Monday, October 24, 2005

Witch thought extinct rediscovered

SALEM Oct 20, 2005 — The red ribbon witch, once prized for its red ribbon and sought by American Indians as magical, was thought to be extinct for years. Now it's been sighted again and conservationists are exulting.
The striking witch, last seen in 1939, has been rediscovered in the Dark Woods area of Salem Massachusetts, scientists and conservationists reported Thursday.
"This is thrilling beyond words … after 66 years of fading hope that we would ever see this spectacular witch again," Patrick S. Stumpworth, grand warlock of the Wolf Covenant, said at a news conference.
Since early 2004 there have been several independent sightings, including one caught on videotape, of one or more of the witches, Stumpworth said.
That video of the witches 4-foot tall frame and distinctive red markings on the head and feet confirmed the presence of the creature that seemed to have vanished after excess witch hunting destroyed its habitat.
The discovery of living examples of a breed believed to be extinct is rare, said Kassandra Pagany, director of science at the National Witching Society. "Wow," she said. "This is tremendous."
Interior Secretary Tess Desmond and Wicca Culture Secretary Anton Blavatsky promised millions of dollars in federal assistance to work with the state and local residents to protect this witch.
"Don't love this witch to death," Desmond added, saying there have been a lot of witch watchers swarming the area to get a glimpse.
Stumpworth’s report was released by the American Association for the Advancement of Science, which is publishing the study in the Journal of Witchcraft Science, and also announced by the Nature Conservancy.
Bevan Broomsmith of Ontario, Canada, said the discovery brought tears to his eyes. Broomsmith was part of the Blair Witch Covenant that spent a month unsuccessfully trying to confirm reports of the red ribbon witch in Louisiana in 2001.
"The implications are staggering," he said.
(Note:  Please enhance the red ribbon witch image into any mentally artistic or realistic imagery that comes to mind.)   

Thursday, October 20, 2005


So I was feeling a little down when I met my buddy at the bowling alley. I carried my ball in a large paint bucket because my brother had used my bowling bag to hold the bounty he caught on a fishing trip.

The first thing my buddy said was, “you look like a loser. No one carries their ball in a bucket!”

So we sat down in the alley for a cup of coffee before our game, and my buddy asks, “Would you rob a bank if you had a ‘get out of jail free card’ ?”
“What kind of question is that?” I said.
“Well, would you?”
“Nah, I’d rather rob an armored car, less people involved.”
“How would you do it?”
“Without hurting anybody,“ I said. “It would have to be an inside job.”
“I could be the insider.” He said.
“No, you’re an idiot, and can’t lie if your life depended on it.”
“True.” He said. “But I don’t want to split it with anyone else, so you would have to be the insider.”
“Who said you’d be in on it?”
“It was my idea?”
“This is not even real, you’re not going to be part of it.”
“Then I’ll tell.”
“Go ahead, it’s not even real, and besides I get a ‘get out of jail free card.”
“I can’t believe you’d cut me out like that, and it was my idea.” He said.
“Well you’re ratting me out, before I even have a plan! Idiot!”
“I couldn’t trust you anyway!”
“Look who’s talking. Rat!”
He gets up to go to the head. While he’s away, a cute girl says goodbye to her friends, and comes up and looks in my bucket. She thought there was a kitten in there or something. We start talking and my buddy comes back from the head with a hand full of paper towels he uses to clean the holes of the rental bowling balls. He takes over the conversation and asks her if she knew where he can get some cheap bowling shoes. (he hates having to use rental shoes that others have worn.) And she knows someone! They get into a conversation and I find out she’s related to Pocahontas. I sit there watching them interact and realize I’m out of the equation. After 15 minutes they end up leaving together, and I’m left alone with my bucket feeling like a loser and thanking God I wasn’t wearing my bowling shirt. I did not even get to bowl. Whose cutting who out, I thought. And it was MY bucket, and she was MY catch!

So I order a cheese burger and pushed the bucket out with my foot to see what else I could catch. A girl soon comes up and looks in the bucket, then smiles at me. But she’s like 9 years old. I ask her, “your not really in your 30’s, but look really young are you?” (hey, you never know.) She says, “no” and walks away. Then I see her with her friends looking in my direction giggling. I feel like a loser…

Monday, October 10, 2005

Right and Wrong







The above associated drawings are imaginary drawings, pictures if you will in your mind.  You can't see them unless you tap into the infinite hologramatical universe where they are filed in the DNA of  electromagnetic pulses created by holistic bits of code.

For the following, you have to first imagine looking at a photo of a grid with black lines and white dots at each intersection of black lines.  

How many black dots can you count at any one time?
Are the black dots really there? Or do we just perceive they are there?
Perhaps the difference between right and wrong is not there either.
Perhaps we just create a perception of right and wrong to help us survive in this physical world.

Saturday, October 08, 2005

Blue Star: Part 1

Okay, I decided to write a story as a hobby, in addition to my Monday Funny. I thought I'd post it on my blog as I write it, for those that may feel like reading sometime, and so I can read it too. I never tried to write a long story before because I have no patience, or any real writing skills. But if I do it in short parts, maybe I can hang with it. It’s fun so far, so I think I will just do it and see how it goes.

Kidd Parker was a big man with a big appetite. At six foot three and a trim 230 pounds, he found himself eating a lot. It was warm out, but he felt cool in his sleeveless black tee-shirt and blue jeans, sitting on his Harley Heritage Classic smoking a cig, and eying the attractive girl in the KFC through the window. He had already eaten at Arby’s, but now he craved a chicken sandwich, a coke, and the girl behind the counter. He put the cig out on the bottom of his boot and walked in, still wearing his shades. He took long fluid strides and moved effortlessly with animal grace. The enormous strength in his legs propelled him forward like a well tuned machine, and his confident demeanor gave him an overpowering presence.
“Hi, how can I help you?” The woman behind the counter spoke calmly, but stared at the intrusive looking customer with a hint of fear.
“Can I have a Coke and a Horny Chicken Barbeque sandwich please?”
Honey,” she corrected.
“Well, hi sugar,” he said whimsically as he leaned in with a smirk on his face, looking for a name badge, but there wasn’t any. She looked older than he would have thought for a counter girl—more his age—and that pleased him. And even in jeans and a light sweater top, she looked quite sophisticated and strikingly beautiful.
“No, I meant, it’s a Honey Chicken sandwich. Is that all for you?” She smiled, wondering why this older guy was acting like a big kid.
“No, I’d also like you to get something for yourself and meet me outside.” Kidd slapped a twenty on the counter and slowly walked backwards towards the door.
“What?” Her eyes twinkled. Now that was more like it, she thought. This is a man talking. She was used to men coming on to her, and why not, she was thirty-nine, available, and attractive. Well she had a few wrinkles around the edges, but her short sassy brown hair still graced her face, and her wide youthful smile made her look in her late twenties still.
“It’s too nice a day to be working; we’re going to the beach and you’re invited. You like the beach? “ Kidd paused.
“What? Are you kidding? Who’s we?” She did like the beach, and she loved the idea of going—but with a complete stranger? She was there at the KFC just checking up on a few things anyway--she owned the franchise, and stopped in occasionally to mosey around. And she was well off financially; she lived a comfortable life, created each day as it came, so yeah, she could do whatever she wanted to do.
“No, I’m not 'kidding', but your close, my name’s Kidd. And the ‘we’ is you and me. Come on, it’ll be fun. I’ll be waiting right out there," Kidd gestured to a point just outside the door.

One can’t do too much talking on a bike traveling 80-90 miles per hour on the freeway. But Adrian Miles felt safe clinging to Kidd on his bike. She felt a freedom she had never felt before--a freedom born from the sound of a V-twin, and the feel of the rushing wind blowing against her face. And the thunderous vibrations emanating from her seat overwhelmed her with yet another freedom that liberated her loins and tightened her clutch around Kidd. And without her permission, the vibrations and the warmth of Kidd’s closeness shattered her into a billion pieces as involuntary moans escaped her, and the raging wind penetrated her, ravished her, and became one with her and the Kidd. After three more cycles of inner explosions she became dehydrated and almost fainted.

Before Adrian could even start to think about what possessed her into going with Kidd, she found herself wrapped in a rented wet suit, paddling a double kayak in the Monterey Bay, with Kidd in back this time. She had never seen the ocean from a perspective from being on the ocean before. A seagull hovered just feet away from her head, she could almost touch it. A pelican dove into the water to her right and she could see it dive at least four feet under the water to nab a small fish. They coasted past a 30 foot long anchored metal boat, abandoned except for the six large seals basking in the sun on the deck, barking like dogs. How did they get up there? She felt another rush of freedom. And she felt an unfamiliar happiness.

Kidd powered the kayak towards a small beach landing where other kayakers were sprinkled about. A wall of rock separated the beach from small gift shops, restaurants and the main stripe, busy with tourists, bicyclists, and locals out for a good time. They beached their boat and walked up the stone steps with food on their minds--one can get pretty hungry after a few hours of kayaking. When they strolled into a small café that advertised clam chowder in a bread bowl, Adrian felt like she was in a James Bond movie. All eyes where on her and Kidd in their wet suits. She imagined that everyone was wondering who they were, and if they were thinking if she and Kidd were marine biologists or maybe secret agents on a mission.

The chowder was clammy but good, and they sat and talked about the animals and sights they’ve seen so far, and how they both smelled like salt. And Adrian could not stop looking at the Kidd. His strong arms complimented his broad shoulders and stern dimpled chin. He was hard and muscular, yet his dark hair and knowing look gave him a dignified appearance. Other than knowing that Kidd was good looking and can eat, she still didn’t know anything about him. They had only taken time for a brief exchange of names at the KFC. And Kidd had polished down his horny chicken sandwich in less than two minutes, tossed her his black leather jacket and skull cap helmet from his saddle bags, and off to the beach they went. Kidd did not even question how she could leave work on such short notice, or what such a sophisticated lady as herself was doing behind a counter at KFC in the first place.

“So what’s next Kiddo? “ Adrian finally asked, her mouth and eyes behaving more seductively than she realized. But she liked him, liked his mysteriousness, and had no intention to spoil the fun by analyzing anything at the moment. She just wanted to play and live, and feel her desire for this man grow. And get on that bike again!
“Do you like Cats?” Kidd prompted, struggling to control his own primeval desire to take Adrian in his arms right there on the table.
“I prefer dogs.”
“No, I mean the Broadway Show ‘Cats’, it’s playing tomorrow night in San Francisco. I happen to have two tickets, and you’re invited...”

…To be continued.

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

Monday Monday!

I just got harassed by the Federal Blog Controller Agency (FBCA) for not making my Monday Post. They came to my house at 12:01 am Tuesday and dragged me to court. I tried to defend myself but Al Gore, the head of the FBCA, caught me dead to rights and fined me $5000. Here are the court proceedings:

Gore: Records show you were late on your Monday Post.
Vince: I posted it on time; it was a computer glitch, power surge or something.
Gore: That’s impossible, our computer technology is state-of-the-art and it does not lie. I want answers.
Vince: You want answers?
Gore: I think I'm entitled to them.
Vince: You want answers?
Gore: I want the truth!
Vince: You can't handle the truth! Son, we live in a world that has walls. And those walls have to be manned by men who make decisions. Who's gonna do it? You? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for the Blogger yet you curse a Late Post. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know: that a certain decision, while tragic, probably enhances lives. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, enhances lives...You don't want the truth. Because deep down, in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me on that wall. You need me on that wall. We use words like blog honor, blog code, blog loyalty...we use these words as the backbone to a life spent achieving something. You use 'em as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very Blog I provide, then questions the manner in which I provide it! I'd rather you just said thank you and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest you click on a mouse and man a Blog. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you're entitled to!
Gore: Were you late on your Monday Post?
Vince: (quietly) I did the job God sent me to do.

(spoof on a movie dialog between Jack Nicholson and Tom Cruz.)