Friday, April 24, 2015

The Black Leather Gloved Hands Mystery Series--story eight

Hello All:
I had no idea that yesterday was St. George's day. No, not the canonized Saint George who was martyred for going against the Roman emperor for beheading Christians.
St. George's day on the 23rd of April, rather, belongs to the late mystic and occult writer, George Adamski who served as one of the greatest 1950s extra terrestrial contactees. We've written plenty about his space brothers on the blog--in particular, the Cableman fantasy series.
Gerard Aartsen made this comment on Facebook which sums it up quite well: "50 Years ago today, on 23 April 1965 (St George's Day), George Adamski concluded his incarnation on Earth, having fulfilled his mission of informing the world of the existence and continued visits of people from other planets. Never wavering from the facts, undeterred by intimidation and undistracted by the fleeting riches of fame and money, George Adamski was the bravest of all the contactees of the 1950s"
***
Check out this nice shot of the sunset. While taking it, a flying saucer appeared over the rooftops. Does it look fishy to you? Does it look like, maybe, I might have used photo-shop to insert the flying saucer? Let me tell you that this is not the case. Rather, I used the cool app called UFO in Photo. You can download a free copy and start inserting flying saucers in your favorite pictures. I've got a ways to go before I can perfect them to look real.
Here's one I took while hiking on a nature trail. I noticed that the forest preserve district had done some prescribed burning that just so happened to be in an area which was once railroad tracks. They probably hadn't been used in a number of decades. Curious I ventured over to the area to investigate and was suddenly confronted by the flying saucer as seen in the image.  As you can see, it’s very close. I believe this is a Venusian
scout ship. It’s probably the space brothers. They might be planning on contacting me in the near future.
***
Today's featured writing is a new installment of the Black Leather Gloved Hands mystery series. We finally get a break in the case and begin to solve the mystery. Oh, but it's not the police who learn these things. It's you, the reader.
Have a great weekend, and keep your eye on the sky for any flying saucers that may come your way.
By the way: the main character in this story is named George. In no way is this intended to have anything to do with the late George Adamski. It's simply coincidence.
The Black Leather Gloved Hands Mystery Series--story eight
It was Tuesday morning as George sat in a conference room with his boss for a one-on-one meeting. It was a serious meeting that addressed George's inappropriate behavior from yesterday afternoon. Recall that another video was made of George's wife, Krystal, being brutally raped in the back of the mysterious stranger's van. As usual, the recording was sent to all of George's coworkers and boss. Upon seeing this video, George went berserk and threw computers around the room while smashing office furniture.
"Listen George..." began the boss at their one-on-one meeting. "... I understand that you are going through a terrible crisis at home. And I believe I've been sensitive to your circumstance. If you need to take some time off work—use FMLA or accumulated personal time—you are more than welcome to do so. But I cannot have another episode like yesterday afternoon."
"WHAT???" shouted George. His face was beet-red with perspiration running down. George's heart was thrown into hyper-drive.
"Easy, George! What did I just say?” demanded the boss. Now I'm really sorry to say this, but if your outbreaks persist and you continue to destroy company property while shouting profanity, I'm going to have to let you go—fire you."
"I can't believe this!" argued George. "My wife is being repeatedly attacked by some psycho, and you're threatening to fire me?"
"George, like I said, if you need to take some personal time and get things straightened out at home; you can do so. In fact, I would strongly encourage you to do this. I mean you're not even productive here at work, anymore."
"I can't believe this shit!" answered George upon standing up from his chair. He stormed out of the conference room, through the front office, and to the hallway. He needed to get away for a few minutes before he used any more profanity, or worse, beat up the boss. At the moment, George couldn't see how his circumstance was being considered. I suppose he felt as-if he were being treated unfairly.
George nearly punched the door of the restroom open. While storming over to the sink to splash cold water on his face, he heard something; something like a video recording being played on a cell phone from the far bathroom stall.
"I'll tell you what you can do with this gun, Bitch... Suck it...! Suck the barrel of this gun...!  “Do it like you mean it...! Do it like you want me to blow my load...!"
George heard that before! It was the video recording of Krystal's recent rape. What sort of sick-minded person was hiding in the bathroom stall to watch it? George just had to see.
"Keep sucking, you bitch! Don't stop!"
With unbelievable fury, George kicked the door to the stall open. He kicked so hard that it had been ripped off the hinges. And there sat Steve, the office rookie, with phone in one hand and erect penis in the other. He was masturbating to Krystal's brutal rape.
"WHAT THE FUCK?????" Shouted George. Due to injury to his knuckles brought on by excessive punching of the walls, he was unable to do so at the moment to release rage. But that didn't stop him from reaching into the stall, grabbling Steve by the throat, and dragging him out into the main restroom area.
Terrified for his life; Steve still had his pants down to his ankles, and exhibiting a shrinking erection.
"This is going to hurt, Bitch! I warn you!" The cell phone lay on the floor of the bathroom stall with video still playing  Krystal's rape.
"YOU SICK FUCKING SON-OF-A-BITCH!" shouted George upon grasping his hand around Steve's throat, and repeatedly blasting his rage-powered fist into his face. It was like smashing a tomato. Blood ran and splattered all over Steve's face and George’s fist. Some even got on the surrounding walls. And when George was frustrated with the slippage from excessive blood, he moved to repeatedly punching his coworker in the stomach and ribs.
Steve could no longer take the beating. He would have collapsed on the floor had it not been from George's strong grip and arm holding him up by the neck. Steve did finally manage to kneel as George's strength gave in. But this only invited an onslaught of kicks to the head and face until Steve finally collapsed.
With Steve bloody, bruised, and unconscious from the severe trauma; George was satisfied.
"Get the fuck out of here, Bitch! I'll see you next time!" The cell phone that lay on the floor in the bathroom stall ended the recording of Krystal's brutal rape in the stranger's van.
***
It was Wednesday afternoon as Krystal sat in the kitchen and nervously spoke on the phone. Her husband remained in jail and waited to be released. This was his third time being incarcerated since the episodes of Krystal's rape began. As always, it was due to George's poor decisions and outbreaks of anger which led to arrest. But would he be able to get out this time after beating his coworker bloody? Would his police commissioner friend be able to rescue him?
"He's still in jail." explained Krystal on the phone.
"Do you think he'll get fired?" asked a male's voice.
"When talking to him, he mentioned that would surely lose his job." answered Krystal. "I don't know what we're going to do."
"Well, give him some time to suffer and break down.” said the male’s voice. “I can pull some strings and have him at a new job in no time. But let's see where his mind goes for the next couple of weeks."
"Okay..." answered Krystal. "I just don't know if we'll be financially stable while he looks for work."
"Don't worry about it!" reassured the male's voice. "Let me know when you start to notice finances being strained. Like I said; I can pull some strings and have him at a new place in no time—probably making more money than before."
"Okay... I'll just have to trust you."
"Yes, trust me." persuaded the male's voice. Then he changed the conversation to a new topic. "We're going to have to set up another encounter in the near future. But I think we'll do it in a few weeks when your husband gets back to work."
Krystal sighed. "Could you... maybe... go a little easier on me next time? You really hurt me on Monday morning. I'm still bleeding when I go to the bathroom."
"Anal sex can do that." explained the male's voice on the phone. "Especially when it's forceful."
"And I think we need to be extra careful to make sure we don't get caught." further explained Krystal. "The police were here. I think they are onto what's happening."
Just at that very moment, a technician for the police detective's department succeeded into hacking Krystal's cell phone. No, the police didn't have a search warrant, or authorization from Krystal's cell phone carrier to monitor phone calls. But the police needed information to help crack the case open. Too bad the only thing that was recorded at that moment was the end of the phone conversation.
"... onto what's happening..." were the first words from Krystal that were recorded.
"Well try not to worry." insisted a male's voice. "I'll call you later this week for any updates."
"Okay... bye..."
"Bye..."
And that was the end of the first cell phone conversation of Krystal’s ever recorded by the police. You and I got to hear much more, of course. And if George new of the details of this call he would have surely shouted, "WHAT THE FUCK???"
I'm sure you're thinking that right about now.

To be continued...

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

Upon Visiting the Saturanian Solar System

Hello All:
Check out the video that features 1940s workout machines for women. I suppose in their day that they were considered the cutting edge of high technology. And who knows; maybe they actually did work. Who are we to laugh?
There is one thing I find unusual with this video. At around 35 seconds into it, there's a woman standing on some kind ladder that's fastened to the wall. What in the world is she doing???
Do check out the video. (You might have to sit through an advertisement, first. sorry.) Similar machines set the stage for the end of today's brand new Cableman story.
Upon Visiting the Saturanian Solar System
It was after 5:00—nearly evening—as the Cableman pushed himself through another grueling workout at the gym. At the bench press station he stacked enough plates on the barbell to weigh 270 pounds. Then he grunted his way through three sets, each with a thirty second rest in between. When finished, he could feel that he might have strained his rotator cuffs a bit. But as the Cableman always felt; no pain, no gain.
The Cableman next sat at the dumbbell curl machine and alternated between left and right a total of fifty pounds per arm. It was his usual regimen of three sets with a thirty second rest in between. When finished, he could feel that his bicep tendons were a bit strained. But again; no pain, no gain.
The Cableman sat at the lat pull down machine and selected 180 pounds. With the wide grip bar fastened, he made every rep count. He forced the bar behind his head to make contact with his back; completely unaware that this is one of the most harmful exercises of them all. Lat pull downs cause unnatural rotation of the shoulders which can lead to damage of the joint's connective tissues. Very few people realize this until it's too late. Still, the Cableman couldn't help but notice how his upper back was really developing from this exercise. But how long would it be before he received an injury from this machine?
The Cableman worked his way through the entire circuit of machines, and was sure to stack plenty of weight. After the weights, he reported to the indoor track for a high-paced run (not jog!). It was the Cableman's goal to run a mile in six minutes—completely unreal for someone his age. He did, however, consider the fact that he's getting old; and would be happy with somewhere under six and a half minutes.
The Cableman ran like a maniac around the track, passing up those who enjoyed a moderate jog. His chest felt like it was going to explode while nearly choking and gasping for air. Really the Cableman isn't as unhealthy as it might have looked. He's actually in good shape. But he was pushing himself too hard in the gym, and this is how fitness junkies harm themselves.    
Eight laps around the track equals one mile. On his final lap, the Cableman glanced at the stopwatch on his phone and could see that he had crossed the six minute mark.
"Come-on! Keep it under six and a half!" the Cableman thought while mustering whatever life and energy he had left to sprint with all his might.
The stop watch counted, " 6:10... 6:15... 6:20... 6:21..."
And that's when the Cableman finally slowed down. He succeeded in running eight laps around the track; one mile completed in six minutes and twenty-one seconds!
But don't be so quick to congratulate the Cableman. You see, the feat was actually the stupidest thing that he ever did. As the Cableman slowed down he felt a series of hot flashes against his face along with cold sweat. He saw spots and swirls of light on the walls and floors. And then came the frightening ringing in his ears. In those few moments while walking around the track to slow his heart down, the Cableman realized that he might very well have done something harmful to himself.
Suddenly, the Cableman saw a most unlikely person on the running track. It was Orthon, the space brother from Saturn who—in recent times—disguised himself as a corporate manager for the cable company. Recall that Orthon visited some weeks ago, and rode with the Cableman. In those hours he had given the Cableman unrestricted access to the underground network of military, pneumatic, high-speed transport tubes.
Orthon was now some feet ahead of the Cableman on the running track, and happened to notice the Earth cadet upon glancing behind. "Cableman?" he carefully called out.
"Yes... Is that you, Orthon?"
"Yes it is!" affirmed Orthon.
"What are you doing here?" asked the Cableman. "Are you traveling on business and doing another visit?"
"No, I'm just getting in a nice jog after my workout." As the Cableman came closer, Orthon noticed that he appeared ill. "Wow! Are you okay, Cableman?"
"Yeah, I'm just cooling down after my workout. I ran a mile in six minutes and twenty-one seconds. I feel like I'm dying."
"Well you look like you're dying!" warned Orthon. "You really shouldn't be doing that. Don't you know anything about health and fitness? It isn't good to push yourself."
"Huh?" challenged the Cableman. "That's the only way to see results, isn't it?"
Orthon laughed. "I forget how behind Earth people are in their understanding of science, medicine and health. I can tell you right now that pushing yourself way beyond your limits isn't going to do anything positive for your health. I mean just look at you! Do you want to give yourself a heart attack? And you probably caused all sorts of injury to your joints and muscles while lifting weights, too."
The Cableman sighed. "Yes I did. I just don't know of any other way."
Orthon patted the Cableman on the back "Why don't you come outside with me for a moment? I want to show you something."
"Sure..." agreed the Cableman. "What is it?"
"Trust me, Cableman." persuaded Orthon while escorting his earthbound space brother cadet out the front entrance of the gym. Soon the two walked towards the edge of the parking lot until reaching a rather sporty and stylish flying saucer parked some distance away from the other cars. The craft took up four parking spots, and had red and blue ground effect lighting that slowly flashed.
A small door that was previously not visible opened on the side. A plank extended to the asphalt to allow entering the ship.
"Coming?" motioned Orthon to the Cableman.
"Umm... Sure... I don't know why I feel so uneasy about getting into a flying saucer. I do, after all, own one myself."
Orthon laughed. Both he and the Cableman climbed aboard the flying saucer. Once inside, the plank raised from the asphalt, and the door closed behind them. Inside there were no visible controls, panels or compartments; just a sitting area that wrapped around the circular wall.
"Have a seat." said Orthon as he sat down.
The Cableman did as ordered.
Suddenly, the Cableman noticed that Orthon was wearing different clothes. He was no longer dressed in Earth-appearing workout attire. He, instead, wore a silver jumpsuit that had the runic symbol, Thurisaz, printed on its chest. What's more; Orthon now had long hair. He looked, exactly, as the late George Adamski once described him.
"Now you see me for who I truly am; not my Earth disguise." explained Orthon.
"I see..." answered the Cableman.
"This is a Saturanian two man scout ship that can actually accommodate three people." began Orthon. "Although it would be a tight fit with three people." Orthon waved his hand at one of the walls. A control panel that was previously unseen now appeared. Orthon pressed a few lighted buttons on an interactive screen, after which the ship simply lifted into the air as if gliding. There were no sounds or indicators of machinery driving the ship. It seemed to operate on some space aged levitation technology.
As the ship cruised into the sky Orthon continued to explain, "These scout ships typically dock with a mother ship out in space. We used to do that for safety before the Arcturian starship, Athena, patrolled the larger solar system.
"Oh, I've been on Starship, Athena." commented the Cableman. "It's nice."
"Plenty of people have toured and visited since its arrival. And with the larger solar system safe from Draconian attack, this scout ship can make it all the way back to the Saturanian solar system. It's one hundred percent capable of making the journey."
"Saturanian solar system?" asked the Cableman.
"Oh, I'm sorry." apologized Orthon. "Most Earth people don't understand that the gaseous giants of the larger solar system are actually small solar systems. A planet such as Saturn is large enough to generate its own heat to sustain life on its orbiting moons. That's where we are heading: the Saturanian moon, Titan; a beautiful, life-sustaining moon that has seasons similar to Earth."
"Oh, I get it now!" exclaimed the Cableman. So when you refer to the larger solar system, you mean the solar system that Saturn belongs to.
"Right!" affirmed Orthon.
Suddenly, the Cableman realized that they were no longer near Earth. They were in outer space, somewhere. "Where the heck are we?" he asked.
Orthon pointed to an approaching planet through the ship's window. "Maybe that will give you a clue. Does that look familiar?"
"Is that the moon?" asked the Cableman.
Orthon laughed. "No, your Earth moon is far away. We are approaching the red planet, Mars. But you better look quickly. We will pass it up sooner than you realize." As he said this, Mars grew in size until scout ship whisked past it. In the rear window, the planet quickly reduced in size.
"Whoa!" exclaimed the Cableman. "How fast are we going?"
"Pretty fast!" answered Orthon. We need to get to Titan and then back to Earth. Now let's talk about your workouts—what you might be doing wrong in the gym. This notion of pushing yourself to the point of doing harm might one day be criticized and laughed at by future generations. Imagine what the people of the future might say about today's snapshot of health and fitness.
With that, a 3-D holographic screen with moving images took up the center of the ship. It displayed what one might perceive as a humorous photo gallery or internet article that circulates through social media. The subject of the presentation was health and fitness in the dark ages of the 21st century.
There was an image of a champion body builder with words flashing along the screen, "Health and fitness in the early 21st century: Thank goodness these days are long gone! People imagined themselves to be super athletes with super human strength. This body builder believed that he was the model of health after turning himself into a science experiment. But don't ask him to actually do any work with those monstrous muscles. He can't move very well!"
A very slim female with zero fat and toned muscle appeared next. "Ah, yes... people used to starve and deprive themselves of essential nutrients, just to maintain the desired body of no fat. And while doing this, they would subject their bodies to incredible stress so that they could attain muscle atrophy. Funny... people valued bodies that were becoming damaged from physical strain back in those days.”
A hard core runner appeared next. "Everyone knows that aerobic exercise is good for us. Why not subject your heart and body to running 26.2 miles? Not up to it? All you need to do is train and build up to that point—teach your body to obey your insane cause. Oh, you might get all sorts of repetitive and weight-bearing knee, hip and ankle injuries; but think of what you've accomplished? Don't forget to starve and deprive yourself of vital nutrients so that you are lighter. Never mind electrolyte imbalances. Some people devoted many years to this activity and ended up receiving hip and knee replacements.”
A high school student in football gear appeared next. "Early 21st century health and fitness wasn't just limited to adults. Kids pushed themselves to the limits as well. They trained in the hot, summer sun; dressed in heavy gear and losing vital fluids. This particular sport called football was identified as a full contact sport. It encouraged participants to smash into one another at full force. Kids ended up with concussions. Some even died. You've got to love football! You have to love it so much that you are willing to die for it! And of course it offered its share of damaged knees, broken necks and backs, etc."
The next image was that of someone simply doing pushups. "Pectorals under extreme muscle atrophy were heavily valued in men. In fact, men who didn't have them were often humiliated. Men with atrophied pectorals would often brag of being able to a hundred pushups or more in one set. But, as you might suspect, this extreme activity put undue stress on the shoulders. Plenty of men suffered from damaged rotator cuffs and torn shoulder muscles.
A container of creatine appeared next. "Not reaching your fitness goals as quickly as you like? How about a cocktail of creatine monohydrate? Despite how many people were diagnosed with kidney failure and ended up on dialysis from using this compound, athletes swore that it was 100% safe and natural. Many believed that creatine monohydrate was absolutely necessary to support their lifestyle."
The 3D holographic screen suddenly vanished. "So what did you think?" asked Orthon. "Might you see anything wrong with what you are doing in the gym?"
The Cableman sighed, "Yeah, they've got a good point. I guess I should start taking it easy in the gym."
"The key is moderation, Cableman." explained Orthon. “Plus, health and fitness isn't just limited to the gym. You should do plenty of recreational sports like bike riding, canoeing, skiing, and surfing. There's no limit. Whatever you do, stay active. But don't torture yourself."
"But I saw you running on the track, too." argued the Cableman.
"I was." agreed Orthon. "But there's a difference. I was doing a moderate jog to exercise my heart. You were running for dear life, and ignored your body's plea for you to stop."
"I see..." said the Cableman.
"There's Saturn and the splendid rings." announced Orthon while pointing out the window.
"Oh wow!" exclaimed the Cableman. "That's awesome! I never realized how beautiful the rings of Saturn are." Then the Cableman saw one of the nearby moons and pointed to it. "Is that were we are going?"
"No, that's Enceladus" answered Orthon. "That's home to the Jötnar or Frost Giants. It's their new world of Jötunheimr. You see, the Frost Giants are receiving their much-deserved punishment by living in a place that is perfect for them. The moon, Enceladus, is a bit of a frozen wasteland. Really, it's beautiful with its frozen oceans, towering icebergs, and snowy mountains. But you wouldn't want to stay there for long.”
"Why are they being punished?" asked the Cableman.
"The Frost Giants do everything in their power to impede the expansion of consciousness and awareness. Why, once they tried to force their way into the realm of Asgard to defeat the Æsir."
"I remember hearing about that." said the Cableman.
"And here's Titan..." announced Orthon. "Let's visit one of my favorite gyms, and see how the local people workout."
Suddenly, the Cableman found himself in some space-aged lounge with high-tech, trippy, psychedelic jazz music playing in the background. Both he and Orthon sat side-by-side in lounge chairs and overlooking what initially appeared to be a weight machine room that one would see at a gym. The users of these machines were nothing more than gorgeous space sisters dressed in skimpy, two-pieced, silver bikinis and wearing high-heeled shoes. The machines had no weights. Instead, they were automated devices that simply rolled up and down the space sisters’ bodies. They were getting nothing more than a high tech massage to their bare thighs, scantily-covered asses, and perky tits. And they seemed to be enjoying it a little too much.
"That's a workout?" asked the Cableman.
"It is." answered Orthon. “Don’t you feel it?”
A space sister dressed in two-piece bikini and high-heels approached both the Cableman and Orthon with a tray. There were two wine glasses and bowl of fruit. "Here you go, gentlemen."
"Why thank you!" answered the Cableman. He picked up the wine glass and then asked Orthon, "What's in here?"
"Mead..." answered the Orthon before taking a quick sip of his drink. "... Space brothers and sisters drink lots of mead!"
The Cableman took a sip of his drink. "Mmm... I've had mead before, but this particular brand is excellent. But don't you find that mead makes you horny?"
Orthon laughed, "Indeed it does! We need to keep up with all those space sisters."
Just then, a gorgeous, large-breasted blond in two piece bikini approached the Cableman. With her bright, blue eyes nearly glowing she asked him, "Would you like to work out in the orgasm chamber with me?"
"What's the orgasm chamber?" the Cableman asked Orthon.
"I'll let her show you what it is." answered Orthon. And as the Cableman got up from his seat, he reminded him, "Just remember; people back on Earth won't believe you if you tell them about all of this."
Suddenly, the Cableman felt someone shaking his shoulder. "Hey buddy! Buddy, are you conscious?"
The Cableman opened his eyes and saw a paramedic standing over him. "Oh, man! What's going on?"
The paramedic answered, "You're in the back of an ambulance and on your way to the hospital. It looks like you might have been pushing yourself a little too hard in the gym and passed out. Did you eat today?"
"Yeah..."
"Well, maybe you need to take it easy when you work out. You'll probably be admitted for the night for observation."
The Cableman nearly cried, "But I want see the orgasm chamber!"

The paramedic laughed. "Sure you do! That's what they all say!"

Monday, April 20, 2015

Illegal Cargo

Hello All:
Happy Marijuana Day!
If you are connected to the pot-smoking subculture of America, then you know the significance of April 20th. 4/20 brings to mind the secret code that pot smokers share, 420.
But where does the code, 420, come from? Contrary to popular belief, 420 is not the radio code that police officers use to warn that cannabis smoking is/was in progress. Rather it's a secret code that a small group of California high school students had used in the early 1970s to indicate that they would be smoking pot at the "usual spot". And they found out, these meetings most often took place at 4:20 in the afternoon. From there, they simply passed notes back and forth or talked on the phone in secret code. Perhaps someone might have said, "I'll meet you after school at 4:20."
Today people continue to use it. Perhaps you've heard one of your friends tell you, "There will be some 420 going on on at that party." Unfortunately, it's not such a secret anymore. Everyone knows what 420 means.
Our friend, the Cableman, certainly knows a thing or two about 420. In recent stories he's been enjoying his blends of cannabis with a nice water bong that has Kenneth Arnold flying saucer print all over it. Here's one of my favorite scenes of the Cableman getting high in his cable truck:
There was one activity that the Cableman could do while sitting alone in his truck. He reached into his pocked and pulled out a plastic baggie full of limey-green, moist Hawaiian skunk marijuana; a one-hitter bowl and a lighter. Smoking cannabis while on the job was strictly forbidden. In fact, one could not even enjoy it on a Friday night, long after quitting time. The Cableman knew this, and knew that if by some chance he was involved in an accident or some mishap, there would be a toxicology screening.
But life was always a gamble for the Cableman. He unrolled the baggie which immediately filled the truck with the scent of fresh Hawaiian skunk—literally like the smell of a dead skunk that might blow into your window on a late, August night. Perhaps it was his love for cannabis, but he often marveled at how the smell of fresh buds also had somewhat of a lemonade smell. No one else had ever noticed this.
If one truly loves marijuana, he or she will handle a fresh bud with care, holding it between the thumb and finger; maybe even raise it close to the nose for a deep inhale. "Ah..." The Cableman couldn't wait! He broke off a small piece and packed it into his one-hitter. Then after quickly looking around, he determined it was safe to take a hit.
The Cableman held the intoxicating cloud in his lungs before slowly exhaling. But this was creeper-weed, the kind that doesn't hit you immediately. Several minutes later, one might suddenly be in a panic-stricken state upon realizing how high he or she really is. But the Cableman knew these buds well. 3 hits were perfect for a few hours of pleasant relaxation along with fun, silly thoughts that would be kept to himself.
He took a second hit, held it in and then blew it out the window of his van. While doing so, he imagined an onlooker taking notice of the dense cloud ejecting from the cable van with company name on it. Anyone would recognize the smell and become outraged that a representative of the local cable company was smoking pot out in the woods. Maybe this wasn't a good idea! Maybe everything in the moment was terribly wrong.
Nonsense! The Cableman was just a bit paranoid. The creeper-weed was known to cause an initial moment of paranoia. He still had a third hit to take to ensure a fun-filled afternoon. The third hit was taken; and while holding the dense cloud in his lungs, the dispatcher from the office squawked over the radio, "Base to 811!"
Oh no! They were looking for the Cableman! Maybe they were wondering where he was. Maybe they were about to ask what jobs had been completed. Or maybe someone had seen what the Cableman was doing and had called the local office!
***
Now if you've never had experience in smoking marijuana, and suddenly wish to try it in the middle of life; my suggestion is not to waste your time. Experienced pot smokers know that it requires several times of smoking before finally feeling any effects. The key property, tetrahydrocannabinol (THC), needs to gradually break down the blood-brain barrier before any significant psychoactive results are reached. When this blood-brain barrier is finally penetrated, a fantastic, mildly-psychedelic high is experienced. Prior to successfully penetrating this barrier, an inexperienced smoker might only feel a slight buzz on the first few to several attempts of getting high.
Hopefully there isn't a marijuana shortage in the Chicago land area! It might be too early in the year to take a trip out to the secret forest preserves to to transport some illegal cargo back the streets.
Illegal Cargo!
On any given Saturday or Sunday afternoon; joggers, bikers and those on rollerblades enjoy a nice stretch of paved nature trail that outlines a beautiful forest preserve here in the Chicago land area. They are perfectly safe where they are. And I suppose what they don't know won't hurt them. But just crossing the wooded region and through a small patch of prairie will take anyone into an untamed jungle of dense forest where, quite possibly, organized crime takes place.
I would like to share with you some photographs that I took over the weekend when I dared to venture off the main trail and into that dense, jungle-like forest preserve. I had a goal in mind. By looking on the map, I could see that a body of water called the I&M Shipping Canal could be reached by hiking through the forest. I've been through this area of woods before, and was aware of a few trails that appeared to lead there.
But was I ever surprised of the terrain! First of all, let me mention that that the area was not only populated by dense, jungle-like forest; but in addition, dramatic ravines that suddenly dropped off to lower land elevation where small streams and creeks ran below. I followed a narrow path that snaked and winded along the top of these ravines and took notice that there were several of these narrow paths that intersected. It was necessary to take mental note of recognizable features along the way to prevent getting lost upon returning.
At some point, I could hear a barge traveling through the shipping canal and realized I wasn't too far from my goal. But the trail seemed to never actually reach the canal! In a bold move, I ventured off the narrow path and crossed a dip in land elevation through bushes. Hoping to catch some sun, I had my shirt off and actually scratched up my back in this final stretch of the journey.
And only a small distance from the canal, I discovered an elaborate network of small bridges that arched and curved over hills, small streams, large boulders and areas that would be difficult to cross. Someone had put much work into creating these bridges that are seen in the photos. Roofing shingles were actually secured to them to prevent people from slipping and falling during and after the rain or—quite possibly—snow and ice. After some moments of following these bridges, I finally reached the I&M Shipping Canal.
Let me give a word of caution if ever hiking to a shipping canal. As seen in the photo, if ever falling into this water, there would be no escape! Shipping canals are usually manmade and have no gradual drop-offs like nature-made rivers or lakes. The design is to simply dig a deep trench that runs from a major lake—such as Lake Michigan—across many miles where it eventually connects to nature made rivers.
Which brought me to my burning question upon returning; who would have built these elaborate bridges that seemed ideal for carrying small cargo off a boat and into the forest—or vice versa? That's what I imagined while returning from the canal. In my mind I was with a group of people who carried boxes across untamed forest that was definitely considered the off beaten path.
I couldn't see people using this area for fishing. And this was no ideal place for launching a kayak or small boat. The bridges were undeniably constructed for ease of transporting cargo through the forest.
And just what sort of cargo would have to be carried through dense forest and not out in the open? It would be something illegal... something like marijuana!
That's when it hit me! This deep, untamed wilderness with dramatic ravines and running streams quite possibly hides a squad of guerilla drug cartel that cultivates and harvests cannabis in the forest. You'll never find it if ever looking! There are so many spots in this region that are nearly impossible to reach. And don't worry about discovering the guerilla drug cartel. They hide themselves quite well and will never come out, for they know not to be discovered! If the day ever comes that their operation is exposed, a several million dollar (or more) business could be destroyed.
I write this at 3am and wonder if a drug transporter journeys down the I&M Shipping Canal in a speedboat from the city. There could be a serious shortage of marijuana in Chicago, and orders are given to pick up more from the secret location in the Cook County Forest Preserve. The guerilla squad waits by the designated location for the sound of the approaching speedboat. Quite possibly illegal immigrants, the wilderness is second nature to them for they lived many years in the South American jungle, harvesting coca plants and cannabis while training for guerilla warfare to protect the cartel's crop.
Soon the sound of the speedboat can be heard not too far in the distance. Perhaps it’s just crossing under Lagrange Road or the Interstate 294. With the use of a GPS locator, the drug transporter knows the exact location of where to stop the boat so that he's near the point where guerillas wait with several crates of freshly-harvested cannabis.
He gives the secret whistle in the dark and hears the answer back. Finally, contact has been established and orders are given in Spanish to carefully lower the crates into the speedboat. Being that the water level is a considerable distance below the bank, it is necessary to secure the crates to ropes and lower them in. And whoa to the operative who accidentally drops a crate of cannabis into the water!
With the boat filled and not a second to spare, the drug transporter speeds off and heads back to the city. But during his trip back, he pauses—perhaps—under a main bridge on the highway to open a crate and pinch a little bit of bud and pack it into his bowl. The bowl is torched, and the driver of the speed boat zips off while toking away, merely sampling to make sure that it's "good stuff". I can actually hear the theme song to Miami Vice as he knifes down the darkened I&M shipping canal with the city lights off in the distance.
As the predawn lights encroach the eastern horizon, the drug transporter arrives at the secret location in the city where drug dealers take their share of the freshly delivered cannabis for distribution. In less than an hour, telephone calls are made and eager clients who are jonesing for some hits of serious weed place their orders.
By the time pot smokers all over the city are satisfied with that which they have craved, the drug transporter of the speedboat now sits at a local IHOP and enjoys a much-deserved breakfast, stoned!
And all of this started at the very forest preserve where family and friends enjoy leisurely strolls and bike rides on gorgeous afternoons.


Friday, April 17, 2015

The Pill Lady

Hello All:
We've spent nearly a week in the hospital with my youngest daughter. She had her appendix removed and is recovering from the surgery. Don't worry; she's doing fine, and should be released sometime today.
This, I hope, explains my absence from the blog throughout the week. Although I did have my notebook computer with me and managed to write some, it wasn't easy to do so in the hospital. I had hoped to complete a new Cableman story for you. But I've got a ways to go.
***
Here's a work of flash fiction that I wrote some years ago. It's about a crazy, old lady who feels that she needs to share her collection of pills with everyone.
Have a great weekend. Stay away from the Pill Lady

The Pill Lady
An unlicensed pharmacist in her own right, who feels that she missed her calling: The Pill Lady can be found all throughout America, living out her daily life—typically in senior years—and finding that pills are the answers to all her problems. Ask her about this strange way of life, and her answer will most-surely disturb you! "I'm on so many pills that it’s not even funny. MAOIs, blood pressure pills, diabetes pills, nitrate pills for chest pain, pills for anxiety, allergy pills, pills for my mood swings, pills for my hyperactivity, pills for my acid reflux, pills for pain, blood-thinner pills, and probably more than that. Some mornings, I just wake up and pour a bunch of pills in a bowl, add milk, sprinkle sugar in a bowl (helps the medicine go down) and dig in. I hope it helps me lose weight. I have two drawers filled with bottles of pills and throughout the month I take them all!
My neighbor takes just as many pills, and sometimes she brings hers over and we sample each others. But I found out you have to be careful with this because I once took a pill that mixed badly with my blood thinner, and it caused my heart to beat like a drum! I was in the hospital for a couple days and almost had a heart attack. The doctor says only take your own pills, but it’s nice to share with your neighbor, just to make sure you are both healthy.
Sometimes I think I missed my calling. I should have been a druggist because I know so much about pills. Take for example; when my granddaughter comes over for the night, it is difficult to put her to sleep at a decent hour. I crush up half of one of my blood pressure pills that often make me sleepy. I put it in a glass of strawberry soda and call it grandma's special soda. Once the pill kicks in, she’s out like a light for 10 hours! You would think I could just give her a sleeping pill; but come on, sleeping pills for a child? Now that’s just wrong!
Now my husband suffered from a heart attack a couple years back and occasionally he gets anxiety that he is going to get another one. I tell him that’s just crazy talk and not to worry. Within a couple days, he’s feeling fine. The reason? I crush up a few of my anxiety pills and sprinkle it on his eggs in the morning with the salt and pepper. He’ll never know, but at least I have his anxiety under control now."
Be very careful of who you visit; at most, try not to stay for too long. The pill lady is at large, and she has just the cure for you!

Friday, April 10, 2015

Victor Told Me (a poopie mystery series)--story two

Hello All:
There's a park by my house with playground which contains a most unusual item. Just like most playgrounds, children can climb up a flight of stairs to the second level where various slides and hanging bars can be accessed. But over the railing is--of all things-- a working telescope!
I suppose this telescope can be used for when children play a game of make-believe in which they are on a pirate ship and scoping out distant ships, or maybe land.   But I wonder if eventually they figure out that other things can be scoped out as well; things such as the neighboring houses as seen in the photographs below. Again, the telescope does work, and yields some nice images. But it's difficult to capture a decent photo with my phone. Sorry for the blurriness, but you get the idea. As you might be able to make out, it's easy to point the telescope at the windows of a nearby home and watch--perhaps--the Mrs. get undressed in the privacy of her bedroom.
***
Today's featured writing is story two of our new Poopie Mystery Series. I have yet to create cover artwork for the series of stories, but hope to do so very soon.
Have a great weekend! Visit the park to enjoy some casual voyeurism
on the playground equipment.
Victor Told Me (a poopie mystery series)--story two
His name is "Bud"; at least that is the nickname everyone on the third floor gives him. Working at the accounting firm, he has to be one of the strangest people at that office. Oh, there is one thing worth mentioning about "Bud"—actually a nice thing. In comparison to the other people in the accounting office, "Bud" is actually friendly. But you see; that's part of the problem with him. He's overly-friendly, and assumes that everyone is his best friend.
If ever encountering him in the hallway, he immediately greets, "How's it goin' Bud?" That's how he got his nickname; he calls everyone, Bud. “Bud” stands over six feet tall; heavy set with a large gut. He looks to have come from the Deep South with long, messy bed head hair, face shaven every couple of days, and dressed in worn-out clothes that might have been considered nice in the 1980s. Even stranger is the fact that he double talks. It's very difficult to understand him because speaks two sentences at the same time.
And he has an obsession with football!
"How's it goin' Bud?" he greeted one of the salesmen from our office in the restroom one day. He stood right next to him at the urinal. "I need someone to talk football with! I really need to talk football! I just need a friend to talk football with."
"Well lucky for you, football season is just around the corner." was the simple answer given.
With that, “Bud” arrested his victim and wouldn't let him go. He literally backed him into the corner and talked all sorts of nonsensical things.
I know exactly how his victims suffer. I was once stopped in the hallway from “Bud” and asked, "So what did you think of the wrap-up last year's football season?"
"Not bad... Not bad at all." I casually answered.
"Not bad????" He shouted "Man, don't you understand the gravity of that situation?"
I'll spare you the confusing babble and double talk. For over ten minutes he went on to explain that those who wrote that year's season in football—an apparent conspiracy theory that writers plan out how the games will go, and how the season will end—did not realize the
great division that would take place in America. Houses would be divided; brother would be against brother. He said it was poorly planned.
"Interesting..." Somehow I managed to escape.
***
Precisely one day after receiving the handheld radio from the janitor, Victor, I gazed out the glass door of our office and noticed "Bud" walking down the hallway. It was about 1:30 in the afternoon, and he had just reported to work. His clientele apparently visited during the afternoon and evening hours.
He strolled by with a bucket of Brown's Chicken in one hand—dinner—and a 64 ounce fountain beverage in the other. People used to believe that it was soda in those large fountain beverages. But we were corrected. "Bud" prefers fruit punch because, as he believes, it's healthier than soft drinks.
I was distracted from my restroom watch with a call from a potential customer which lasted about fifteen minutes. At the end of my call, a fellow salesman entered the office. He had returned from the third floor men's restroom.
He sighed while shaking his head and rolling his eyes.
"What's up?" I asked. "What happened?"
"Bud's in one of the stalls of the bathroom, and talking to himself."
"Talking to himself?" I asked.
"Yes! Having an actual conversation."
"Well maybe he's on a phone call while doing his business." I suggested.
"That's what I originally thought. But you know... it's really scary... he says something, and then answers it. It's like two people in one mind having a conversation. And get this! Just as I was finishing my business at the urinal, I could hear him wiping himself. He was wiping and wiping and wiping and wiping. And there was this liquidy gushing sound as he wiped."
"Ewwwww!" I exclaimed.
"I just zipped up and got the heck out of there. I couldn't listen anymore."
Just then, I suspected that perhaps "Bud" was the culprit behind the restroom messes. I excused myself from my coworker, stepped out into the hallway and to the stairwell where I pulled out the handheld radio.
"Victor!" I called out. "Victor, are you there?"
"Hello, yes. Who is this?"
"This is your secret spy on the third floor." I answered. "I think there is some suspicious activity taking place in the men's restroom."
"Okay, thank you my friend. I am on my way up."
I quickly returned to the office and sat down at my desk. Seconds later I could see Victor rushing into the restroom.
I couldn't help myself. I just needed to be there to witness the big bust. But I couldn't blow my cover. This is why I returned to the stairwell and pulled out the handheld radio.
"Victor?" I called out.
"Yes, I am in the washroom, but no one is here."
Apparently "Bud" left before Victor had a chance to arrive.
"Well there was someone in the stall just moments ago. Is there a mess in there?" I asked.
"No! No mess..." He left the mic button pressed while walking around. "... Oh, but I see some Cocoa Puffs left in the sink."
"Cocoa Puffs?—as in the breakfast cereal? I asked.
"No... Something else... Something you would expect to see in the washroom."
Just like many times, before, someone left feces in the sink. Was it "Bud"?

To be continued...

Thursday, April 9, 2015

Victor Told Me (a poopie mystery series)--story one

Hello All:
I have for you some recent photos that I took of old farm buildings in my neighborhood. They were taken during a recent bike ride in which I managed to peddle off the trail, and through the grass to reach them. I've mentioned before of my fascination with antique buildings. Imagine how long these have stood; probably 50 or 75 years--maybe more. The photos were taken in early spring, a time when leaves have yet to appear on trees. The hint of blue overtones (digitally enhanced) adds to an overall mood of a time that once was, but now sinks to the ground in shambles.
***
Today's featured writing is a new mystery series that started off as a simple short story. But it's been growing and taking on a life of its own as I write it. This seems to be the general pattern as I write fiction. I bring you the first in the series, Victor Told Me. To be honest, I don't know how long I can drag a story like this one out. It's being subtitled, "a poopie mystery series". How far can that go?
I'll have cover artwork available in upcoming stories of Victor Told Me.
Victor Told Me (a poopie mystery series)--story one
I was hired as a sales representative for Echo Temp Agency to work as a head hunter for companies seeking candidates for hire. Located in the upscale Minneapolis suburb of Wormburg, the workplace was in a four-story office building, each floor containing several suites—a number that was dependent on the size of the actual office suites. Echo Temp Agency was located on the third floor along with a law firm, dentist office, modeling agency, a chemical supply company, and a marketing demographics research company. At the end of the hallway was a vacant suite that was waiting for the perfect tenant.
Not much can be said about my first three months on the job. I was given a steady flow of clients, and managed to successfully market candidates for hire. The job, itself, was actually good.
But after three months of working in the building, an accounting firm moved into the vacant office. They were immediately cited by surrounding tenants as a strange group of people. While negotiating their lease, they actually requested that the see-through glass doors of the surrounding office suites be replaced with wooden or metal doors with no glass. As the owners of the accounting office
explained, they did not want their visiting clients becoming confused upon seeing people in other office suites. Aside from that, it looked messy to have to see the activities of other offices.
Strange... yes, I know!
Fortunately, the management company of the office building would not allow such a negotiation. It was take it or leave it for the new accounting firm.
Now it should be mentioned that it isn't uncommon for workers throughout the various offices on the third floor to mingle with each other. At least in the three months that I had been there, I noticed an air of friendliness between offices. But for the people working in the new accounting office; they were cold and unfriendly. If one would encounter any of the new tenants in the hallway and greet, "Good morning! there would only be a look-past as-if no one were there.
One afternoon, our office administrator had returned from lunch and rode the elevator upstairs. Upon reaching the third floor, the elevator door opened. There stood a mob of about a half-dozen people from the accounting firm. They trampled over our administrator and treated her like she wasn't there. She barely escaped the elevator; had to squeeze through the group of people and barely pass through the closing door.
There was something else very disturbing that people throughout the various office suites began to notice since the accounting firm moved in—particularly with the men's restroom. It began to resemble an outhouse at the forest preserve that—perhaps—a bear or some wild animal might have used. There were puddles of urine on the floor. And the surrounding walls had been equally sprayed. In the private stalls, rolls of toilet paper had feces smeared on the sides. And it only got worse! One day a pile of feces had been left on the floor as-if someone had simply squatted to do their business like an animal. To add insult to injury, clumps of feces were left in the sink.
These instances of apparent vandalism were brought to the attention of building management. It was necessary for the janitor, Victor, to close the restroom down throughout the day to clean and sanitize. But after some time, he simply could not keep up with the messes. Maintenance crews, after all, are not staffed to handle an overflow of adults who choose to urinate and defecate on the floors.
I couldn't bear the smell of the third floor restroom; much less find the courage to enter an area with harmful bacteria. If ever needing to use the restroom, my solution was simple. I took the flight of stairs down to the second floor and used their restroom. And it was the same floor where building management was located.
One afternoon upon exiting the second floor restroom, I was approached by the building janitor, Victor.  "Hey, could you do favor for me?" he asked.
"Sure!" I agreed.
"Could you please tell all people on the third floor that the new tenants are still making a mess in the washroom?"
"Of course I will." I answered. And with that, I ran back up the flight of stairs to the third floor and into my office where I approached one of the fellow sales people.
"The Janitor, Victor, stopped me out in the hallway and wanted me to relay this message to everyone."
"Really? What did he say?"
"He wants everyone to know that the new tenants over at the accounting office are still making a mess in men's restroom."
"That's what he said?"
"Yes, he did."
"Wow! That must mean they know who is doing it."
"Well it's pretty obvious!"
Victor’s message and growing gossip spread like a wildfire in our office, soon to the surrounding office suites. A big bust was sure to occur, and maybe the weird people at the accounting office would see their lease terminated.
"I wonder if they put cameras in the men's restroom?" someone asked.
"No, they can't do that!" snapped another. "That's against the law to put cameras in a restroom!"

To be continued…

Monday, April 6, 2015

The Cableman vs. the Grays

Hello All:
Are you ready to take white noise to a whole, new level? White noise is defined as a signal at a given frequency which contains an equal amount of power density across the spectrum. Mostly considered to be annoying if the cable TV service is out, white noise has many uses in sound engineering, sleep therapy and meditation. If you've been following the blog in recent days, then you know that white noise and pink noise (processed variation of white noise) has been a center of discussion.
By processing white noise and filtering its various portions of the spectrum, we discover there to be a family of noise colors--brown noise, pink noise, blue noise and violet noise. This colorization of noise is simply a human perception that is similar to the tone color of music. There are no measuring instruments that yield data to confirm one color or another. But when you hear the various noise colors, you will agree, "Yup, that's red noise... yup, that's definitely violent."
Over the weekend I downloaded a couple of white noise apps so that I have the various noises handy as needed. Check out the White Noise free app on the Google Play store. VIEW APP/DOWNLOAD Once downloaded, scroll through the menu and you will find a huge collection of noises such as ocean waves, raindrops, electric fans, etc. But in that collection there is blue noise, brown noise, pink noise, violet noise and white noise. If you've downloaded the app, you now have the full family of processed white nose in your collection to use as needed.
The above app is nice, but I also downloaded a second app over the weekend which I use while sleeping. The Noise Machine VIEW APP/DOWNLOAD allows you to simply adjust a slider from white noise to pink noise to brown noise. Unfortunately, blue and violet noise are not available. But I prefer to use this app while sleeping because it offers a beautiful, tranquil brown noise that reminds me of listening to a deep, low, roaring waterfall in the distance. It's not harsh on the ears, and does an excellent job in keeping me asleep. And might I add that I've been having plenty of dreams throughout the weekend while using it. But I noticed that I sometimes pick up interference from (what I believe to be) someone listening to their own radio. Last night in my sleep I suddenly heard the song, 'any way you want it' from Journey. Weird... Maybe the use of white noise while dreaming opens the portal to telepathic dreaming.
In any case, if you want the soothing and relaxing brown noise, move the slider all the way to the right. You'll agree how tranquil brown noise is.

If you want a quick sample of the various noises, there are plenty of sources available on You Tube. Here are some of my favorites:

The Cableman vs. the Grays

The Cableman lay in bed on Sunday afternoon with his newfound cosmic friend, Melissa. The two had just finished making love which is exactly the sort of thing that space brothers and space sisters ought to do. Together they squared the circle, recharged one another's chakras, and exchanged loving energy which resulted in an exhilarating awakening of body, mind and spirit.
While rolling over onto his side to spoon naked Melissa, the Cableman slightly twisted his lower torso. It wasn't an exaggerated twist or any sort of movement that could cause injury. But it resulted in a sharp pain at the small of the Cableman's back.
"Ouch!" cried out the Cableman.
"What? What is it?"
"Well I kind of pulled my lower back muscle a few days ago. I keep forgetting to take it easy."
"How did you do that?" asked Melissa.
"Believe it or not, I twisted the wrong way while bending over for a box of cable in my van. I've been doing stuff like this a lot, lately. Let's see... I now have a lower back injury, tendinitis in my wrist, a pulled muscle on my shoulder... oh; let's not forget that tendon near my bicep that keeps acting up. I got that from overdoing it in the gym. And I did something to the heel of my foot that makes walking painful. I guess I'm just getting old."
"Maybe..." answered Melissa. “I was going through that for a while, too. It seemed I never stopped injuring myself. It got so bad that I actually thought I had some degenerative condition of my muscles and tendons.  Let me ask you something. Are you seeing the repeated appearance of the number 110 lately?"
The Cableman thought about it. "Yeah, now that you mention it, I have been seeing this number a lot."
"Wow!" exclaimed Melissa. "Do you know what this means? You're going through the 110 Transformation!"
"The 110 Transformation?"
"Yes, it's a holy transformation, and it's nothing to boast or be proud of. 110 is divisible by 5 which corresponds to the 5 wounds of Christ. You have 5 locations on your body which are causing pain and suffering. The only thing you can do is hope that your transformation passes quickly, and that you gain your spiritual lessons. And really, your suffering isn't much in comparison to what other people experience. Some people suffer multiple, life-threatening medical conditions during their transformation."
"Spiritual lessons?" asked the Cableman. "Wait! What do you mean by suffering? Why is this happening to me?"
"It happens to everyone going through their Earthly conversion. I, too, had five areas on my body that were constantly in an injured state. It restricted much of my activity and often put me in a bad mood. Along with this, I kept seeing the number 110. It wasn't until I did some research that I found out that 110 is a mystical number. It means a spiritual growth and transformation through pain and suffering."
The Cableman interrupted, "Pain and suffering? Why me?"
"Again, it happens to all of us. Don't worry; I'll guide you through this time. Let me tell you something I recently learned through my Platonic grid receiver. Right now at this very moment there is an alien ship from another star system, due to arrive on Earth. The aliens are very much like us, nothing too shocking or different. They'll probably look very human with only a few, minor differences. Up until now, I thought that I was the only one to rendezvous with them. But it looks like you will be joining me. I know this because you disclosed to me of your 110 Transformation. This 110 Transformation happens to those going through the Earthly conversion, and for good reason!"
"Yeah? Why is that?"
"Don't you understand what this alien visit is all about?"
"No... This is all new to me, Melissa.”
"Cableman, we are going to be introduced to knowledge and understanding that goes thousands of years beyond what we have on Earth. We will probably be given technology, and will probably learn how to do things that are completely out-of-the-ordinary that most people would consider impossible. But as you might expect, the dark forces will be after us. We already are prime recruits to join the dark forces once we complete our training. But you see, evil can be very shallow. Evil only wants perfection and newness. It wants people who have yet to think for themselves, develop their own character and spiritually grow Evil is like a modern-day company that only wants young, new-hires out of college with no life experience so that they can be easily molded. Don't you see? Those marks of suffering have been placed on your body not only to make you stronger and give you character, but so that evil rejects you and sees you as defective. Like I said, before, it happens to everyone going through their Earthly conversions—especially to those who are about to rendezvous with master teachers who come from an advanced, alien race. Christ, himself, may have given you those marks of suffering to protect you from evil."
It was the strangest thing that the Cableman ever heard, but certainly better than accepting that he was getting old. All he could do in that moment was nod his head in agreement, "Hmm... I see..."
***
Across town, however, was a different story. At the local TCBY worked sixteen-year-old Mike, a junior in high school who now rushed through the final task of his shift end. He needed to get home; not to study for a test or complete homework, but because "they" were calling him. It was a telepathic feeling that "they" needed something from Mike. And whenever "they" called, Mike was to answer by opening his communication portal and allow them to access his body.
Outside the store, Mike could see his mother pull her Rav4 up to the no parking zone—right near the front door. Mike had yet to get his driver's license. For the time being his mother drove him to and from school functions, work or friends’ houses.
There was almost an urgency from "them" to report to the communicator, immediately. Didn't they understand? Didn't they realize that Mike had responsibilities and couldn't immediately respond when called upon?
"Hey, Mike!" It was the shift manager. "Before you go, could you do a quick mop behind the counter?"
Mike nearly sighed, but didn't want to appear resentful. This, after all, was work. "Sure, no problem."
"Thanks Mike!"
It was little demands like this that delayed his reaching the communication portal. As Mike filled the bucket with hot water and soap, he could feel the maddening urgency to finally dock with the aliens. They needed him! He needed to serve his purpose, now!
Mike brushed the wet, soapy mop from side to side while hating every second of it. How dare the shift manager try to sneak in one, final job before Mike clocked out! Mike wanted to punch his stupid boss in the head. And he could feel his mother growing impatient as she waited outside.
Several minutes later, Mike finally clocked out for the day. He nearly ran out the front door and into the passenger seat of his mother's Rav4.
"Hi!" greeted Mother.
"Hey..."
"How was your afternoon?"
"It sucked!"
"Oh, you don't have to be in a bad mood about work. Honestly, what would you do if you worked a real full-time job? Gosh, I wish I only had to work four hours. And did you tell your boss that next weekend you can't work because you will be at your father's?"
Mike's parents were divorced which meant that he had to spend every other weekend at his father's house. This, of course, made it impossible to report to the communication portal whenever "they" called. The portal was at his mother's house. Father would never allow such a thing.
"Yeah, I told 'em."
"So what are you going to for the remainder of the afternoon?" asked Mother.
Mike shrugged his shoulders, even though he knew—exactly—what the immediate demand was.
"You're not going to sit in your room again with the static, are you?"
"It depends..."
"Don't you have homework?"
"I finished it."
Mother sighed, "I just think there are more constructive things a kid your age could be doing. There has to be some psychological damage that can result from your strange activity.
And what was this strange activity? As soon as Mike returned home that late Sunday afternoon he called his little brother a dork-butt before reporting to his bedroom and shutting the door. Seated at the middle of the room was a circle of four outdated television sets that he had collected from the neighbors on garbage day. He immediately turned each television set on which was tuned to Channel 3—nothing but white noise. Then he sat down in the center.
Now really think about this. Consider the phenomenon of white noise. When a television receives no broadcast signal, it still receives random signals of an ultra-low power in infinite directions of the visible and non-visible spectrums. Your local cable company most-likely measures power in terms of decibels per millivolt (dBm). 7dBm typically enters the home (sometimes more if additional TVs are used). When split throughout the home, the measured signal at each TV is 3dBm. White noise, however, is measured at -60dBm. Yes, white noise actually dips below the zero level which means a station tuned to nothing but white noise is susceptible to signal bleed-over from other stations, interference from nearby electrical devices, natural phenomenon such as weather, and cosmic occurrences such as solar flares or even bursts of energy from distant pulsars, quasars and supernovae.
White noise is likened to the element of Air. It's vast and empty, yet it is the opened gateway to the universe, carrying light and energy from the farthest reaches of the cosmos. It can even serve as a medium for telepathic communication between people, ghosts... extra terrestrials residing on other planets who have their "ears on the spectrum", listening to those who listen for them. 
Mike took it a step further by adding a psychedelic aspect with the use of four televisions. Not only did he open the gateway to the universe and channel in the extraterrestrials, but he also hypnotized himself with the random echo of surrounding television white noise and flashes of static that pulsed from every direction. This communication portal of his was every bit of... well a brilliant communication portal. But as he would soon find out, it was also dangerous.
In past sessions, the aliens from afar taught Mike a peculiar technique of opening himself to them. This involved tilting his head slightly up, closing the eyelids, and allowing the eyes to rest at the bottom of their sockets. Immediately an automatic twitching of the eyelids was experienced that Mike understood to be a self-induced REM. It felt good to do, and he was sure to do it every time.
Within moments of experiencing the twitching, the clear image of an extra-terrestrial could be seen in Mike's mind. It meditated in front of him while doing the same technique with its closed eyes. Mike had never considered that aliens could close their eyes. They were most often seen in photos or movies with their large, black, bug-like eyes. But the aliens who worked with him obviously had the ability to close their eyes.
They always had such interesting information to share with Mike—things that no one on Earth would ever know. The alien that sat before him at that moment telepathically communicated to Mike,"You lived a past life on Earth during pre-recorded history. You worked with us in merging a lab-created entity with that of the existing human form to create what you Earth people today identify as homo-sapiens. Your purpose on life, now, is to help us in merging the upgrade. Work with us. Fulfill your intended life's purpose and help us create the new species of Earth people."
The alien then reached for Mike's third-eye chakra. "Come with me. Come to my world and let me show you how it is."
Apparently the alien knew how to manipulate Mike's consciousness and transport him across the astral plane to its home planet. There was nothing beautiful about the extra terrestrial world. It resembled a vast, realm of piled-up rock and soil; sort of like an overturned construction site with mountainous hills of dirt and clay. There was no vegetation or water. But there were plenty of bug-like aliens with long, cricket-like legs walking about hills and valleys of dirt and rock.
Although his dreaming body now existed on this alien planet, Mike somehow managed to focus his awareness back into the bedroom. But at the center of the white noise communicator, the extra terrestrial was doing something incomprehensible to Mike's third eye chakra. It was best described as an untying sensation, as-if the alien had the ability to dislodge Mike's psychic energy center.
Startled, Mike opened his eyes where he was back in his bedroom and surrounded by the white noise of four television screens. "Whoa! That was a trip!" Sunday afternoon's session was the furthest Mike had ever gone. They told him about a past life. Then they took him to an alien realm where he got to see where they lived. But what was the alien doing towards the end of the session? Was it something that should have alarmed Mike?
Just then, the bedroom door opened and in walked Mother. "At it again, huh?"
Mike turned off the TVs so he could hear Mother.
"There's an awful-lot of radiation and heat in this room. I'm worried that this is going to start a fire." Exclaimed Mother.
"It's not going to start a fire, Mom! They're just TVs, that's all."
"Why do you do this, anyway? I guess I'm trying to understand what benefit there is to sitting in the middle of TVs that have nothing but static."
"It's cool! That's all! I can travel to alien planets and stuff."
Mother shook her head in disbelief and shrugged her shoulders. At a loss of words she then announced, "Well, it's dinner. Maybe my little astronaut can come out of his space ship and eat with us, now?"
***
Unfortunately, as Mike discovered, only one session per day was possible. The aliens would not meet him every time he turned on the TVs. And not every session was successful. On Monday afternoon, he opened the portal and assumed the closed-eyelid position.
Immediately, the alien sat before Mike. But this time there was no astral journey to the alien realm. Instead, his third-eye chakra continued to be tampered with.
The alien sensed Mike's frustration in not being able to travel across the astral realm. "Concentrate!” the alien ordered. “Focus! This is an exercise in building up your own energy to allow dream travel."
Mike did his best to clear his thoughts and imagine the alien realm from Sunday afternoon. But all the physical tampering from the alien broke Mike's concentration. What was it doing? What was the purpose of all this loosening and untying felt at the third-eye chakra?
That's when Mike voiced his concern, "Can I ask what you are doing?"
"Try not to worry, and just concentrate on reaching our planet. You wouldn't understand. Your third eye chakra has something that is of no use to your world, but can certainly help us in ours."
Was it right for an alien to take something from Mike's body and use it for an unintended purpose? Were these creatures really to be trusted?
Suddenly, Mike had a clear vision of lying down on an examination table in a spaceship. A crew of extra terrestrials struggled to dislodge invisible nerves and energy centers from the Earth person. There were deep cuts with blood leaking out of Mike's body. The aliens really didn't care about him. They simply wanted his invisible energy points and exhibited cannibalistic behavior just to get them.
Startled, Mike opened his eyes and quickly turned off the TVs. What was happening to him? What were they doing? Was Mike volunteering and donating himself to these strange, alien creatures?
***
It was Wednesday afternoon, and the Cableman had completed his route of installs and service calls for the day. Later that night he had plans of joining his cosmic friend, Melissa, for dinner and probably a little... er... dessert (if you know what I mean). This is why the Cableman sneaked over to the gym and did his Wednesday evening workout earlier in the day.
The Cableman cautiously ran a couple of miles on the treadmill without over-twisting his lower torso. He carefully did his 100 push-ups, and made sure that he didn't aggravate the pulled muscle on his shoulder. But then he made the mistake of attempting bicep curls. And as you recall from his earlier mention, the tendon near his bicep was pulled and seemingly not healing any time soon.
"Ouch!" the Cableman exclaimed. He quickly put the dumbbells back on the rack. His arms weren't ready to resume bicep training just yet. "Man, this 110 Transformation thing really sucks!" The Cableman has a reputation to uphold and needs to stay in excellent shape. Everyone expects the Cableman to have solid, cut biceps. But it looks like they would have to rest for the next four to six weeks. Such are the low moments of an Earthly space brother.
Suddenly, the Cableman's cell phone rang. He always kept it with him while on the clock in case the office was trying to reach him.
"Hello?"
"Cableman?" It was Sharon, the office dispatcher.
"Yeah, what’s up Sharon?"
"I was trying to reach you on the radio, but you didn't answer. Listen, do you have time to do one, last install before clocking out for the day?"
The Cableman sighed. "Sure, what do you have?"
"It's just an additional outlet in a bedroom. According to the customer, the house is prewired.
***
It just so happens that this sudden, end-of-the-day job was at Mike's house. Mike's mother, Shelly, wanted cable installed in her bedroom. And just as usual, the sight of the muscular Cableman kneeling on the bedroom floor had the female customer suddenly wishing to have some real cable installed in her "special outlet". It wouldn't be such a bad thing. Shelly was divorced, feeling horny and not dating anyone at the current moment. Isn't that what the Cableman is for? Isn't he supposed to care for lonely women? As for her son, Mike, he was already home from school and sitting in the middle of television white noise. He was probably already in one of those strange trances, and wouldn't come out until dinner time.
As the Cableman reached over for his cable splicing tool on the floor, Shelly immediately knelt down next to him and handed it to him with face extra close to his and a beaming smile. They could easily start on the floor by making out and then take it to the bed.
But what was this? Apparently the Cableman was taken! You see, things had gotten a little serious between him and his cosmic friend, Melissa. Aside from that, the Cableman was going through the 110 Transformation which dictated an observation of chastity when not with his special mate. All that good love was to be reserved for Melissa!
And it's good that the Cableman turned down Shelly's need for special service. As he would soon find out, there was a deeper reason for visiting that afternoon.
Suddenly, Shelly's son, Mike, scampered into the bedroom. "Mom! I've got that freaked out feeling again!"
Shelly sighed. "Come-on, Mike!"
"Mom, I'm serious! It won't go away! It feels like time has frozen and everything is about to stop."
This mention immediately concerned the Cableman. He approached Mike, "Whoa, whoa; hold everything. Are you going to be alright?"
"I don't know!" Mike was nearly in tears.
"Well what were you just doing?" asked the Cableman.
But poor Mike was too embarrassed to reveal his strange activity to the Cableman. Seeing that her son wouldn't answer, Shelly volunteered the needed information. "He sits in the middle of television static and claims he can travel to other planets."
"White noise?" asked the Cableman. "Is that what you're doing? You're exposing yourself to white noise in an effort to access the astral plane?"
"Mike nodded."
"And you're connecting with extra terrestrials who bring you to their home planets?"
Now on the verge of a mental breakdown, Mike nodded while looking at his arms—appearing to make sure they were still there. "Somebody help me!" he pleaded.
"Okay, this isn't good." warned the Cableman. He's experiencing the Oz factor. These feelings he describes are typical of those who are about to be abducted by aliens. It's a good thing I'm here!" The Cableman grabbed Mike's shoulders and aggressively shook him. "Mike! Dude! You're here with us! Wake up!"
This is what you do to someone who appears to be experiencing the Oz factor. You need to do whatever it takes to disenchant the potential abductee. Be strong! You need to be the sane one in the moment. You need to remind the victim that whatever he or she is experiencing is merely taking place in the mind. Break the spell that the aliens hexed the victim with.
"Come-on, Mike! Pull out of this! It's all happening in your head! You need to drive them away. Stop believing in them. That's the only way they can come here—if you believe in them and feed their existence.
Surprisingly, this shaking and agitation appeared to snap Mike out of whatever alternate reality framework he was experiencing. And with that he began to cry—he cried tears of relief that the terrible attack had ended. It was all a bad dream—the sort of dream that one experiences while being awake.
"This is a good sign." reassured the Cableman to Shelly. And then he turned his attention towards Mike, "As for you, sir, we need to have a little talk about this activity of yours. Let's check out your set-up in the bedroom."
Sniffling, Mike escorted the Cableman to his bedroom. Inside, four televisions sat in a circle on the floor and roared white noise towards the center. But Mike was afraid to enter. Apparently, something horrific happened only moments ago. One could feel the trauma still lingering in the air.
The Cableman wasn't frightened. He's a space brother, and knows how to handle extra terrestrial invasions. The first step is to deactivate the portal from which they came. And that's exactly what he did. The Cableman entered the circle of roaring white noise and turned off every TV. Then he broke down the circle by stacking each television in the corner of the room. "If you ask me, you should get rid of those."
The Cableman sat down at the edge of the bed and motioned Mike to join him. "Let's have a little talk. Let's get to the bottom of what happened this afternoon.”
Mike did as ordered.
"Now I'm sure you learned your lesson, but would you like to know who those people were that tried to abduct you?"
Mike nodded.
"Those, my friend, are the grays! The grays reside in a distant star system called Zeta Reticuli. It's only 39 light years from Earth; which means provided they have mastered the art of traveling at the speed of light; the grays may have very well visited Earth.
But you can't trust the grays! As you found out today, the grays are not your friends! They are not human, and view us as creatures to prey upon. And here's the weird thing about the grays: the grays are not alive. They have no biological functions. Somehow they exist through thought and dreaming. Maybe they're spirits or something—I don't know. But it isn't uncommon for them to travel through the astral realm and hunt for people here on Earth. And it isn't your body or life-force that they want. They want your psychic and dreaming energies."
Mike interrupted, "They told me I didn't need those things here on Earth. They were doing something on my forehead and said I wouldn't need it."
"They lied!" answered the Cableman. "See, the grays lie to humans. This is one reason why they can't be trusted. They start off being friendly and helpful, and then they mislead you so you can ultimately be trapped. Most people are terrified of them. That's no problem for the grays. The grays track your fear and feed off of it. Some people have withered up into nothing under a horrible spell of extra terrestrial phobia. What's really taking place is the grays drain the very life out of a terrified victim."
Mike interrupted again, "They told me that I lived a past life and helped them create homo-sapiens."
"It was a lie, Mike! They had to enchant you and get you to believe anything. It was the only way to hold you in place while they robbed you of your psychic and dreaming energies."
The Cableman glanced up at the top of Mike's dresser. Sitting in the corner was a collector's item Darth Vader helmet. "See that helmet on top of your dresser?—that Darth Vader helmet? Did you ever wonder what really happened to him? Did you ever wonder who really tricked him to work for the dark side?"
Mike shrugged his shoulders.
"It was the grays! Before he became Darth Vader, he was an ordinary Earth person just taking a drive on a dark road with his wife one night. His name was Barney Hill. They did a documentary on them. You should check it out some time. Anyway, the grays tracked the Hills and abducted them. From that day forward, Barney went through a conversion into the dark side. Now he works for the grays as Darth Vader; sort of a henchman. Is that who you want to become?"
Mike shook his head, no.
"You're scared, aren't you?"
Mike nodded in affirmation.
"You can't be afraid of them. That's how they track you. I'm going to get something out of my van that can help you. Hold on..."
Within a couple minutes, the Cableman returned with nothing more some folded up sheets of pink bubble wrap. "This is anti-static wrap that we use to protect our cable converter boxes. But it can be used to stop an alien abduction." The Cableman reached for the collector’s item Darth Vader helmet and lined it with the anti-static pink bubble wrap. "When you feel the grays calling you or trying to track you, put this helmet on. It will block your psychic energy, and they will be unable to find you. And whenever you feel scared that the grays are near, put the helmet on and say to yourself that you do not believe in them. See, that's another important thing that the grays need. They need you to believe in them."
Mike definitely needed the Darth Vader anti-abduction helmet at that moment. The Cableman slammed it on Mike's head and declared; "Now you can be a space brother, too!" Little did the Cableman know at that moment that he had officially knighted Mike as a fellow Earthly space brother who—through his own spirit guides—would learn to defend the planet from the evil grays of the Zeta Reticuli star system.
***
Mike ceased any further contact with the grays. He did as the Cableman suggested and threw out all the old television sets. And whenever he felt the grays calling, he wore the Darth Vader anti-abduction helmet.


THE END!