Friday, November 21, 2014

Change My Panties for a Dollar

Hello All:
Today's featured writing is a brand new story which was inspired by one of those dreams we have just moments before the alarm clock goes off. You recognize these types of dreams, I'm sure. The brain has been resting for several hours, and you are in a state of shallow sleep. You have dreams of rushing out of the house for work or school, but keep forgetting items which results in never leaving. Maybe you dream of trying to run away, but can only bounce up in the air before landing where you started. Or maybe you are in an old, abandoned factory where you aimlessly climb up and down flights of stairs.
This particular dream that I had was so vivid and bizarre that I had to turn it into a short story for you. It was definitely weird enough to be considered material that is found at the Literary World of Tom Raimbault.
Have a great weekend! Keep some dollar bills on hand in case someone offers you to change their panties for a dollar.
Change My Panties for a Dollar

I’d like to relay to you one of the most bizarre experiences I had some years ago at a local carnival. At the time I was merely passing through the main walk area, alone, where I suddenly found myself stuck behind a large crowd of people who were standing in various lines to board rides or play games. This can happen in large crowded areas at carnivals. With so many people, the region becomes gridlocked.
While standing there and waiting for the crowd of people to gradually disburse so I could continue walking, I became aware of a young woman who looked to be in her late teens or early twenties. Wearing tight jeans, she stood
with a group of friends and—of all things—toyed with her buttocks while pointing to the area known as the infra-gluteal crease. As she explained to those nearby, she was very proud of this area on her buttocks.
Suddenly she turned and asked me, “Would you like to change my panties for me?”
Taken aback and at a loss of words, I did not answer her. I thought she was simply being rude and trying to make me the butt-end of the joke.
“Sir, would you like to change my panties for me?” she repeated. “It’s only a dollar.” She pointed at the building up at the front of the line. It was then that I realized she was inviting me to enjoy one of the attractions at the carnival. She wasn’t someone standing in line with her friends. She actually worked at an indoor booth, and had apparently stepped out to find more customers.  This particular booth allowed men to remove the pants and undergarments of young women just to help them into something new.
What harm could this activity have done? And it was cheap. “Umm… Sure…” I answered.
I was quickly led into the building and taken to a counter where a female cashier took my money. The young woman who invited me to change her panties stepped away into another room, and closed the door. Apparently, that was the room where I was to enjoy the cheap entertainment.
“I know it’s only a dollar…” I began to cashier. “But I’m I allowed to take as long as wish in changing her panties?” It suddenly occurred to me that it might be fun to play with her panties while she wore them, and maybe feel her prized buttocks while doing so.
“Nope!” she answered. “It can only take as long as it takes to remove and put panties back on.
“Okay…” I concluded that playing around and feeling personal body parts was not permitted.
The cashier then asked, “I’m going to need to see some photo ID.”
“A Photo ID?”
What was this? Originally believing the attraction to be an anonymous quick-in-quick-out form of entertainment; I now wondered if the police were somehow involved, and secretly building a list of perverts who participated. If there were ever a sexual crime in the area, they would simply check the list of those who paid money to change a young woman’s panties for suspects.
I sighed while handing her my driver’s license and then asked, “So have you had many people here, today?”
“Nope!” she answered while walking over to the copy machine. “You’re the first person here all day.”
I grew all the more hesitant in proceeding with this attraction. It was about quarter-to-five in the afternoon, and I was the only pervert in town who chose to pay the young woman in the next room one dollar to change her panties. What would people think of me if they ever found out? And speaking of the time of day, it was running late. I had to be home by five o’clock for dinner.
“Okay, you’re all set!” The cashier announced while handing my ID back. “You can enter the next room and join Molly. She is eagerly waiting for you to change her panties.”
I cautiously knocked on the door and entered the other room which resembled a large hotel suite that was even complete with a counter and refrigerator. Molly casually lied on the bed, on her side—so relaxed.
“Could you go in the refrigerator and get me a bottle of juice?” she asked.
Not sure how this fit into the description of the activity I paid for, I walked over to the refrigerator and opened the door. “Umm… Let’s see… There are about a dozen bottles of MGD light, a few cans of diet Dr. Pepper, and some plastic bottles of Kool-Aid Bursts. By juice, I assume you mean the Kook-Aid?”
“Yes, that’s it! Please bring me one!”
I did as she ordered and brought the bottle over to her.
Casually lying on her side as if in no hurry to do anything, she opened the bottle and took a few gulps. “Ahhhhh…” Then she looked up at me, “Well, anytime you’re ready. I have a fresh pair of panties and jeans on the dresser over there.” She pointed in the direction.
“Are you just going to lay there while I change them?” I asked.
“Yeah, is that okay?”
I sighed, “Sure that’s fine.” and then walked over to the dresser. I was actually getting a bit annoyed and disappointed with the situation. Why was there so much involved in simply handing a young woman a dollar; then going in a room with her to pull down her panties to put new ones on? Aside from that, she was laying on the bed. I really wanted her to stand up so I could get a full view of her naked buttocks—see this infra-gluteal crease that she was bragging about.
By the time I returned to the bed, she had finished her drink and then lay on her back. I suddenly wasn’t that much into what was about to happen. It brought me back to those unpleasant days of changing diapers! Regardless, I undid her jeans and pulled them off. I could see she had a nice pair of silky, shapely thighs. And the panties she wore were interesting. They had smiley face print all over them.
Next I removed her panties and tried to enjoy the sight of what had been hidden seconds before. But blast it, anyway; Molly quickly rolled her thigh over in such a way to cover her crotch. And of course, being that she was laying on her back, I was unable to see her buttocks with prized infra-gluteal crease.
It was getting closer and closer to five o’clock, and I was mindful that dinner was soon to be served at home. I quickly slid her new panties on and helped her back into her jeans; all the while silently telling myself that I would never waste my time on this sort of activity, again.
Molly quickly stood up once fully dressed and then pointed in the direction of the closet. “There’s a dress in there that I actually want to wear over this. Could you get that for me?”
“The dress in the closet; do you see it?”
“Umm… yeah?” It was now 4:55pm. It would take me ten minutes to drive home, and I needed to leave—literally—five minutes ago!
“Bring it over to me.” she ordered.
Dumbfounded, and not sure why I was obeying her orders, I walked over to the closet and removed a peculiar Victorian era dress from the rod. With all the layers and material, the thing must have weighed nearly ten pounds, and looked to be something Abraham Lincoln’s wife would have worn.
Helping her into it wasn’t so easy. There were countless buttons, zippers and straps.
“No, that one doesn’t get fastened, yet…” she would tell me with a note of annoyance. “Wait; let me see if I can squeeze my stomach in a little tighter… Now do the zipper…”
I recall in the middle of this difficult task of looking up at the clock and noticing that it was already 5:20!
And so to my fellow men, I leave you a good piece of advice. If you are ever at a carnival or some festival, and you are offered to change the panties of a young and beautiful woman for only a dollar; don’t do it! It’s a scam! It’s more trouble than what it’s worth!

The End!

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Edgar Allan Poe's Tell Tale Heart--smashing performance by Vincent Price

Hello All:
Recently, my daughter excitedly reported to me that in her literature class; she and a group of students were going to perform a small play based on Edgar Allan Poe's Tell Tale Heart. This came after reading the short story and doing the literary analysis. And to make the news all the more exciting, my daughter had the roll of the narrator--the murderer.
"That's awesome!" I congratulated. "Do you know what you need to do to perfect your acting?" I asked. "You need to watch Vincent Price act out his performance of a Tell Tale Heart." And with that, we both sat down to watch it.
Do check the video out. The late Vincent Price does a smashing job in acting out the crazy murderer who insists that he is not so crazy, due to his cleverness. Unfortunately it was broken down into two video. It must have been uploaded some years ago when You Tube only allowed so much space per video.
Part One:
 Part Two:
A little treat for you: today's featured writing is the great work by Edgar Allan Poe, Tell Tale Heart.
Tell Tale Heart -- short story by Edgar Allan Poe
TRUE! --nervous --very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses --not destroyed --not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily --how calmly I can tell you the whole story.

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture --a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees --very gradually --I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.

Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded --with what caution --with what foresight --with what dissimulation I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it --oh so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly --very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! would a madman have been so wise as this, And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously-oh, so cautiously --cautiously (for the hinges creaked) --I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights --every night just at midnight --but I found the eye always closed; and so it was impossible to do the work; for it was not the old man who vexed me, but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber, and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he has passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.

Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in opening the door. A watch's minute hand moves more quickly than did mine. Never before that night had I felt the extent of my own powers --of my sagacity. I could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph. To think that there I was, opening the door, little by little, and he not even to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea; and perhaps he heard me; for he moved on the bed suddenly, as if startled. Now you may think that I drew back --but no. His room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness, (for the shutters were close fastened, through fear of robbers,) and so I knew that he could not see the opening of the door, and I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily.

I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when my thumb slipped upon the tin fastening, and the old man sprang up in bed, crying out --"Who's there?"

I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole hour I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I did not hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed listening; --just as I have done, night after night, hearkening to the death watches in the wall.

Presently I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or of grief --oh, no! --it was the low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe. I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world slept, it has welled up from my own bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it well. I knew what the old man felt, and pitied him, although I chuckled at heart. I knew that he had been lying awake ever since the first slight noise, when he had turned in the bed. His fears had been ever since growing upon him. He had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could not. He had been saying to himself --"It is nothing but the wind in the chimney --it is only a mouse crossing the floor," or "It is merely a cricket which has made a single chirp." Yes, he had been trying to comfort himself with these suppositions: but he had found all in vain. All in vain; because Death, in approaching him had stalked with his black shadow before him, and enveloped the victim. And it was the mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel --although he neither saw nor heard --to feel the presence of my head within the room.

When I had waited a long time, very patiently, without hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little --a very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it --you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily --until, at length a simple dim ray, like the thread of the spider, shot from out the crevice and fell full upon the vulture eye.

It was open --wide, wide open --and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I saw it with perfect distinctness --all a dull blue, with a hideous veil over it that chilled the very marrow in my bones; but I could see nothing else of the old man's face or person: for I had directed the ray as if by instinct, precisely upon the damned spot.

And have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over-acuteness of the sense? --now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well, too. It was the beating of the old man's heart. It increased my fury, as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage.

But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. I held the lantern motionless. I tried how steadily I could maintain the ray upon the eve. Meantime the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder every instant. The old man's terror must have been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment! --do you mark me well I have told you that I am nervous: so I am. And now at the dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old house, so strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror. Yet, for some minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder, louder! I thought the heart must burst. And now a new anxiety seized me --the sound would be heard by a neighbour! The old man's hour had come! With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room. He shrieked once --once only. In an instant I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so far done. But, for many minutes, the heart beat on with a muffled sound. This, however, did not vex me; it would not be heard through the wall. At length it ceased. The old man was dead. I removed the bed and examined the corpse. Yes, he was stone, stone dead. I placed my hand upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsation. He was stone dead. His eve would trouble me no more.

If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence. First of all I dismembered the corpse. I cut off the head and the arms and the legs.

I then took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly, so cunningly, that no human eye --not even his --could have detected any thing wrong. There was nothing to wash out --no stain of any kind --no blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary for that. A tub had caught all --ha! ha!

When I had made an end of these labors, it was four o'clock --still dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking at the street door. I went down to open it with a light heart, --for what had I now to fear? There entered three men, who introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard by a neighbour during the night; suspicion of foul play had been aroused; information had been lodged at the police office, and they (the officers) had been deputed to search the premises.

I smiled, --for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I mentioned, was absent in the country. I took my visitors all over the house. I bade them search --search well. I led them, at length, to his chamber. I showed them his treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of the victim.

The officers were satisfied. My manner had convinced them. I was singularly at ease. They sat, and while I answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears: but still they sat and still chatted. The ringing became more distinct: --It continued and became more distinct: I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and gained definiteness --until, at length, I found that the noise was not within my ears.

No doubt I now grew very pale; --but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased --and what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound --much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath --and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly --more vehemently; but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men --but the noise steadily increased. Oh God! what could I do? I foamed --I raved --I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder --louder --louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! --no, no! They heard! --they suspected! --they knew! --they were making a mockery of my horror!-this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! and now --again! --hark! louder! louder! louder! louder!

"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! --tear up the planks! here, here! --It is the beating of his hideous heart!"


Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Lovey the Clown

Hello All:
Perhaps you recall about a year ago my mention of a robin in my backyard that fell under a terrible spell of delusionment. He spent the entire weekend, pecking and head butting the windows that faced our backyard. By the end of the weekend, our windows were covered with bird saliva, grinded up beak and even blood.
And why was he doing this?
Well, understand that robins—just like all birds during the mating/nesting season—are territorial. If a robin has a nest nearby, he won't stand for having another robin invade his territory. Birds don't understand reflections in the glass. And as far as the delusioned robin in my backyard was concerned, the reflection that he saw was a threat to his territory.
"SMACK...! SMACK...! SMACK...!" He never gave up. He might have even died in his ongoing battle with the phantom bird.
I believe that people, unfortunately, do the same thing. We spend much of our lives interpreting the world around us and injecting our own perceptions to form an individualized reality. Preconceptions, inferences, prejudices, unfounded conclusions, and the expectations that we have on other people; they all form a nightmarish funhouse of a never-ending maze of mirrors. Will we ever be able to see beyond the reflections and understand reality as it truly is?
It should become our objective at some point in a lifetime to smash through these mirrors and banish those phantoms that haunt us day after day. We can do this by transforming the mind so that it is like a still body of water that reflects the surrounding world. Perhaps when we reflect the outside world instead of presenting  our own reflections to that nightmarish funhouse that we've created, we can finally see reality as it truly is.
Today's featured writing is a brand new clown story for you. I mentioned in the last clown story that if we every want to move forward with clown literature, we need to move away from John Wayne Gayce and Pennywise the Clown. I do this in today's story.
I bring you, Lovey the Clown.
Lovey the Clown
Charles is a lonely, old man who never married. He’s had only two women in younger years that could remotely be considered partners in romance. He attributes his bad luck with women to the fact that he is ugly. You see; Charles has always been ugly, starting with his deformed lips that make a nasty hair lip which exposes his gangly, yellow teeth. Then there’s his terribly scarred-up face that was brought on by bad acne in teenage years. 
But one shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. Although ugly, Charles is a really, nice guy. He is so kind, caring and good natured with a great sense of humor. But what about those two lovers from younger years? If Charles was such a great guy, why didn’t they stay with him?
Well, maybe those young women weren’t so great, themselves.
There was Annie, a pretty girl in high school who dated Charles for only about a week. It was the first girl that Charles had ever kissed. But he managed to get only one from her—a simple peck to his nasty, deformed hair lip that exposes his gangly, yellow teeth.
“You never kissed a girl?” she asked while sitting next to Charles on a park bench late one night.
It was over before Charles realized what happened!
Really, Annie only dated Charles to get even with her boyfriend who supposedly cheated on her. Once jealousy had been triggered in this boy, and he seemed to learn his lesson, Annie ended the short-lived romance with poor Charles.
Then, shortly after graduating high school, there was Stacy; a beaten and battered young and chubby brunette with very, low self esteem who simply needed a rest from being physically abused by her boyfriend. Charles became involved with Stacy shortly after her wrist had been broken from being shoved to the ground during a beating.
“I feel so comfortable and relaxed with you.” she professed while sitting across the booth from Charles at Denny’s and eating her slice of pumpkin pie.
“I hope so…” answered Charles. “And I just want you to know that you make me so happy.”
“Where have you been my whole life?” asked Stacy. “For so many years I’ve been with jerk guys. I never realized that what I needed was a nice guy like you.”
The relationship with Stacy lasted longer than the one with Annie. But so disappointing; Charles never managed to kiss Stacy. He tried, once, but she turned her face so that Charles could only kiss her cheek. His nasty, deformed hair lip that exposed his gangly, yellow teeth must have turned Stacy off.  There was, however, plenty of hugging and cuddling in their relationship. At one point Charles believed that he could make love to Stacy through just hugging and cuddling.
The entire romance lasted from November of that year, all the way to April of the following. But alas, one early evening in spring, Stacy made an unbelievable announcement. “I think I want to go back to him.”
“Go back to him? No! Why? He beat you!”
“I think he’s changed.” Stacy rebutted. “He came over to see me the other night, and I think he’s had some time to think about things. He told me he’s sorry. I can’t deny that I love him, and want to give him another chance.”
Charles was dumbfounded. He wanted to cry out, “Well what about us?” But he realized what most rebound men of abused women soon discover: battered women always crawl back for more.
And more she received! Two weeks after returning to her abusive boyfriend, Stacy was beaten into a coma and died two days later.
Poor Charles was grief stricken and heartbroken. He loved Stacy, obviously more than her murderous boyfriend. And at the funeral home he couldn’t even view her in the casket, for it was closed. You see; the beating was so severe that Stacy’s physical appearance would have deeply disturbed mourners.
There are some who say that those who appear the happiest and laugh the most are actually masking sadness. I suppose this might have been what happened with Charles. Some months after much grief, Charles’ depressed personality suddenly changed into that of a comedian. He joked and put on hysterical performances for family and friends. Some people even suggested that he go into the business of entertainment.
But instead of using his newfound talent to explore professional entertainment, Charles landed a job as an overnight janitor at the local department store. He remained there for several years. Charles never bothered going to college, or pursuing greater career options. He lived with his parents, remained single and never bothered to date women. As poor Charles understood, he was too ugly for romance. And he truly believed that Stacy was the one and only woman meant for him.
Then, one morning as Charles drove the floor buffer machine through the main aisle of the Men’s clothing department, he saw an unbelievable sight. A young woman who looked, exactly, like his murdered Stacy walked along the perimeter aisle of the Men’s clothing department, and over to Children’s. She didn’t even bother to take notice of him. Perhaps she felt that someone riding a floor buffer machine was a loser—someone clearly out of his league. Then again, maybe she just didn’t see him.
Charles wasn’t going to take any chances. He was definitely interested in the young woman, but realized he had to go about matters carefully. How to approach the young woman without revealing his hideous appearance and sad circumstance in life; he pondered this in anguish—morning after morning, week after week—as he watched her enter the department, seemingly without taking notice of him. Why would she? Charles was an ugly nobody.
Then, one night upon awakening from a dream—a dream in which Charles worked as a circus clown—he came up with the perfect solution. “I will dress up as a clown!” he exclaimed. “I will disguise my ugliness with the brilliant colors of a clown. I will cover my scarred up face with paint. I will figure out a way hide my nasty hair lip that exposes my gangly, yellow teeth; and paint a smile on my face.”
And so Charles spent many nights before the mirror, creating the most brilliant clown ensemble for himself. Now approaching his late twenties, his hair was terribly thinning—nearly bald. This was now masked by wearing a shaggy, blue clown wig that he managed to spike and fluff up so that it resembled one of those troll pencil toppers. His scarred and hideous face was entirely painted with the color pink; red-colored rose flowers and hearts painted on each cheek to symbolize his longing for romance. To rid himself of the nasty hair lip, Charles used costume clay to patch it up; and then used red paint to create a large smile. Finally, Charles dressed up in an outdated, oversized, green suit with blazer that was extra long. It was worn over a white shirt with obnoxious checkered neck tie. He looked, exactly, like a ridiculous clown.
On a Monday morning, Charles seemed to appear out of nowhere and stood at the cash register in his clown ensemble.
The young woman who resembled Stacy from years ago had her back turned for only a moment. When she turned back to the cash register, there was a clown standing before her. “Oh my gosh! What the…?”
“Hello there beautiful, young lady! I’m Lovey the Clown! He held out his white-gloved hand in a motion to shake.
Cautiously, the young woman fit her hand into his. “I’m Erin…” But before she could finish her sentence…
Something tickled and zapped Erin’s hand. “Aggggghhhhh! What was that?” she asked.
Lovey the Clown laughed, “I’m just full of gags like that!” Then he asked, “Did you say your name is Erin?”
“Erin; that’s a pretty name.”
“Well thank you!” Erin was unsure of how to react. Standing before her was a clown who—just like all clowns—found it necessary to pull obnoxious gags on people. But he also complimented her; greeted her as “beautiful, young lady” and then told Erin that her name is pretty. If she didn’t know any better, this clown was really sweet.
“I have something for you—just for you.” Lovey announced.
“What? What is it?” asked Erin.
Lovey reached into the inner pocket of his oversized, green blazer and pulled out a red rose.
“Awe… So sweet…” Erin’s heart nearly melted.
But just as she reached for it, a stream of cold water sprayed from the center of the flower.
“Ugggghhhh!” she exclaimed while wiping the water off her face.
“I’m the funniest clown you’ll ever get to know!”
“I don’t know whether to be annoyed or laugh!” Erin said. “But I think I’ll laugh. I need a little humor in my life. You’re a very, funny clown.”
“Well thank you.” said Lovey. Then Lovey did something that he thought he would never do—at least not for some weeks or even months. Perhaps it was the clown ensemble and the ability to hide behind his persona that provided him with the boldness. Lovey asked, “Well if you want to laugh some more, maybe you can give me your number. I’ll call you and give you plenty of great jokes!”
“Are you asking me for my number?” Erin asked.
Erin pushed the receipt feed on the cash register and tore off some blank paper. Then she wrote down her number. “Don’t call me at work!” she warned. “I can get in trouble. Call me in the late afternoon or in the evening when I’m home.”
“You’ve got it! And I’m honored to have the number of such a beautiful, young lady. And it was a pleasure meeting you, Erin…”
Later that night, Charles sat in his bedroom in just ordinary clothes and without the clown make-up. He spoke on the phone with his newfound friend who he hoped would soon be his girlfriend. But while speaking to Erin, Charles learned of her sad circumstance.
“...Yeah, my mom is terminally ill with COPD. She’s home on life support—a ventilator. Both my brother and sister moved out of state, and my father died a few years ago. It’s just me, all alone, to take care of my dying mother.”
“Awe… that’s sad… that’s very sad.” commented Charles. “I’m really sorry to hear that.”
Erin continued, “Now you know what I mean when I said that I needed some humor in my life. I guess I could use a clown to cheer me up.”
“Well that’s what I’m going to do!” reassured Charles. “But you know, I was thinking; maybe you need more than just a clown to tell you jokes and make you laugh. Maybe you need to get out of the house for a few hours—have dinner and see a movie.”
“You mean like a date?” asked Erin.
“Yes, a date!”
“Sure…” agreed Erin. “When would you want to go out?”
“How about we go out this upcoming Friday night?” suggested Charles. “How about I pick you up at 7:00? I’ll think of something.”
“7:00 would be great!”
When Charles said that he would think of something, Erin might have interpreted this to mean that he would think of a place to go for dinner, and decide on the movie to see. But this is not what Charles meant. Charles was referring to picking her up. You see; although Charles has his driver’s license, he doesn’t own a car. He walks everywhere, even to work.
Charles still lives at home with his parents and entered the family room after ending his call with Erin.
“Yes, what it is, son?”
“I’ve got a date Friday night with a really, nice girl from work.”
“You do? What’s her name?”
“Well good for you!” congratulated Father. “Do you need some money?”
“No, I was going to ask if I could borrow the car.”
Father sighed, “Son, unfortunately your mother and I are going to a wedding reception on Friday night. I’d let you use the other car, but we only have one.”
Charles sighed, “Oh no… I hope I don’t have to cancel my date with Erin.”
“Well, maybe you can buy a car before Friday and take her out in that.” suggested Father.
“Hmm… I’ll have to think of something.”
Soon, Charles telephoned his good friend, Sam.
“Hello?” the voice of Sam greeted.
“Sam, this is Charles.”
“Hey man, what’s up?”
Charles began, “I need a favor.”
“Sure, what do you need?” asked Sam.
“I’ve got a date on Friday night. My Dad said I can’t use the car. Could I borrow yours?”
Sam sighed over the phone. “I’m afraid I can’t do that; not for Friday. Sherry and I are going to a concert. I need my car.” Then Sam thought of an idea. You see; he’s a garbage man, and has access to plenty of garbage trucks. Might he have been able to allow his good friend to borrow one for Friday night? “Hey…” began Sam. “You don’t mind what sort of vehicle that you take your date out in, do you?”
“No, anything is fine as long as it gets me from point A to point B.” answered Charles.
“Well if I show you how to drive one, would you be interested in borrowing a garbage truck?”
“A garbage truck?” asked Charles. “You mean one of those big and noisy trucks that pull up in front of the houses to collect garbage?”
“Yup!” answered Sam. “Are you interested?”
“Sure! It’s a little awkward, but maybe my date will get a kick out of it.”
“He’s a clown, Mom. That’s all I know about him.”
It was Friday evening, about 6:45 pm as Erin stood over her mother’s bed. Poor Mother was nearly lifeless as she lay there and listened to her daughter give the details of her Friday night date. Right near the bed, the annoying hum of the machine could be heard as it pumped and supplied necessary, life-sustaining oxygen to a terminally-ill COPD patient.
 “... a clown… a clown is coming here…? Mother whispered through the oxygen mask.
“That’s what he does… I think…” answered Erin.
“... you think…?”
“I don’t know, Mother!” argued Erin. “He’s just a guy who is taking me out on a date. It’s just a date, nothing serious! Can’t I go out on a simple date?”
“... but he’s a clown…”
“So!” snapped Erin.
“... you shouldn’t trust clowns… they hide their evil intentions by being funny…”
“Oh Mother! You’re crazy, you know that?”
With a shaky hand and finger, Mother weakly gestured her daughter to come closer. “... come here…”
Erin did as her mother ordered. “What, what is it?”
“... please don’t stay out late… come home at a decent time…”
“I promise, Mom. I’ll be home before midnight.”
Suddenly the doorbell rang.
“It’s him!” exclaimed Erin. She dashed out of the bedroom, down the hallway and over to the front door.
From the bedroom, Mother listened carefully.
Oh my gosh! You wore your clown costume…! Come on in… Meet my mother…
Seconds later, in walked Erin with A CLOWN following behind her.
“... good heavens…” whispered Mother behind the oxygen mask.
“Well hello there beautiful, young lady I’m Lovey the Clown!”
“... save your flattery…” whispered Mother. Terminally ill, she wasn’t feeling so young and beautiful.
“Can I call you, Mom?” asked Lovey.
“... I never gave birth to a clown…” whispered Mother.
“Oh Mother! Don’t be so grumpy!” argued Erin. Then she looked over to the clown. “Come on, Lovey. Let’s get going.”
“Sure thing!”
And with that, both Erin and Lovey the Clown left the room.
But seconds later, the clown danced and pranced back into the bedroom and rushed over to Mother’s bed. He brought his face close to hers and reassured, “Don’t you worry about a thing! I’ll have her home before midnight!” He quickly turned and dashed out of the bedroom. But while doing so, Lovey tripped over the fish hose that ran from the oxygen machine to the mask on Mother’s face. This pulled the hose out from the machine which meant that Mother would no longer receive her much-needed oxygen.
At first Mother didn’t realize what the clown had done. It wasn’t until the front door closed—Erin out for the evening—that she began to feel the effects of lacking oxygen. “... what…? She turned her face over towards the machine and could see the hose yanked out. “... help… help…” she whispered. Mother was too weak to sit up let alone try and repair the yanked-out house. “... help… Erin… I should have never trusted a clown…”
Meanwhile, outside, Erin laughed and laughed at the sight of Lovey’s crazy ride—a garbage truck. The engine noisily rattled and clunked as it sat parked in the street.
“We’ll be cruising in style, tonight!” boldly declared Lovey. “Come-on, let’s check this baby out!” Like a gentleman, he opened the passenger side door and motioned Erin to climb aboard. But before she put her foot on the ladder, Lovey stopped her. “Wait! I feel like dancing, don’t you?”
“Dancing?” asked Erin with a queer expression.
“Sure! I just so happen to have a transportable dance floor for us. Come-on!” He motioned Erin to the back of the garbage truck where he pushed the hydraulic control lever to lower the packer blade from the trash hopper. Inside, there was an illuminated, battery-operated disco ball hanging from the ceiling. On the floor was a retro, portable stereo which might have been referred to as a “ghetto blaster” back in its day.
Lovey climbed into the hopper and pressed the play button on the tape deck. He began to dance at the sound of the music.
Outside the hopper, Erin laughed at the crazy clown who actually converted a garbage truck into his own, personal nightclub. How was all of this possible? Where did he get his hands on a garbage truck?
“Come on in!” shouted Lovey. “Let’s dance!”
At first, Erin hesitated. She shook her head and pushed her hands out in an effort to communicate, no.
“Come on!” urged Lovey. “It’s fun! You’ve got to get used to doing crazy stuff like this!”
Erin shrugged her shoulders, smiled and then carefully climbed into the hopper to be with Lovey. Soon the two danced. They danced and danced like never before.
About ten minutes passed when Lovey suggested, “You want something to drink?”
“What?” shouted Erin over the music.
“Do you want me to go to the bar and get something to drink?”
Dumbfounded, Erin stared at the clown for about a second. “Sure…”
Lovey climbed out of the hopper and left his date inside. He only intended on going up to the front of the truck to grab Erin a drink. But then something bad happened. While climbing down, his foot pressed the hydraulic control lever which began to move the large packer blade inside and towards the back.
“Oh no! Stop!” shouted Lovey as he struggled with the hydraulic controls.
A jolt of adrenaline and fear spiked through Erin’s veins as she realized that the situation had become dangerous “Hey!” she screamed while running towards the front. But it was too late! The large packer blade took up the entire entrance of the hopper and continued to move towards the back. If it continued moving, Erin would be crushed to death!
Desperately, Lovey tried to stop and reverse the packer blade. But there was something wrong. One might think that simply shifting the hydraulic control in the opposite direction would reverse the blade. But the control was apparently under some sort of automatic reset in which the packer blade would make an entire sweep inwards and then out.
“STOP! STOP!” Lovey cried out while running up to the front of the garbage truck. He reached up to the driver console and turned the engine off. But wouldn’t you know it? For some reason, the hopper and packer blade were under battery control. The blade continued to move deeply inwards until it stopped on its own volition. Then it reversed and inched its way out and to the back.
Horrified, Lovey observed the mangled and crushed remains of Erin mixed with a smashed ghetto blaster and battery operated disco light.
The following morning, the news reported the shocking report to the world. “Police walked into a gruesome murder last night. They say that a man dressed up as a clown entered an elderly woman’s home who was terminally-ill with COPD. He apparently removed the hose from an oxygen supply pump, effectively killing her. Then he murdered her daughter by crushing her to death in the back of a garbage truck. Police say it’s the most bizarre clown-style murder that they have ever seen.


Friday, November 14, 2014

Body Massage from the Cableman

Hello All:
Throughout the 1950s, occultist George Adamski made wide-spread accounts of his interactions with beings from other planets that he coined as the space brothers (and sisters). As he described; they were direct decedents of the lost, ancient continents of Atlantis and Lemuria. Technologically advanced and described as nearly magickal, these space brothers/sisters were sometimes hundreds of years old without any traces of aging. Their bodies were perfect and very youthful.
Today we know that George Adamski knew only part of the truth of this civilization from other worlds. Today we know that he was describing the Lyran species of humanoids which are very common throughout universe--including Earth (humans).
But what about these claims of maintaining youth and perfection? And what about the so-called space sisters who were, and continue to be, reported as being heart-stopingly beautiful. Surely Earth women wish they knew the secret. Space sisters, after all, are nothing out-of-the-ordinary. They are, exactly, like Earth women.

Perhaps this short You Tube video might give us a glimpse as to what a woman's workout routine might look like on some other planet.
Dancette by Rykard: Ladies, are you wishing you knew the secret of how space sisters maintain their gorgeous bodies? This 5:06 video is like an interstellar camera that reveals a daily space sister workout routine on other planets. I had no idea that women could do these things with their bodies! Guaranteed: integrate this sizzling, cosmic yoga into your workouts; you'll be ready to compete with hottest space sisters throughout the galaxy! And that's no joke! WATCH VIDEO

Today's featured writing is a Cableman story. It's from a time shortly before he was inducted into the whole space brother/sister cult thing.
Have a great weekend! Enjoy the cosmic Aerobicise.

Body Massage from the Cableman
By now you’ve  come to know the Cableman as the knight in shining armour who visits lonely women throughout the day to care for their needs. Not only is he expected to install cable or troubleshoot poor picture quality, but he must often satisfy sex starved women who might be experiencing a bad streak with romance.  Some customers have complex needs and might not immediately recognize what it is they want the Cableman to do. But they soon realize what he’s there for. And despite how challenging these women are, the Cableman always delivers!
Although still on the cool side, spring was definitely in the air as the Cableman drove to his next job on a midmorning Friday. Hopefully this visit wouldn’t take too long and he could catch an early lunch; maybe even head over to the gym afterwards.
The Cableman drove down the final stretch or neighborhood streets and slowed down while nearing the customer’s house. When found, he immediately parallel parked the van in front of the home. He stepped out, walked to the back and reached for a safety cone to place behind the vehicle.
Inside the house, Mary Ann watched as the Cableman clicked his steel-toed work boots up the driveway with company uniform and tools dangling from the waist. Should she have changed into some regular clothes? Workout completed a couple hours ago, Mary Ann remained in nothing more than her tight, black yoga shorts with matching tight, black halter top. Mary Ann was one of those women with a phenomenal ass that some might consider to be disproportionate to her body. Following her new exercise regimen since January 1st, Mary Ann lost a considerable amount of weight, slimmed down her tummy and toned her arms and legs. But her buttocks remained on the slightly large size—not fat, messy and plumpy; but round and bubble like with an appealing jiggle. A real man wishes for a woman with an ass like this. There was nothing wrong with Mary Ann’s ass! It stuck out and called for attention. It looked especially delicious in tight, yoga shorts.
The doorbell rang and Mary Ann pranced across the floor in her bare feet to answer it. There stood the handsome, muscular Cableman who looked equally delighted to see her.
“Hi, I’m here to install an additional cable outlet.”
“Yes come in!”
It was difficult for the Cableman not to appear obvious in checking out the customer. Let’s face it; Mary Ann was practically naked before the Cableman. Middle-aged with sexy wrinkles near the mouth that showed when smiling; she had warm, friendly, blue eyes and long, light-colored hair that draped along her sexy, bare shoulders and back. Just in the way that it brushed her skin seemed to invite sensual caressing and kisses. Mary Ann’s chest was intricately decorated with spots and freckles—a unique pattern brought on by many summers in the sun and definitely something to perk interest in what lies beneath the halter top.
“I need the outlet in here.” Mary Ann motioned the Cableman to follow. While leading, she could sense his eyes all over her appealing, disproportionate ass along with bare thighs that were toned so nicely from the workouts. She led the Cableman in a sizable room with hardwood floors, a large exercise mat and some dumbbells with a weight bench. Near the window was an elliptical stair climber. A small TV sat on table on the opposite wall.
“I got this new stair machine and want to use it while watching my favorite shows. Is it possible to put an outlet in here?”
Was it possible for the Cableman to install an outlet in Mary Ann’s workout room? The Cableman can do anything! “Yes, of course! I’ll get started on it.”
“Oh good!” Mary Ann was delighted to hear this. “There’s a cable outlet on the wall. I think it’s wired to the incoming cable in the basement.”
“Excellent!” exclaimed the Cableman. Your house is prewired for cable. I’ll get everything connected and have your TV hooked up in a few minutes.”
Mary Ann escorted the Cableman into the basement where the connections were located.
The Cableman immediately went right to work as it would appear that the customer was only in need for an additional outlet. If anything, the woman merely provided a little eye-candy for the morning. This would be a quick install for the Cableman.
But what was this? Some moments later after the Cableman made his connections in the basement, he returned to Mary Ann’s workout room to discover her sitting on the excercise mat. She remained in the tight yoga shorts with matching halter top. And she appeared to be doing leg stretches; leaning forward and clearly displaying the upper half of her breasts and cleavage. Mary Ann’s breasts appeared to be designed with the same intricate, freckles as the rest of her chest. It was a heartstopping sight to say the least.
Aware of the Cableman’s presence, Mary Ann looked up and nearly melted him with her warm and friendly eyes. One could nearly smell the pharemones from her light-colored hair drifting across the room. Was the customer in need of something else?
“We’re almost done.” informed the Cableman. “I just want to check your picture quality and make sure everything is good.”
“No problem...” reassured Mary Ann. “There’s no rush. I hope I’m not in the way. I thought my legs were in good shape until I got the new stair machine. I’m trying to stretch them out. They’re so sore.”
The Cableman maintained small talk with the customer. “Yup, that’ll happen. You change something with your workout and you get thrown back to square one.”
While the Cableman adjusted the channels on the TV, Mary Ann quietly walked over to a small shelf and grabbed a foam workout roller. She returned to the exercise mat and slowly rolled it over the top of her thighs while studying the Cableman.
The Cableman must have sensed something, for he turned around and finally took notice of the increasingly-sexy customer, seductively massaging the foam roller over her bare thighs. The sight startled the Cableman which left him no choice but to exclaim, “There you go! That’ll work.”
Mary Ann laughed. “I wish I could get the backs of my thighs. Too bad I didn’t have someone to roll this over them.”
The Cableman immediately offered him assistance by walking over, “You want me to massage you with that thing?”
Mary Ann cautiously smiled in return. It was what she wanted. But was it really a good idea? “Sure...” She rolled over and laid on her stomach. Light-colored hair now lay freely on the floor as Mary Ann’s exposed back, shoulders, bubble ass and sexy thighs presented themselves for the Cableman’s exploration.
What should the Cableman have gone after, first? The customer needed her thighs massaged, so he knelt down on the side and began to slowly roll sensual relief to Mary Ann’s aching muscles.
“Mmmmm... That feels good!” Mary Ann nearly moaned.
“You like that?” asked the Cableman. “Sometimes you need a little massage after a workout.” The foam roller moved up and down the backs Mary Ann’s thighs. So silky and appearing soft, her thighs were remarkably toned and firm. The Cableman wished to roll a bit harder, but didn’t want to cause discomfort for the customer. For the time being, he slowly rolled from the top of her thighs—just below the ass—and all the way down to Mary Ann’s achilles tendon. On the way to the bottom, the Cableman studied the beauty and curve of Mary Ann’s calves and also took notice of how sexy her naked feet were. Then it was back up the legs and to the bottom of the ass.
Now that ass was absolutley incredible! After some moments of working up and down Mary Ann’s thighs and legs, the Cableman took it upon himself to move the foam roller onto her butt cheeks.
At first this took Mary Ann by surprise as she lifted her head up and momentarily looked behind. Should she have been outraged and interpreted the bold move as an assault? Or should she have admitted to herself of wanting the Cableman to do this all along. Despite how beautiful and sexy she was, Mary Ann was surprisingly lonely and sex starved. She really needed some sexual attention for the morning and simply laid her head back down.
“Mmmmm... that feels good…”
“Does the stair machine make your butt sore as well?”
“Not as much as my thighs, but my butt feels it.”
The Cableman continued to roll up and down that gorgeous, disproportiante, bubble ass. He applied an extra amount of pressure to simply enjoy the sight of it being squashed and moved around. Playing with a customer’s beautiful ass was an excellent way to spend a midmorning in spring.
Could he feel more if wanted? To test this, he further rolled up the customer’s back.
All the while, Mary Ann exclaimed, “Ah, you know all the right things to do...”
The Cableman worked the foam roller into the customer’s back while eyeing her bare shoulders and exposed upper back. How he longed to touch those areas with his own hands, maybe even feel the customer’s sexy hair.
To suggest the need to finally touch her, the Cableman half heartedly attempted to massage the large roller on Mary Ann’s shoulders. But it was too big and clumsy for such complicated maneuvers. This left him no choice but to set the foam roller on the floor and then take hold of both bare shoulders for a firm, yet, gentle squeeze.
The Cableman’s fingertips massaged and worked their way into Mary Ann’s skin and muscle. She felt just as he imagined, soft and silky. And as long as he was massaging her bare shoulders, it wasn’t such a bad idea to work his hands down Mary Ann’s triceps and forearms. The Cableman didn’t hesitate with her hands, either. Why is it that uniting hands and communicating pleasure through stroking and massaging can be so sexy?
Gradually returning to Mary Ann’s shoulders, the Cableman enjoyed every moment of rubbing the customer’s exposed back. He thoroughly worked the blades of his hands along the sides of her spine and then applied massaging pressure to the lower back with the heels of his hands.
And like the creamy filling of a pastry or the frosting on the cake, the Cableman was sure to feel Mary Ann’s ass. He began by firmly working the heels of his hands along the sides of her hips and then gradually worked his way up to her butt cheeks. Each cheek was simultaneously given firm squeezes with both the Cableman’s fingertips and palms. He could have played with that ass all morning, but didn’t want to overdo it. Eventually the massage returned to the customer’s bare, sexy thighs and calves.
Mary Ann was putty in the Cableman’s hands. She was so relaxed and allowed him to maneuver her legs by slowly bending them. Of course he was sure to rest one of the hands on her bare thigh while doing this for support. At some point, the Cableman began to massage the customer’s sexy feet. Mary Ann was in pure Heaven!
But she wanted more! To reveal this, Mary Ann rolled over on her back and smiled at the Cableman while melting him with her warm and friendly, blue eyes.
Why not start by massaging her temples and forehead? This is what the Cableman did by delicately applying pressure with his thumbs and fingertips. Pretty faces, afterall, need to be gently massaged like the rest of the body.
Mary Ann loved every bit of it and smiled out of pleasure in such a way that sexy wrinkles formed around her mouth. This, of course, drew attention to her lips which further arroused a need in the Cableman to kiss her. But he continued to massage Mary Ann’s face... to her shoulders... and down the fronts of Mary Ann’s arms. More intimate communication of pleasure was provided by manipulating the muscles of her hands.
At some point, the Cableman noticed the customer’s nipples protruding through her tight halter top. Should he have massaged Mary Ann’s breasts as well? To remain respectful and hopefully not ruin a nice moment, the Cableman simply massaged the top of her chest and then lightly squeezed the base of Mary Ann’s breasts. She didn’t seem to mind. But the Cableman wasn’t going push his luck and fondle her entire breasts.
Finally, the Cableman provided additional massaging to the fronts of Mary Ann’s thighs and then gave more pleasure to her feet while taking notice of the beautiful camel toe wedged in the crotch of her tight, black yoga pants.
For all practical purposes, the post workout body massage was complete, and the Cableman’s original purpose for visiting was fulfilled as well. But Mary Ann wasn’t ready for him to leave just yet. She lay there on the excercise mat with that desireous look in her eyes that spoke of a need for something more. And this is why the Cableman finally lay beside Mary Ann as she turned on her side to face him. The two looked into one another’s eyes for a moment while the Cableman continued to touch and explore Mary Ann’s bare shoulders and playing with her sexy hair. Then he finally kissed her, slowly and carefully, savoring every bit of softness and warmth from her lips.
The two lay there for quite a few minutes, just making out while the Cableman continued to touch and explore to his heart’s content. At some point he lifted and removed Mary Ann’s tight, black halter top to finally expose her naked breasts. They they were—nipples and all—naked, free and eager to be touched.
Mary Ann was sure to unbutton and open the Cableman’s company shirt which exposed his chiseled pectorals and six-pack abdomen. She even did the same with his work jeans; unzipped them to suggest discovering what was underneath.
It was certainly fair game, so the Cableman reached down to the customer’s crotch and felt her fascinating camel toe. It’s always a pleasure to touch a woman’s kitten, directly; but camel toe in tight yoga shorts has a certain sexiness that must be appreciated. This is why he continued to fondle and trace the outlines of her vulva, labia and clitoris.
Mary Ann’s boyfriend had broken up with her just before New Years Eve. And how good it felt to finally have man giving so much attention and taking care of her needs. She continued to return sexy, wet kisses; sometimes reaching down to feel the hard bulge in the Cableman’s unbuttoned and unzipped pants.

This was an invitation for the Cableman to pull out finally expose his erection. He placed it against the crotch of Mary Ann’s yoga pants and slid it up and down the camel toe. Both were crazy from the extended foreplay and needed to make the final connections. But they continued to lay there on the mat just dry humping. The Cableman was going to have to forget about that workout. The midmorning job turned out to be longer than expected!

Wednesday, November 12, 2014

Earl of Sandwich

Hello All:
Like something out of an autumn painting; I thought I would share with you a beautiful, early-morning, autumn landscape in the forest. As you can see; the leaves have mostly fallen from the trees, and we are left with a mixture of carpeted green and brown on the floor. The sky is mostly over-casted with gray and opaque-blue. And if you look carefully enough at the trees way out near the horizon; you can see the orange, rising sun peaking through. I found this particular area interesting as I am standing some distance away from small pond which is usually green in the spring and summer months. It just so happens to be the same place where I once photographed the optical illusion bridge that crossed from one side to the other of the pond. (see the picture below)
Today's featured writing gives insight into the origination of our favorite lunchtime meal, the sandwich.

Earl of Sandwich
Earl of Sandwich was a great gambler who lived in the land of Sandwich (of course). He was a nobleman, and as a result was privileged to dine with the royal family and noble class in the palace with the king and queen.
One night, Earl was at a pub making bets and gambling as usual. One of the patrons of the pub mentioned some of the forbidden foods that could not be enjoyed by the regular class as the king had declared those foods to be royal. While listening to this discussion, Earl was enjoying a sandwich, a creation he had made popular in a card game and was his trademark meal while playing.
Earl had a great idea for a bet. "This sandwich that you see me eating: many of you would agree that the noble and royal class wouldn't be caught dead eating this in the palace. Who would like to match a bet with me that I could get the king, the queen, the royal family and noble class to enjoy sandwiches in the palace?"
Everyone in the pub laughed at Earl. Everyone knew that it was required to eat with forks and knives in the palace. And to rip away at meat & cheese, wedged between bread, was the most ill-mannered behavior of peasants. Seeing that the odds were stacked up against Earl, everyone in the pub pooled their money together.
The following evening, Earl stepped into the palace diner and sat down in his usual spot. There were many noblemen and women who planned on dining with the king and queen. The servers brought out stuffed peacock, pheasant and fruit. One could eat fruit with the hands, of course. But the juices that may have run while taking a bite must be quickly removed as if not to offend the king and his guests. The bones of birds needed to be held daintily so that the meat could be pulled away with forks and knives. For you see, the king & queen, royal family and noble class were expected to act civilized in comparison to the working class and peasants.
Earl took a couple bites of the peacock and then looked up at one of the servers. "What is this rubbish?"
Gasps could be heard from those dining around him.
"Excuse me, Sir?" The server had never heard complaints from person dining with the king.
"This rubbish you are serving: you actually feed this to the royal family and noble class? Take my plate back and make me something else. Put down a piece of bread, layer some meat and cheese on it and top it off with some lettuce and tomato. Finally, put another piece of bread on top and bring it to me. And bring me more wine!"
Earl took everyone in the palace diner by surprise with the way he was ordering the servers to bring him something else. Most people wondered if the king had been insulted; but he continued to watch while eating.
Soon the server returned with Earl's request. No sooner had the plate been set in front of him; Earl took a hearty bite of the sandwich. The entire dining hall was agape upon seeing the nobleman pick up this mixture of bread, meat, cheese and vegetables with his bare hands. He opened his mouth and tore away at the combination and proceeded to noisily chew.
At that, the king dropped his fork. He was outraged! "How dare you come in this palace and eat a hideous meal of meat and cheese between two slices of bread like some peasant? How dare you insult the royal family and all these noblemen and women? What's this all about?"
The guards drew their swords with a rapid approach towards Earl as he was about to be punished for his ill manners. But he quickly spoke in defense, "My dear king and queen, family, fellow noblemen and women: there is nothing wrong with this meal. Many countries have their dishes that are recognizably the creation of that country. Take Italy; they have Spaghetti. China has chop-suey. What does Sandwich have? Until now, we have had nothing. But this night, going forward, we have the creation that I call the sandwich. The whole world will recognize the sandwich that came from the wonderful land of Sandwich!
The king motioned the guards to lower their swords and then ordered everyone in the dining room to cease eating. The servers were commanded to take away the food and bring back sandwiches for everyone. The servers did as asked and quickly returned plates of sandwiches with more wine. At first, the royal family and noble class were a little uncomfortable eating the sandwiches with their hands. But they soon learned the pleasure of enjoying a good, hearty sandwich.
Soon it was announced in the land of Sandwich that placing meat, cheese and other items in between two slices of bread was to be called a sandwich. It was declared that a sandwich could only be enjoyed by the royal and noble class. Any of the common or working class found eating a sandwich would be punished. But although ordinary citizens were informed of the new, forbidden fruit; the royal meal was enjoyed by the common and working class behind closed doors at dinner time. Extreme caution had to be exercised when enjoying a sandwich because the penalty could be harsh taxes, prison, even torture.
A secret informant to the king heard word of this illegal eating of sandwiches behind closed doors by the common and working class, and informed the king. The new knowledge launched surprise visits by soldiers and police to the homes of common and working class during meal time. Many people were jailed and heavily taxed. But it only made the sandwich more appealing to the common and working class.
As for Earl, he did some traveling to distant lands after winning an enormous amount of money from the sandwich bet. He forgot about the land of Sandwich that now was dealing with this new existence of the royal food called sandwiches.
Back at the palace, the noblemen and women were growing tired of eating sandwiches and opted for smaller ones with fewer ingredients. This would ensure an empty stomach for the royal and noble class. For you see, they had plans of eating a regular dinner of pheasant, stuffed peacock or lamb upon returning home.
When the king heard of this, he was outraged. He was about to order a similar invasion of the noble class homes to make sure his noblemen and women were not eating peasant food such as peacock, pheasant or lamb. But Earl of Sandwich returned from his trip to far off lands and secretly suggested to the king that he have the servers bring out double-decker, and even triple-decker sandwiches during meal time to ensure the guests would be too full to go home and eat something else.
The king took the suggestion and also added that anyone not finishing a sandwich would be punished. Earl of Sandwich saw this problem as an opportunity to further travel and enjoy his lifestyle of gambling. He suggested to the king that he should travel to distant lands and seek other ideas for sandwiches so the noble class would not be unhappy. Needless to say, Earl was not a popular person in the land of Sandwich after introducing this controversial meal that disrupted the lives of all the classes. The king gave Earl some money and ordered him to go and seek out new meals similar to the sandwich.
Months later, Earl returned to the eager king with his findings. Earl had spent some time in Mexico where he gambled, drank Mexican beer and enjoyed Mexican food. He showed the king how a flat piece of bread could have scoops of beans, meat, cheese, vegetables, and other spices and sauces so that it could be rolled up into something called a taco.
The king was delighted and ordered all the noble class to the palace for a taco party. The guests loved the tacos because bowls of ingredients were laid out on the table. They could add whatever they wanted to the taco and then eat. Thanks to Earl, the palace now had their choice of either tacos or sandwiches.
The common and working class heard of this new meal called the taco, and sought ways to enjoy this royal food in the secrecy of their homes. But they had a difficult time obtaining the spices for the meat.
For years Earl traveled to distant lands and brought back ideas to eat such as sausages inside of buns, calzones and even pizza. He restored his popularity among the noble class and further gave the working and common class forbidden fruits that could not be enjoyed. But the most interesting tale of a sandwich invented by Earl in the land of Sandwich took place during breakfast. He realized that people wanted something other than tacos, sandwiches or pizza for breakfast. So one morning, he asked one of the servers to take his jar, which contained peanut butter, and spread some on a slice of toasted bread. In addition, he requested that a spoonful of the king's royal honey be poured on the peanut butter, after which another slice of toasted bread was to be placed on top.
The people during breakfast all gasped upon hearing Earl ask for some of the king's royal honey. Honey was exclusively a royal food which meant it could only be enjoyed by the king and his family. But to sanctify this request, Earl asked that a similar sandwich be brought out to the king.
Soon the two toasted peanut butter sandwiches with honey were brought out. The king loved the combination, but was outraged upon seeing Earl eating a sandwich made with the royal honey. This time Earl was too arrogant and lost. He spent some time in the dungeon for eating a royal food. Nobody eats honey in the palace except for the king and queen!
But it created a whole new adventure for the noble, working and peasant classes. They sought ways to get honey so they could enjoy this new creation.

Friday, November 7, 2014

A Gypsy Rite of Passage: stealing

Hello All:
I've recently noticed a strange phenomenon now that the clocks have been moved behind an hour. It has to do with commuting traffic. You see; I always leave my house some time before 6am each weekday morning, and trek my way to work. Traffic isn't so bad, then. It's seems that my time of travel beats the rush hour.
But this week it's a different story! Roads and highways are suddenly congested during my time of travel. If I didn't know any better, I'm actually leaving an hour later! I suppose with the time change—clocks moved an hour behind—I actually am. So am I part of a small population of people who follow the silly rule of moving the clocks behind?
I wonder...
But maybe there's another theory. Up until now I would have believed that everyone leaves at a specific time each day to get to work. Starting time for many people might be 7:00. To ensure that they get there on time, they might leave at 6:30; or in my case, 6:00. Likewise, there are people who have to start at 8:00. For them; they leave at 7:30, or maybe 7:00.
But what if this group of time-dictated people only represents a percentage of those commuting on the roads each day? What if there are people who don't leave at 6:30 or 7:30? What if there are people who leave for work when the Sun finally comes up? Last week and for some weeks prior, I had been traveling in the dark for most of my commute. This week I am traveling in the light. Perhaps I am now encountering the large population of daylight commuters.
Today's featured writing officially marks the end of our Halloween celebration and any stories that are centered around the holiday. I sat down on Wednesday afternoon and wrote another installation to our Pias the Gypsy stories.
In case you have just dropped in and this is your first time visiting, I've included a list of the Gypsy stories in their order with links to access them. That way you can catch up before reading today's featured writing.
1. Gypsy
Have a great weekend! Steal something if you want to, but only if you are a Gypsy.
A Gypsy Rite of Passage: stealing
Melanie waited and waited at the edge of her driveway for the school bus to come. Recall that in the last story, the bus driver had given her a walkie-talkie radio for purposes of communicating that she was running late, or that she wasn't going to school that day.
But there is something else about Melanie's new bus driver. You see, he's a dead ringer for a man who has been haunting Melanie in her dreams each night named Pias the Gypsy. Pias has been educating Melanie on the ways of his so-called Gypsy culture. And he informed Melanie that the walkie-talkie radio was perfect for enabling secret communication between the two of them. Walkie-talkie radios are not IP based devices. Nor do they keep records of chat history. Unlike cell phones and computers, there is no way for the authorities to track who Melanie was communicating with if her walkie-talkie is ever discovered. Walkie-talkie communication would actually protect Pias from Melanie's parents and the authorities. And when the day comes for Melanie to run away from home to live with Pias and become his Gypsy bride, the authorities would be unable to track who Pias is.
As far as Melanie was concerned, that moment to run away from home was now. She was tired of Mother's constant mental and emotional abuse. This is why she radioed him at the bus stop just moment's ago. "Pias?" she keyed up on Channel 1. "Pias, are you there?"
There were about several seconds of silence before the bus driver answered. "Hello? Yes, who is this?"
"Pias, it's me, Melanie. I think I'm ready. I think I'm ready to leave."
"Okay..." answered the bus driver. "I'm on my way. Just be patient and I'll be there in about five minutes."
After waiting a few minutes, the bus could finally be seen in the distance. As it neared Melanie's driveway, the flashing lights were activated. The stop sign was extended to warn motorists that a child was boarding the school bus. The door opened and Melanie climbed up the stairs.
"Good morning!" greeted the bus driver.
"Hi..." answered Melanie.
"Everything okay?" he asked.
"No, not really."
"Try not to worry. Things will get better." reassured the bus driver. "Go ahead and take your seat."
Melanie did as ordered, and the bus rolled off for the next stop. While traveling, the driver glanced at Melanie through the rearview mirror with his Gypsy eyes. Upon returning his gaze on the road, he began singing one of his mysterious Gypsy songs that—just like all the others—were in an unrecognizable language. But just as with all the other songs, Melanie knew it was directed at her, and even knew the meaning. The message urged that she remain patient, and keep her head up in these trying times. It reminded her that she was a Gypsy, and that she could not lose touch with her dji—the lively energy that is shared within Gypsy culture; the spirit, the heart, emotions, courage, and awareness of being liberated to do and be what one wants in life.
About ten minutes later, the yellow bus pulled into the drive of Melanie's high school. Immediately all the kids stood up and exited; everyone that is except for Melanie. As far as she was concerned, Melanie was running away with Pias to be his Gypsy bride.
With the bus seemingly cleared of all the high school kids, the driver stood up and walked his way towards the back of the bus to quickly clean up before making the next round. But what was this? Melanie remained sitting in her seat while eagerly looking up at him.
"Is everything alright, honey?" asked the bus driver.
"Yes..." Melanie nodded.
"Did you forget something at home?"
"No, I don't want to go back there. I have everything I need."
"You sure?"
"Well then you better get to class!" urged the bus driver.
Frightened and confused; Melanie quickly stood up, dashed off the bus, and made her way inside the school. Maybe it wasn't time, yet. Maybe he needed to do some preparations before abducting Melanie. Maybe that was the meaning of the song that he sang which urged Melanie to remain patient.
The ride home from school was uneventful. In fact, the bus driver seemed disconnected from Melanie. If she didn't know any better, he was beginning to have second thoughts about abducting and inducting her into the Gypsy culture as his bride. He didn't even bother to say goodbye as Melanie exited the school bus.
Usually when Melanie walks in the door at home, she is bombarded by questions from Mother about school as she inspects Melanie's school bag. But today was different. Oh, Mother did ask Melanie if she had homework like she usually did.
"Do you have homework?"
"Yes, Mother!"
"Well see how much you can get done before we leave. I am taking you with to Stacy's house, my hairstylist. She said she can do your hair as well. Maybe she can take a few inches off your hair and style it up. Would you like that?"
Melanie knew that Gypsy women traditionally had long and free flowing hair. Cutting a few inches off would not be desirable. "I want to grow my hair out." she answered Mother.
"Absolutely not!" snapped Mother. "You already look like a ragamuffin. Now get upstairs and start your homework. You can bring it with if you have more to do."
Melanie sighed and stamped up the stairs. How she hated Mother! If only Pias would finally come along and abduct her like any decent Gypsy man is supposed to.
Two hours later, after eating a quick dinner and then riding along with Mother in her Cadillac Escalade to her hairstylist’s home, Melanie sat at the dining room of Stacy's house and did her homework. Mother was in the kitchen with Stacy and receiving a perm. The dining room was some distance away from the kitchen, but Mother's stupid voice could still be heard from the kitchen.
"She's in high school, now; you know?" I just want her to look a little more professional—a college bound young lady. But then she told me that she wants to grow her hair out!"
Stacy loudly gasped while laughing. "She wants something different?"
"Yes, but too bad!" answered Mother. "I'm the parent, and I say how she wears her hair."
How Melanie hated her mother!
Just then, Melanie took her eyes off her math homework and glanced up at a curio cabinet that stood in the corner near the dining room window. Inside were a collection of various items—collector’s plates, Precious Moments figurines, Swarovski crystal sculptures and the likes. And on the middle shelf was an item that caught Melanie's attention. It looked to be an antique pocket knife; perhaps a pushbutton knife or switchblade.
Curious, Melanie carefully stood up and walked over to the curio cabinet. Sure enough, inside, there was what certainly appeared to be an antique switchblade. The handle was ornate with various designs that appeared feminine. Written in small lettering was the word, "Sterling". It was an antique, Sterling silver switchblade that had been manufactured by the Walden Knife Company.

Melanie couldn't believe what she was doing next. She actually pulled at the glass door of the curio cabinet and carefully opened it. She attentively listened to the activities in the kitchen to ensure that no one was coming.
"And when she gives me backtalk, I'm sure she receives good punishment!" boasted Mother.
"Good for you!" reassured Stacy.
It was now or never! Melanie reached in the cabinet and pulled out the knife. She carefully examined and marveled at the beautiful, decorated handle. It seemed to be made just for her. But did it work?
Melanie pushed the button and observed a five-inch blade that quickly swung out. The blade was shiny and sharp. It could certainly do a lot of damage. And for the first time in Melanie's life, she understood the reason why stealing was the lifestyle of a Gypsy. Mother would never allow her to have such a thing. Aside from that; the knife resonated with Melanie. Even though it belonged to Stacy, it was supposed to be part of Melanie. This is why she closed the blade and put the knife in her front pocket before quietly closing the curio cabinet door. The knife now belonged to Melanie. It was hers; her Gypsy knife. Pias would be proud.
For the minutes that remained while waiting to get her haircut, Melanie reflected on what she had done. She realized that she had passed a certain rite of passage. Melanie was now, officially, a Gypsy in two ways:
1. She acquired a valuable item through stealing.
2. She now owned what could have been considered a Gypsy knife. This also meant that it was time to learn Gypsy knife fighting.
Ten minutes later, Melanie sat in the kitchen while Stacy took a pair of scissors to her hair.
"I hear from your mother that you are quite a handful at home—typical teenage girl. Well, hopefully this makes things better."
The scissors snapped away as Melanie's beautiful hair fell to the floor. But Melanie didn't care. She was now more of a Gypsy than ever before. She didn't need long hair to prove it. She stole a knife from the stupid bitch that now butchered her hair.
"Now stop with the attitude!" warned Mother who observed the bitter look on her daughter's face. "It's time to look like a young lady; not like some filthy ragamuffin."
Maybe in the near future, Melanie could use her new knife on Mother!

To be continued…