safe environment” for neighbors of the abandoned housing tract in Victorville, a high-desert city about 85 miles northeast of Los Angeles, a bank spokesman said.

Victorville city officials said the bank told them the cost of finishing the development would exceed what they could sell the homes for.

The bank also faced escalating city fines as vandals and squatters took over the sprawling housing project, leaving behind graffiti and drug paraphernalia, city officials said.    Read full article…

Sign Of The Times (0)

What’s the difference between we and they?

Those who argue that they have no choice but to somehow salvage an unsustainable way of life are absolutely right. They really do lack any choice in the matter…until they’re able to see otherwise.

But we, being much smarter than they, seem capable of doing whatever we like, which includes making changes as the need arises…even if it means changing our way of thinking.

It’s very much like the Flat World mantra: Don’t go near the edge or you’ll fall off. And who does that apply to? Only those who believe it. All others (we smart ones, for example) are free to sail around an edge-less world.

Put another way, an empty closet can secretly ‘house’ any monster (or skeleton) you care to imagine…until you dare to open it.

But that still leaves the question: Who’s we, and who’s they?

That’s an easy one. They almost always agree there’s an answer (whatever it is). We, seldom do…agree, that is.

* * *

If you can figure out what any of that means, please let me know…
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Impulsive Writing (16)

View Larger Map

Write about a lost thing that shows up again in an unlikely place.
(An irresistible ‘prompt’ from Mattie’s Pillow)

Lost

I was around two years old when my father left for Newfoundland. He bought a small, isolated cabin located deep in a remote inlet on the south coast of the island, and planned to spend the winter there working on a book.

He said he would call as soon as he got settled and made his first trip for supplies to the nearby fishing village. The village was only about ten miles away by water, but it was a thirty mile trek overland. And since all he had was a rowboat, even the trip by water would take at least four to five hours, each way.

Impulsive Writing (15)

News Flash! SUV Gives Birth To Twins

It’s got a windshield, steering wheel, tires…what more could you want?

“Well, how about profitability?”

“Sorry man, at a starting price of around $2,000 they had to leave that out, along with the power windows.”

“So…I guess they must use mainly volunteer labor?”

“Yeah, mostly.”

“Then how’s this going to become the ‘blueprint’ for the car of the future?”

“Well, it starts at the grassroots level…beginning with your local church. You see, everyone’s got to pitch in. Get on board, so to speak, and do some serious praying…”

“Come on, cut the crap. I’m serious. I mean it’s exactly the kind of thing we should be doing here. So why aren’t we?”

“That’s the multi-billion dollar question. For all the money we’ve recently dumped into the GM/Chrysler black hole, we could have bought around seven million of these.”

“You’re kidding me!”

“Of course I am. After all, who would want seven million of these little fuel-efficient things running around, when you could pocket a worthless 17.4 billion dollar I.O.U. instead?”

“You’re sick.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Spend too much time trying to be logical I guess. Maybe I’ll give up math and take up drinking. I think that’s the formula the Romans used…”

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Impulsive Writing (14)

His office was on the third floor of a two story building.

At least that’s the way it felt sometimes. Like last night, for example, as he jumped from the chopper and ran for the trees about fifty feet away. Within a minute the chopper had disappeared into the night sky, and he was approaching the highway on the other side of the trees.

Within three minutes a car slowed down and stopped about 30 feet away. The passenger door opened slightly, a small package was tossed out, and the car quickly pulled away. As soon as it was out of sight, he retrieved the package and checked its contents: cell phone, passport, a sizable roll of local currency, and a phone number. He called the number, then hung up after the first ring.

Twenty minutes later a small van approached, pulled over at the same spot, and flashed its lights. He moved from the trees to the back of the van and climbed in. About an hour later the van pulled over and stopped. The driver tapped on the partition separating them, signaling that it was clear to go. He got out, looked around, then quickly walked across the street and entered the lobby of the Maxima hotel.

It was deserted. He walked over to the check-in counter, paused for a moment, then pushed the plunger on the “Ring For Service” bell. He liked the symbolism. What better way to announce that the first round of this convoluted assignment was about to begin…

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Impulsive Writing (13)

How to get rid of that buzzing in your ear.

“So what did you think of the article?”

“To tell you the truth, I thought it was pretty limp. But I loved the graphic.”

“Yeah, me too. At least it suggests a permanent cure. Which is a lot more than I can say about anything else I could find on the subject.”

“I know what you mean. I remember a friend of mine had that problem. It was driving her crazy. She tried everything. Even that holistic ‘candling’ technique you mentioned in the article. But nothing worked. After about a year she just couldn’t take it anymore and OD’d on sleeping pills.”

“Ok. That’s enough. I really don’t want to think about it anymore.”

“So…what do you want to do?’”

“I don’t know. The music’s pretty good. You want to dance?”

“Sure, why not…”

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Impulsive Writing (12)

James Foster loves cranberry muffins.

“What do you think?”

“It sucks. The aim of the first sentence is to arouse curiosity.”

“Ok, how about this: James Foster would walk a mile for a cranberry muffin. Doesn’t that make you at least a little curious?”

“Not really.”

“Well what am I supposed to say? I can’t tell the whole story in the first sentence.”

“Let me give you an example: James Foster used to hate cranberry muffins. See the difference? It immediately raises a question: Why didn’t he like them, and what made him change his mind?”

“I see what you mean. But it wouldn’t be true. He’s always loved them.”

“It was just meant as an example. I don’t know what he likes or dislikes. I’m just trying to make a point. Write whatever you want. I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Wait a minute! Maybe I’m just trying to get into the story the wrong way. What if I started out with this instead:”

I have a wonderful blue ribbon named Nancy.

“You do? No kidding? How long have you had her?”

* * *

And so the story began…
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Impulsive Writing (11)

Sometimes everything is clear, but still makes no sense.

The lineman stood looking at the snake hanging out of an old switch box. He studied it for awhile, amazed at how it had been able to squeeze through a knockout in the bottom of the box and grab the mouse.     He reached over and pulled the mouse from the snake’s jaws and held it up by the tail. Not a very pretty sight, he thought, as he popped it into his mouth and began to chew. Ummm…a little rubbery, but not all that bad. After he swallowed the last of it he reached into his pocket, pulled out his knife, unfolded it and began cutting the snake into small, bite-size pieces.

Randy and his friend Matt were sitting in Randy’s living room watching a local news report about an unidentified lineman from the power company who’d “cannibalized” a snake while working in someone’s backyard. Apparently a neighbor had seen the incident from across the street, and caught most of it on his cell phone video.

“That sure does look like it might be Bob Ritter,” said Randy, as he took a swig of beer and winked at Matt. “He really is one strange character. I remember driving down 223 late one afternoon and seeing his truck pulled over by the side of the road near the old Johnson place. As I drove past I could see him bent over something that was lying on the ground. I slowed down a bit, thinking he might need some help. But he stood up and waved me on. That’s when I noticed that he was holding something bloody in his hands. I wondered what the hell he was up to. A couple of days later it occurred to me that I’d seen a dead coyote right around that same spot the day before.”

“I’ve been kinda wondering about him ever since. Did you know he pulls down nearly a hundred grand a year just taking care of them damn power lines?  I mean, you’d think with that kind of money he could at least afford to stop by Denny’s, or some other place when he got a little hungry.”

Randy finished his beer, then got up and went to the kitchen to get another. On the way he glanced over at Matt, who was stretched out in the recliner by the window. His eyes were closed, and it looked like he’d fallen asleep. But he wasn’t asleep. He’d been in that same position, noticeably decomposing for nearly three weeks.

They were having a conversation about how people in the area had been behaving very strangely over the past few months. Randy was in the kitchen making himself a sandwich, while Matt was describing in considerable detail the peculiar behavior of his next door neighbor. When Randy came back from the kitchen, Matt was still rambling on but his speech seemed to be getting slurred, and nothing he said was making any sense. Slowly his eyes began to close, and his voice gradually became inaudible. And then he stopped breathing. And that was that.

Matt was dead. But somehow that wasn’t enough to put an end to their friendship. As long as Matt remained sitting next to the window, Randy didn’t have to deal with him being gone, literally. It was a little like Norman Bates, in the film Psycho, who left his dead mother sitting upstairs for ten years in her rocking chair. Of course Randy knew he’d eventually have to face up to it and call someone. He just wasn’t ready yet.

He stood there for awhile, looking out the window. Then he patted Matt gently on the shoulder, and continued to the kitchen to get his beer.

* * *

The lineman was arrested a few days later while attempting to break into the home of Mr. Randolph Pierce, a local resident, who was recently hospitalized as a result of inhaling a near-lethal dose of Febreze air freshener.
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Impulsive Writing (10)

New study confirms cell phones responsible for permanent memory loss.

“Damn! That must be why I can’t remember Broderick Crawford’s name anymore! Next thing I know it will be Sophia Loren’s that’s gone!” With that ghastly thought in mind, he immediately pulls his cell phone out, gives it a kiss, then drop-kicks it over the bridge railing. As he watches it arc into the air it begins to ring.

Playing an excerpt of Beethoven’s 5th Symphony, the phone drops nearly a 100 feet to the water below, and sinks quickly to the bottom. A little over a second later, hand outstretched, he enters the water behind it. Unfortunately the river was only two feet deep at that point, and when his body was recovered it took the coroner’s assistant a good five minutes to remove what was left of the phone from what was left of his face.

* * *

Probably not the best way to “kick” a dangerous habit. 
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Impulsive Writing (9)

How does one treat chronic imbecility?

Mix equally 1/2 tablespoon of cinnamon and honey. Soak two small gauze pads in the mixture until saturated, apply one to each of your eyes and wrap a diaper around your head to hold in place. This won’t interfere directly with your imbecility, but will spare you from seeing the consequences of being blindly stupid for up to 8 hours.

* * *

If you don’t have honey and cinnamon handy, a cyanide pill will produce a similar result. It will also act more quickly, and the effect generally lasts a bit longer.
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Impulsive Writing (8)

If you could only walk in his shoes.

There once was a king who had everything. Except happiness. One day he decided to search the kingdom to find the happiest man. He would then walk for a day in the man’s shoes, and thus hope to learn the secret of his happiness.

After an exhaustive search the happiest man was finally discovered and brought, smiling happily, before the king.

Unfortunately, the man wore no shoes.

The king was found several years later sleeping (happily and shoeless) under a freeway overpass near Lake Woebegone, MN.

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Impulsive Writing (7)

To thine own self be true.

Be Honest? Don’t listen to others? Do the right thing? Look out for yourself? What the hell does it mean?

He sat there, looking at the screen. Nothing. No thoughts, no ideas. The only thing he could find in his mind was the faint sound of an aria coming from the apartment downstairs. “Symbolic,”  he thinks. “I’m trying to get my mind wrapped around something said in a dark 16th century Danish castle, and it’s kicked back listening to a sunny 17th century Italian opera.” 

He closed his eyes, leaned back, and gave in to the rich, luxurient sounds from centuries ago.  And in doing so, he understood.

* * *

To thine own self be true? Simple. Ignore the thoughts on top…and listen to the music below.
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Impulsive Writing (6)

Some dreams carry beyond sleep.

At 6:30 AM the alarm went off. She reached over, pushed the snooze button and began curling back to sleep. She was almost there…then remembered a conference call was scheduled that morning. Reluctantly she threw the covers aside and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

That’s when she first sensed that something wasn’t quite right; her feet touched the floor sooner than expected, as though the bed was lower than it should be, and her legs seemed lighter than usual. She stood up and began moving toward the bathroom. That’s when she noticed it wasn’t only her legs that felt lighter, her entire body felt that way.  ”I must still be dreaming,” she thought, as she stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. 

Impulsive Writing (5)

Two birds are sitting on a powerline, facing in opposite directions.

One bird is looking at a sunny green hillside dotted with grazing sheep and a few scattered horses near the top. The other is looking over a busy street in the town below. The first bird suddenly drops from the wire and flies to a clump of trees high on the hillside. The other stays a little longer, then swoops down over the street and lands on a parking meter.

* * *

Neither bird knows where the other went. Or why.

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Impulsive Writing (4)

It was one of those days.

A
pen
came down
to write this
day upon a sheet
of paper. It started
at the top left side and
wrote some words to savor. 

A
pair
of eyes 
came down 
to read what
pen was writing
they found it tidy
but very unexciting.

* * *

One of those days that would have been better spent choppin wood.
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Impulsive Writing (3)

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My name is Mrs. Cuthbert, and I want to report some obscene behavior across the street from my house.

Around 5:00 AM his cell phone began to ring. Chris reached down from the bed, grabbed his pants off the floor, rummaged through pockets until he found the phone, flipped it open, checked the number (it was Chuck, his next door neighbor), then pressed the “talk” button: