Thursday, July 24, 2014

Swordfish Chili

Hello All:
More starseed awakening / Earthly transformation videos; some writers offer similar material like this as starseed DNA activation videos. This 4:18 video which includes the music of Jens Buchert begins with what appears to be a cruise through the everglades on a high-powered air boat. Then you are whisked off to a mountainous, desert, terrain--perhaps Yellowstone National Park--where you witness geysers build up their energy before erupting. When they finally do, you are brought close enough to see the patterns in the water. It soon becomes clear that this video guides the user through understanding geomancy and the Earth's Telluric grid. But it isn't only the Earth and water that inter plays with this grid. Cloud formations are part of this as well. Wear headphones! NOTE: There is a link embedded in the video that offers you to watch the entire video somewhere else. Disregard this link--unless you want to view this person's entire collection of You Tube videos. I hand picked this one to match the series of Earthly transformation videos.

Swordfish Chili
Why would anyone want to make chili out of delicious meat such as swordfish? Swordfish on its own is wonderful and is very meaty without the pungent, fishy taste. It is often described as being similar to shark or tuna steak and is recommended to enjoy with a rosemary and garlic bere blanc, a side of wild mushroom risotto and a glass of chardonnay. Needless to say you wouldn't classify swordfish in the same category as tuna salad, or fried-lake-perch.
So why would you make chili with swordfish? This would be done if you had an excessive amount of swordfish on hand and couldn't get enough people to help themselves to the steaks you were graciously giving away. How would you find yourself having an excessive amount of swordfish steaks on hand? If you went fishing for swordfish you were more-than-likely fortunate enough to catch a fish that was at least 1,000 pounds and approximately 13 feet long. They are huge!
Before you pitch this writing in the trash and say you'll never get out to sea to catch swordfish, understand that despite popular belief you don't need to go to the Gulf of Mexico or some Pacific waters to catch Swordfish. Many local lakes and ponds in your area are stocked yearly with different breeds of fish and this includes swordfish. You might have one of those drainage ponds at your local park that contain a collection of carp, bass, or swordfish. If you don't think there are any swordfish at your local park, just contact your town's recreation department and request swordfish to be added to the mixture of fish stocked in the lake each year.
Okay, so it's a beautiful day; the swordfish are jumping at the pond at your local park, which is only 5 minutes away and you are ready! But before you go fishing, there are a few things you need to know about swordfish. The first thing you should understand is that swordfish don't hang around the shore. You need to go out in the middle of the water to catch them. Needless to say you will need a boat.
But there's more! Catching swordfish takes much skill and patience. You won't be bating the hook with a worm! You need to use bait fish like mackerel, mullet, herring or bonito. And it takes a long time to land a swordfish. It's a major fight to reel the fish in and the whole battle could take an hour to three hours. Keep in mind you are dealing with possibly 1300 pounds at the end of your fishing line and these guys can travel up to 50 miles-per-hour. In an attempt to fight the line, the swordfish will probably jump out of the water. Keep this in mind when the fish is close to the boat because the sword may be coming right at you. The swordfish is an aggressive fish and when near the boat it may thrust it's sword at the side of the boat. Sometimes the swordfish is successful in piercing the side of the boat. Be very careful when pulling in this fish.
It takes a crew to pull the swordfish on to the boat, unless you think you are strong enough to pull at least a thousand pounds of aggression out of the water. Once the fish is on the boat, extreme caution must be observed not to get injured by the sword. You should be wearing gloves and should make a conscious effort not to be in the way of that sword! Proudly row your boat to shore while all the kids playing at your local park watch in amazement at the huge fish being brought in. And of course, do not allow children or other observers to approach the swordfish once it's been brought to shore.
You will more-than-likely have a surplus of swordfish steaks and you may want to try this delicious swordfish chili recipe:
4 lb chopped swordfish steak (cooked!)
28 oz Stewed tomatoes
2 Large onions
4 Garlic cloves
1/2 c Flour
2 can Ranch beans
1/2 c Chili powder
12 oz Beer

2 tb Cumin
1 tb Cayenne
2 ts Salt

1. Sauté onions and garlic in oil. Add ingredients, except for beans. Simmer for two hours and then add beans before serving.

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Mr. Particular

Hello All:

When taking RF measurements in the lab with sensitive equipment, it's highly advisable to perform a power flow analysis in advance to predict whether or not you could damage things. This can easily be done on a spreadsheet. Take a look at my diagram. We see that I have -20dBm coming out of the ZVA network analyzer which is fed into one of the ports
of a coupler. The port offers -20dB of attenuation (which is why I chose to use the couplers). This drops the signal down to -40dBm. The gain of the device, however, offers +20dB which brings us back to -20dBm at the output. From there, the signal comes out of one of the taps of the coupler which offers -20dB of attenuation. But before reaching the receiving end of the ZVA network analyzer, that -40dBm signal passes through a -10dB attenuator which delivers a total of -50dBM of final signal. The ZVA network analyzer can certainly handle this.
Oh but don't think that I'm Mr. Particular! Really I only analyze things this way in the lab. At least I'm not like the main character in today's brand new story.
Mr. Particular
Edward leaves nothing to chance, and leaves no small detail unconsidered. Even the task of turning on the television—a task that you and I believe to be brainless and automatic—is carefully analyzed and planned out before doing it. In fact, one evening, Edward saw one of his kids simply turning on the TV in the living room which irked him.
"Cory, what are you doing?"
"Watching TV..."
"Watching TV? Now that's a very dangerous statement. What do you mean by watching TV? Define watching TV."
His son, Cory, became annoyed with another one of his father's stupid sessions of hyper analyzing as he sighed, "Come on Dad! I want to watch my show."
"Watch your show? I don't know what that means. Can you please tell me?"
"On the TV!"
"What's a TV? That's what I'm trying get to. You haven't defined to me what a TV is, much less what it means to watch your show. I'm just trying to understand what that means, that's all."
Cory shook his head in disbelief, "That's a TV, Dad." while pointing to it.
"And why do you call that a TV?"
"Because that's what it is!" shouted Edward's son in total irritation.
"Now don't get smart me!" warned Edward. "I don't think you understand how dangerous it is to simply assume things and leave your life on automatic copilot. You need to think very carefully before following through with something. Now let's look at this thing that you call a TV. I'm going to shut if off so we can start at the beginning." Edward grabbed the remote control from his son, and turned off the TV.
"Come-on, Dad!"
A look of warning was given to his son in return before continuing. "Now, I walk over to this rectangular object and can immediately see a bunch of wires and cables sticking out of it. I can see that one of those wires sticks into some kind of three-pronged outlet on the wall. For the sake of argument, I'm going to make the hypothesis—not immediately assume and believe to be fact—that this three-pronged outlet is an electrical outlet. What's an electrical outlet? Well under this hypothesis, I'm going to theorize that it's the final point where electricity from the power plant is delivered to our home and at one of the walls—this particular one. And how am I going to prove this hypothesis? I'm going out to my garage to get a voltmeter and check it."
Edward dashed out to the garage and returned with a voltmeter as promised. Then he unplugged the TV from the wall.
"Nice going, Dad!" shouted Edward's son, Cory. "Now the TV is going to have to reprogram itself once you plug it back in."
"Reprogram itself? I don't know what that means. Define reprogram itself?"
Cory sighed and shook his head in annoyance. He just wanted to watch his show on TV.
"Now, this is a voltmeter." continued Edward. "I know this because the label on the front says it's a voltmeter. Plus, when I turn it on there is some digital display that reads values in volts. And look..." he held the meter up to his son's face. "... It's apparently looking for values because it's taking random, small measurements. I'm not sure why it does that. Maybe I'll write the manufacturer and ask why. In fact, maybe I'll leave that project to you. By the end of this week, I want you to do some research into this voltmeter, learn who the manufacturer is, learn a little about their company, and then write them a letter; ask them why this voltmeter takes random small measurements when not receiving a voltage. You might want to find some documentation on the internal circuitry. Again, that will probably take some additional research on your part to understand electronics; but it will help you appear intelligent when asking your questions."
Edward walked over to the three-pronged outlet on the wall and stuck the probes in. How he didn't get into another detailed discussion on reading the instructions on the voltmeter is amazing. Perhaps even Edward sometimes fails to carefully analyze and evaluate every task.
"120 volts, AC. Do you see that, Cory? Come here! Look at this!"
Having no choice, Cory did as his father ordered and answered, "Uh-huh."
"What does that say?" Edward asked.
"120 VAC..." answered Cory.
"That VAC means voltage AC." explained Edward. And that AC further means alternating current. At this point we can conclude that our hypothesis is correct. This is an electrical outlet that delivers the necessary 120 volts AC to household appliances—in our case, this rectangular box that we are currently analyzing and trying to understand. But even still, we don't know where the electricity is coming from, or if it is always there. See what I mean?"
Cory watched as his father began to slowly slip into another psychotic episode of shaking his head while approaching near convulsion. His body would soon start trembling. It would be necessary for Father to go for a walk and bring down his blood pressure to return for more arguing and hyper analyzing.
 "I don't know... I just don't... See what I mean...? We haven't proven anything. I'm just trying to understand what this three-pronged outlet is and what this rectangular box is that you call a TV!" Edward slowly exhaled air through his lips with hands on his head. Then he continued. "I mean what are all of these other cables behind it? And look! There's another cable sticking out of the wall. This one allows for another screw-on connector to connect to it. I don't have the right kind of tool to measure and validate what it is. Do you see what I mean? We haven't been able to prove anything or fully comprehend what this rectangular object is. And you simply call it a TV. So what's a TV? What does it do?"
On the verge of a breakdown, Edward stormed out of the house, presumingly to go for a walk and bring down his blood pressure. But I suppose in Edward's world, the onlooker hasn't proven anything.
Relieved, Cory finally turned on the TV (allowing, first, for it to reprogram itself) and watched his show. But he wouldn't be able to fully relax. His father would return in about twenty minutes for more arguing and hyper analyzing.
One Friday evening; Edward and his wife, Jill, decided to order pizza for dinner. Jill had a long day at the office and didn't feel like cooking. Plus, everyone would have enjoyed some Friday night pizza.
"Hold it!" interrupted Edward as Jill picked up the phone. "Not so fast! I'm going to use this as an opportunity to prove my argument from the last time you ordered TV."
"Edward, not tonight!"
"No! Let me order the pizza this time! I will show you the proper way of doing it." You see, Edward does not like the way his wife simply orders pizza on the telephone.
Let's look at what she does wrong.
The last time she called, the voice of a young girl answered the phone, "King Louis' pizza; is this pick up or delivery?"
"Delivery..." answered Jill.
"Can I have your phone number?"
"Okay, and what would you like?"
"I want a total of three family sized pizzas. One with pepperoni, another with sausage and mushroom, and third to be a buffalo chicken."
The person answering the phone took down the order and then repeated, "Okay so that's three family sized pizzas; a pepperoni, a sausage and mushroom, and a buffalo chicken. Would there be anything else?"
"Okay, your total is $62.80. That should be there in about 45 minutes."
But this was all wrong in Edward's world! He would show his wife the proper way to go about ordering pizza as he dialed the phone number that was listed on the menu.
"King Louis' pizza; is this pick up or delivery?" answered the voice of a young girl on the phone.
"Excuse me?" asked Edward.
"Is this pick-up or delivery?"
"What do you mean by pick-up or delivery?" challenged Edward. "I don't know what that is. I'm just trying to understand what you mean by that; that's all."
There was a pause before the girl on the other end of the call carefully explained. "Are you going to pick up your order, or are you going to have it delivered?"
"Oh, now I understand!" exclaimed Edward. "See, I didn't know what you meant by that. I was just trying to understand what pick-up or delivery meant. Well, assuming we decide to order some pizza, I'll have it delivered."
"Okay... And what would you like."
"Well..." began Edward. "…my wife and I were talking about dinner, and what we should do. There were some suggestions made; maybe grill something outside, go out for dinner, pick up hamburgers, order some pizza. At this point it looks like we are leaning towards ordering some pizza. So do you make your crust there?"
"Excuse me?" asked the girl who was used to taking simple orders for pizza .
"Do you make your crust? Simple question, that's all. I'm just trying to understand how you make your pizza."
"Yes, we hand-make our crust from scratch and bake it."
"Okay, good! See, that's what I was asking. I was just trying to understand how you make your pizza's, that's all. So you probably have some kind of process put in place to make your pizza dough. You probably have a list of ingredients that you mix. And you probably use yeast which means the dough needs to sit out and rise. Am I correct?"
There was a long pause, "Yes..."
Okay, so how long do you leave it sit out?"
"Hang on a minute, sir. Let me get someone from the back kitchen to answer your questions."
Edward was placed on hold.
"Can you believe this?" Edward asked his wife. "I don't think she knows what she's doing over there. I ask a simple question on how they make the pizza dough, and she has to get someone from the back kitchen. You see what I mean? You're ordering from this place and the people might not even know how to make pizza."
Edward was soon taken off hold. "This is Bob. What can I do for you?"
"Well, hi, Bob! I hope I have someone who knows what they are doing over there. My wife and I were talking about ordering pizza, but I'm getting some second thoughts. I simply asked the girl how you go about making the pizza dough, and she couldn't answer. Do you make it from scratch over there?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you use yeast? Does it have to rise?"
"Yes sir."
"And how long does it have to sit?"
"Usually about fifteen to twenty minutes." answered Bob.
"Okay... so you don't have your process measured down to an exact science. You give me some arbitrary range of fifteen to twenty minutes. You've opened the window to variation which means that one pizza crust probably isn't exactly the same as another. Now, do you measure the temperature in the room while making your dough?"
There was a long pause before Bob answered, "No, it's usually pretty hot in here from the ovens."
"Okay, so you don't make your pizza dough under a controlled environment to maintain consistency. That could be a problem. Already I see some things wrong with your process. What about the tomato sauce? Do you make it fresh, or is it from a can?"
"We use a pre-canned pizza sauce, sir."
"Okay, so you use sauce from a can. Right away that means that your pizzas aren't made from scratch. That is the definition of scratch, right? Scratch would imply that from the very least you would have purchased tomatoes from the store and made your sauce. But for consistency, you should have grown your tomatoes in a controlled environment to ensure that every tomato is exactly the same as the other so that you have a sauce with no variation in flavor.”
Edward heavily sighed before asking his next question. “How about the cheese? Is that pre-packaged?"
"Yes, sir."
"Where is it from?"
"It's delivered from a truck every week."
"That's not what I'm asking! I want to know where the cheese is made. See, I'm not sure if you are aware of this, but the water used in making mozzarella cheese can actually influence the taste. There are people who actually prefer mozzarella cheese imported from New York City because of the water that is used. It's a taste unlike any other mozzarella. So do you know where your cheese is made?"
"No, I never checked."
Edward slowly blew air through his lips and shook his head in disbelief. "I'm going to have to call you back. I'm not sure what we are going to do." And with that, Edward hung up the phone.
"See what I mean?" shouted Edward to his wife. "How long have you been ordering pizza from that place?"
Jill shrugged her shoulders. "A few years?"
"Is that just some arbitrary number? Don't you have something more exact?"
By now, Jill was on the verge of strangling her husband. What ever happened to him? He wasn't like this years ago. "Edward, you need to stop! You don't need to be talking to me like that! I don't appreciate having my intelligence insulted!"
"I'm not insulting your intelligence, Jill! I'm just saying! I just wanted to understand how they make their pizza at this... this... King Louis place that you order from. But no one could give me answers. You see what I mean? You see? I just don't know! I just don't know if they actually make pizza!"
With that, Edward stormed out of the house, presumingly on a walk to bring down his blood pressure.
It was a chance for Jill to finally order dinner. But her husband would soon be back for more arguing and hyper analyzing. And surely dinner would be unenjoyable with more discussions on whether or not people were doing the right things.

The End!

Friday, July 18, 2014


Hello All:
I managed to drag myself out of bed during the witching hour like I used to, and created this new short story for you. It's really good--in my opinion. It's scary, creepy and really bizarre. I hope you like it.
If you are a young woman looking for love; look no further. I bring you Pias the Gypsy. He used to work in the circus as a trepeze artist. He can tell fortunes with an ordinary deck of playing cards. And according to him; in his Gypsy culture, it isn't uncommon for older men to have romantic relationships with young teenage girls to teach them all the things they need to know to be good lovers.
Have a great weekend.
It wasn't even going to be an entire day's visit to her great Aunt Beatrice's home. Fifteen-year-old Melanie was dropped off by her parents that morning so they could take her brother to a nearby clinic for some medical tests. They promised to return some time in the late afternoon.
Although certainly looking and acting like any normal fifteen-year-old girl, Melanie secretly remains a young girl when not with her peers. She isn't that into boys just yet. Nor does she act out the role of fifteen going on twenty-five. Melanie is a kid, thank goodness. In fact, on this mid morning after eating breakfast, she was sorting through a collection of dolls that she used to play with when visiting her aunt; dressing them up in outfits and fixing their hair.
"There is a man coming here today, Melanie." announced Aunt Beatrice upon entering the room.
Melanie glanced up as her aunt spoke.
Aunt Beatrice is fifty-seven years old, and was sadly widowed over five years ago. Now ready for some close companionship of the opposite sex, she's learned about the wonderful thing called the Internet in which she can create a profile on a dating website and hook up with other men who are single and lonely.
"His name is Pias. He's actually coming here to see you! I've spoken about you and told him what an amazing and pretty girl you are. I told him that you are wiser and more grown up than some of the other girls your age."
"Okay..." acknowledged Melanie. Perhaps Aunt Beatrice had been dating this man for a while, and wished to introduce family—starting with Melanie. She could handle that.
"He's a Gypsy." continued Aunt Beatrice as Melanie resumed combing her doll's hair. "He grew up in a lifestyle that is different from ours. He told me that in his culture, it isn't uncommon for older men to have close friendships with girls like you. Gypsy men teach young girls all the things they need to know; turn them into women and teach them to be good lovers for when some day that they get married."
Melanie nearly dropped her doll upon the mention of being a good lover. For a moment it almost sounded like this man had intentions of pursuing a romantic relationship with her.
"Oh, now don't worry." reassured Aunt Beatrice. "Pias won't hurt you. He's a very, handsome man. He used to travel with the circus and work as a trapeze artist. His mother taught him how to read fortunes with cards. Maybe if you let him, he'll read your fortune."
"Maybe..." said Melanie with an uninterested smile. Unsure of how to interpret the current situation, Melanie resumed combing her dolls' hair.
Aunt Beatrice walked out of the room.
It was 12:30 in the afternoon as Melanie sat on the sofa in the family room and watched TV. In the kitchen, Aunt Beatrice prepared lunch and set the table. From Melanie's vantage point, she could see three place settings at the table; one for Melanie, one for Aunt Beatrice and one—presumably—for Pias the Gypsy. Apparently this was to be a lunch date in which Melanie would get acquainted with Pias. Thank goodness Melanie lived a good hour away from her crazy great Aunt, and that visits were not too common. The more she thought of this man coming to see her, the more uneasy she felt.
Suddenly there was a knock at the back door.
Aunt Beatrice briskly walked over to answer. "Well hello!"
"Hi!" loudly greeted the voice of man as his footsteps could be heard walking on the kitchen linoleum tile.
"I'm just getting lunch ready so we can all sit down." Then Aunt Beatrice called out, "Melanie, come in here! There's a man, here, to see you!"
Melanie sighed, stood up and reluctantly walked into the kitchen. Hopefully this visit would be quick and painless. Maybe Mother and Father would come back early and she could go home.
When finally in Melanie's view; Pias appeared to be an older man, definitely at the end of middle age with salt and pepper hair and a matching mustache. His skin was dark Roma olive-color that was beginning to leather and age a bit. And then there were his trademarked Gypsy eyes; those deeply set eyes that seem to long and hunger for something as if lost; maybe forever looking for a home or—perhaps—a lover to finally bring happiness; but never able to settle for one reason or another.
His loose and baggy clothes were an odd choice of color with designs that reminded Melanie of something that an Egyptian would wear.
"Hi, I'm Pias!" he greeted while smiling with a peculiar accent and extending his hand.
Being the proper young lady that everyone expected her to be, Melanie stuck out her hand and shook.
Pias maintained a prolonged hold on her hand while his Gypsy eyes burned deeply into hers. It was as-if he could read right through her. "Are you alright?" he asked upon finally releasing his grip.
"You look a bit flushed." Pias commented in return.
"You do!" agreed Aunt Beatrice. "Maybe there's too much excitement for you. Why don't you sit down at the kitchen table while I finish making lunch?"
Melanie did as suggested.
Pias sat down right across from her and proceeded to captivate her attention with Gypsy tales and the old fortune telling trick. "I worked for the circus most of my life as an acrobat and trapeze artist. But did you know that my mother taught me how to read cards and tell fortunes?"
Melanie shook her head, no.
"Would you like me to tell your fortune?"
Melanie shrugged her shoulders, "Sure..."
With that, Pias removed an ordinary deck of playing cards from his front pants pocket. "Now these aren't the famous Tarot cards that Gypsies usually use." Pias began. "But they have numbers; spades, hearts, clubs and diamonds; kings, queens, jacks, aces and jokers. I learned how to tell people's fortunes with these.
Pias shuffled the deck of cards and then lay them, face-down, before spreading them out. Then he removed three cards and studied them.
Without showing the cards to Melanie, Pias interpreted the fortune. "Uh-huh... It says that someone very special is about to, or already has, entered your life. This person will bring you much happiness. It's possible that it might be a romance."
Melanie returned a blank stare.
Aunt Beatrice chimed in, "Oh, I think I might know who Pias is referring to!" She winked at Pias and then they both smiled.
Melanie was growing all the more uncomfortable with Pias. Surely he wasn't suggesting that he was going to enter her life and give her romance! But for some reason, Aunt Beatrice seemed to imply this."
"Let me read another fortune for you." suggested Pias as he shuffled the cards and spread them on the table as before. He removed three cards and studied them without revealing them to Melanie. "It says that you are a young woman who is many years wiser and intelligent than your age. It says that you long for the love of an older man, and could never be happy with a boy your age."
"Hmmmm..." exclaimed Aunt Beatrice. "Very interesting!" Then she asked, "Pias, could you do a reading on me?"
"Of course!" He shuffled the deck and spread the cards out. Three cards were withdrawn from the pile and then mystically interpreted by Pias the Gypsy. "Now this one is interesting! It actually makes reference to a common bond between you and Melanie. It says that the two of you have an unquenchable desire for deep love and romance. You are forever searching for a man to satisfy your needs."
"This is true!" exclaimed Aunt Beatrice. And I will say that Melanie is so much like her Aunt Beatrice." She immediately went over to Melanie's seat and embraced her."
"Well why don't we eat?" announced Aunt Beatrice. She brought three bowls of tomato soup to the table and set them before Pias, Melanie and her own spot. Then she brought a platter of grilled cheese sandwiches over and set them at the center. "Let's eat!"
At some point during lunch, Pias continued his conversation with Melanie. "So... are you in high school?
"Yes..." answered Melanie.
"What year?"
"I'm a freshman."
"A freshman? And do you have a boyfriend?"
Pias nearly dropped his spoon in the bowl of soup and then stared at Melanie with a dumbfounded look. "You don't have a boyfriend? For such a beautiful, young woman; one would think that the boys would be after you. But maybe this proves the fortune that was read a few minutes ago. Maybe those boys are not mature enough to satisfy your needs."
Thoroughly convinced that Pias was hitting on her, and thoroughly fed up with his unwelcomed advances; Melanie sighed and shrugged her shoulders. How much longer would she have to endure this?
After lunch; Aunt Beatrice, Pias and Melanie sat in the family room and conversed some more. And wouldn't you know it? Pias sat down next to Melanie on the sofa. And he was slowly moving closer to her as the moments passed. For now, however, conversation was between him and Aunt Beatrice; world events and the way things used to be. He almost seemed normal.
Then Aunt Beatrice announced, "Well, I'm going to step out for a few minutes. I need to pick up some cleaning supplies. I won't be long. Pias, would you be comfortable staying here with Melanie while I'm gone? It'll only be a few minutes.”
"Of course I will! No problem!"
Melanie sat up in her seat and opened her mouth, but held back words. How could she voice it? She really did not trust Pias—much less like him. She did not want to be alone with him! After a few seconds she managed to say, "Aunt Beatrice I... I..."
"Oh, you'll be okay with Pias while I'm gone." reassured Aunt Beatrice. "Just relax and get to know him."
Pias lay his forearm across Melanie's thighs in a soft gesture to restrain her. "Don't worry; I don't bite."
And that was it. Aunt Beatrice walked out the front door and to her car where she entered the driver side, and backed out. Both Melanie and Pias watched through the window as Aunt Beatrice drove off.
Then Pias looked over to Melanie while smiling. "I almost forgot... I brought something for you. Let me go out to my car and get it."
He nearly dashed away and out of the house.
This might have been Melanie's chance to run and hide. There was no telling what this strange Gypsy would do to her. But, instead, she watched from the window as Pias removed about a dozen or so helium balloons from his car. They were of various colors—red, green, blue, yellow and such. They pulled at the ribbons while reaching for the sky. Pias looked through the window while walking towards the house and could see Melanie watching him. He gave her an eerie, creepy smile; and his Gypsy eyes had a power of instilling a strong sense of discomfort. What did he want? What was he going to do to Melanie?
Melanie backed away from the window with a sudden feeling of nausea, and then noticed she was also close to the door.
As she further backed up, Pias walked through the door with his bunch of multi-colored helium balloons. He continued to look at her with his eerie smile. And then, for the first time, she noticed that his eyes lit up; literally glowed and generated their own light.
The balloons began to rotate and orbit Pias' head. They bobbed up and down and mimicked the motion of a carousel. And then music could be heard; music that one would expect to hear while riding a carousel.
Pias smiled and laughed while the light continued to glow from his eyes. By now he nearly looked inhuman.
Round and round the carousel moved while the hypnotic music nearly drove Melanie mad. She was terrified for her life as Pias laughed and laughed with his wicked, glowing Gypsy eyes.
Melanie nearly screamed and sat up in bed! It was just a nightmare. Sitting next to her on the bedside table was a graphic slider bong with bowl-piece filled with the ashes of burned cannabis. 
And that’s the kind of shit you dream about when you go to bed stoned!

The End!

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

Booby Juice

Hello All:
A few weeks ago I made mention of what I called the "8 hour sleep challenge". Since then I've made sure to get my 8 hours in every night. But now I'm thinking this isn't such a great thing.
Well, I no longer have much time to write! I have all these stories just pounding on the walls of my imagination and begging to get out for everyone to read. Years ago I would simply write whenever I had free time at work. But those days are long gone. I realize, now, why I was arising at the witching hour to write. It was the only time I had.
Aside from that, I'm beginning to notice an unfamiliar feeling of "crabbiness" that I've been doing my best to keep under control. This became evident to me the other day when I was stopped by one of those stupid left arrow lights that only turn green when a vehicle is sensed nearby. I raced up to the light while watching the traffic light cycle from crossing to oncoming pattern. But by the time I reached the light, I missed the target which meant there would be no green light for me. That's when I finally lost it.
"WHAT THE FUCK???? I HATE THESE FUCKING LIGHTS!!!!!" I continued to shout and swear for some time before realizing that I was acting very much unlike myself. I'm I getting too much sleep?
I'm still not sure what to do. I think my lack of writing time will force me to back to my original sleep deprivation schedule. There are no longer any Mapleview chapters being written or Cableman stories. But they flood and echo in my head, waiting to finally come out.
I'm not sure how I got into this discussion last night with my daughter, but I ended up telling her about this scene from Liar, Liar which starred Jim Carey. Check it out:

Booby Juice
The Cableman and Melissa aren't officially broken up [THIS STORY WAS WRITTEN BEFORE THEY BROKE UP SO ACTUALLY THEY ARE]. It's just that in recent times they aren't together as much. You see, sometimes the Earthly space brother and space sister awakening thing can get a bit overwhelming. It certainly has been for the Cableman, and he needs to take a break. But Melissa is really into her cosmic awakening, and has even been somewhat critical towards the Cableman in recent times. Since the Cableman's last visit to her home in which he stormed out after an argument, they now call each other on the phone every few days. But this usually ends up in a small argument before hanging up. In these times it's best to keep one's distance.
Tonight he reported to the local gym and did a grueling workout. Maybe it was just the thing to take his mind off Melissa. Then he went straight home where he immediately felt a voracious hunger.
"Man! My body needs some major protein or something! I actually feel like eating one of those iron plates at the gym!" The Cableman rummaged through his refrigerator and freezer. It looked like maybe he needed to go the store and stock up on more groceries. There were only a couple frozen Jack's pizzas and a Hungry Man fried chicken dinner in the freezer. In the refrigerator were nothing but seven bottles of beer, a half gallon of milk and some lunchmeat.
"I need something to eat!" exclaimed the Cableman while slamming the refrigerator door shut. "I need some protein!" And with that, the Cableman put on his steel-toed work boots and head out the door. His plan was go to the Kolesterol King for a triple cheese burger deluxe with all the works and a bag of Cajun French fries. The Cableman hopped into his cable truck and drove off.
Across town, Jan sat naked on a comfy chair in her family room with legs up on the matching ottoman. The lights were off, with only the Moon to dimly illuminate the room. She stroked and played with her beautiful, engorged breasts with wide areolas. It was, once again, time to express milk. No, she wasn't pregnant or nursing. Jan didn't even have children. Rather, she was exploring the pleasure of erotic lactation, and thoroughly enjoyed her new hobby. For a woman who isn't a mother, one might think that lactation isn't possible. But really it is! Simply take doses of the necessary hormones to trigger the production of milk, and begin pumping the breasts. Once production is consistent, discontinue the doses of hormones and continue pumping the breasts. Although it might sound strange, some women find the sensation of milk leaking out of the breasts to be pleasurable and arousing.
"I want someone to suck them." whispered Jan. For weeks she had been squeezing her breasts and spraying milk all over her naked body. When needed, she would use the breast pump to express the remains. She even tasted it and found that it wasn't all that bad. Surely there was a man out there who would enjoy sucking her engorged breasts and drinking her milk.
Jan continued to squeeze her breasts which finally sprayed a bit of milk. "Who can I have suck them?" She glanced over to the side table where the telephone sat. On it was a sticker with the cable company's service number. Maybe she could have a cable man come over and drink the milk out of her breasts.
Jan dialed the number and waited. "Yes, hi! I'm having trouble with my cable..."
The Cableman sat at the Kolesterol King and finished his triple cheeseburger with fries. But even though his hunger was satisfied, his body needed something more. It was then that he received a phone call.
"This is the Cableman. How can I help you? Uh-huh... uh-huh... Okay, I'll get right over there." It was an evening troubleshooting call for a customer who could not receive cable. Hopefully it wouldn't take too long, as the Cableman was tired and wanted to go to bed. He stood up and quickly threw out the empty wrappers from dinner before dashing out the cable truck, where he flipped on the flashing yellow strobe light and peeled off. A customer who cannot receive cable service is nothing to take lightly.
But what was this? After arriving at Jan's house and ringing her door bell, the Cableman was startled to see a naked woman with beautiful, engorged breasts answer.
"Hi there!" greeted Jan "You look like you've had a long, hard day." Milk started to leak from both nipples and down her breasts. "Maybe you need something really good to drink to feel better." Jan squeezed both of her breasts and sprayed milk in the Cableman's face.
At first the Cableman was outraged and annoyed. Was this lady crazy? Who shoots a stranger with their own breast milk? But considering how gorgeous Jan looked along with the offer to suck her breasts and drink her milk, the Cableman was suddenly grew interested.
"Sure..." answered the Cableman. I could certainly use... umm… something..."
"Come on it!" invited Jill. She closed the door once the Cableman was inside. "Want to lay on the sofa, naked, with me?"
The evening was continuing to get all the more stranger. "Umm... sure, okay." The Cableman removed his steel-toed work boots, leather tool belt; and then unbuttoned his shirt. As he undressed, milk continued to leak from Jan's engorged breasts. They were just begging to be sucked by the Cableman!
Once the Cableman was fully naked with his chiseled pectorals, sculpted biceps and near 6-pack abdomen—not to mention smooth, apple-shaped ass; Jan guided him over to the sofa and sat down with her legs stretched over to the other side. "Come; lay down on my lap so that you are lying on your back."
The Cableman did as invited so that his head touched Jan's abdomen and leaking breasts.
Jan gently tilted the Cableman's head up so that his lips were directly under one of the nipples. Instinctively, he opened his mouth and tasted the dripping milk. It didn't exactly taste like an after dinner drink, and was most likely something one would need to get an acquired taste for. But the Cableman was about to take a crash course.
"Go ahead, Baby..." encouraged Jan. "Drink..."
The Cableman sucked with his mouth and drew the human breast milk in. He swallowed and felt a peculiar nurturing effect from Jan's milk. Feeling so relaxed and at ease, he held the breast with both hands and continued to gently drink with eyes closed.
It was all so pleasurable for Jan. Finally, there was a man sucking her breast and drinking the milk she was proud to produce. It was nearly orgasmic as she took deep breaths in and out. She could cum this way if the experienced lasted long enough. And while the Cableman lay there in nurturing ecstasy from the milk of her wonderful breast, Jan took hold of her free breast and expressed milk all over the Cableman's chest and stomach.
"You like that?" asked Jan. "It looks so beautiful all over you." Jan tickled and rubbed the Cableman's chest, then fondled and squeezed his nipples. This was special nipple time between Jan and the Cableman.
Then she looked down towards the Cableman's crotch and was surprised to see that he had an erection. "What's this?" asked Jan. She reached down and gently played with his cock as milk continued to be sucked from her breast. Into the evening hours, the Cableman lay in breast-sucking ecstasy as the peaceful Moonlight shined through the windows. Every man wishes to suck beautiful breasts and drink the wonderful milk from a woman.
"There..." Jan continued to reassure the Cableman. "You can come over and drink my milk anytime.”


Friday, July 11, 2014

White Water Rafting--an introductory discussion

Hello All:
It's summertime which means plenty of outdoor fun and adventure. One of my favorites is white water rafting. Check out this video of an awesome wipe-out. This is every white water rafter's dream:
What's that you say? Would you like to take on the thrilling sport of white water rafting? Well today's featured writing is an introductory discussion.
Have a great weekend, and have fun!
White Water Rafting--an introductory discussion
Are you considering taking on the exhilarating sport of white water rafting? Well let me be the first to reassure you that you will enjoy it! But a word of caution: You don't want to buy your own raft and jump in the nearest rolling rapid without knowing what you are doing. In fact, my first time of doing it was a commercial tour with professional guide who provided us a good twenty minute instruction class on the sport before jumping on the bus with a group to fulfill our ambition.
I never knew this before, but there are actually people who make a living in the white water rafting sport. There are instructors/guides and emergency personnel who specialize in white water rescue. And yes, when heading out on a commercial tour there are boats with emergency personnel just in case a rescue is needed. This should be an indicator that white water rafting is nothing to throw caution to the wind.
When selecting a company that offers a tour, make sure they provide helmets and life jackets. It is inconceivable to me as to why someone would venture out on rolling rapids without these essential life savers! Consider that a running stream is layered with all kinds of boulders under the water. If you do fall out of your raft (chances are you will) you don't want to crack your head open on a boulder. And don't underestimate the power of a running stream. The gentlest stream can carry someone under and lead to disaster. Wearing a life vest is a smart thing to do.
So what is covered in a brief white water rafting training class? They give beginners a set of guidelines to follow.
·         Rule 1: Always hold on to the t-grip of your ore! The t-grip is simply a grip in the shape of a "t" that allows you to maintain a firm grip. So many people let go of this grip and hold the ore below. As a result, the water pressure will sometimes kick the ore back and sock the user or another passenger in the face, thereby causing injury.
·         Rule 2: If you fall in the water, do not stand up! Rolling rapids have plenty of rock, below; and if you stand up, you may risk getting your foot trapped between two rocks and not able to come up.
·         Rule 3: If you fall in the water, it’s best to lay flat on your back with legs closed together. Try to maneuver yourself as such so that your legs are in front of you and following the direction of the water. You don't want your head hitting rocks when floating down a stream. It's best to have your feet hit the rocks. And keep your legs closed! You don't want your crotch hitting large boulders or logs!
·         Rule 4: If you fall in the water, your new name is "Rope". This rule is used for rescue efforts when a crew throws a rope out to you. They don't know your name, so they call you rope when they want your attention.
Once the safety rules are driven in your head, the next set of instructions is given. There is a proper way of sitting in a raft which involves one butt-cheek on the edge of the raft and the other butt-cheek on the seat. There are pockets at the floor and side of the raft that you should wedge your feet into to avoid falling in the water. Finally, there are two commands that the guide gives you that you must follow. If he/she says, "Give me three forward", it means row three times to make the raft go forward. Likewise, if he/she says, "Give me three back", it means row three times to make the raft row backwards.  The guide will actually sit in back and steer the raft while giving commands.
So now that you have your helmet on and floatation vest, there are a couple other things I noticed about rafting that can make things easier. I purchased a pair of water shoes that are normally worn at the beach. Wear these because the raft will get flooded with water. And no matter how cold it is, wear shorts because it’s easier to deal with wet shorts than wet pants. Oh yes, expect to get very wet when rafting! And the water is very cold, especially if you are rafting in the spring. I was worried that rafting on a 60 degree day would be intolerable. But what worked in my favor was the sunshine. Although I was getting cold water splashed all over me, within seconds that sun would start to bake me so I stayed warm. The water actually felt good after a while.
A river is broken down into 5 classes to describe level of danger. A class 1 would be a gentle flowing river with a few ripples. Once you get to a class 3, the ripples turn into waves with pockets that lift you in the air. A class 5 is pure madness and can never be done on a commercial tour. I asked the guide if he ever rafted a class 5 river. "Yeah, I do it all the time!"
Our river varied from class 1 to class 4. You hear the guide announce that we are approaching our first class 3. Many parts of the river have names like "snap dragon" or "magic log". You row a couple times and feel your heart beat in anticipation of what to expect. You finally hit the excitement area and water splashes all over as you yell, "Yeah!" You realize this is really fun! Oh, keep your mouth shut until the water is below face level. You will swallow water! And if you wear contacts, close your eyes. I almost lost mine.
And what does it feel like to go through a class 4? You look ahead and can't believe the pure madness you are about row through. There are whirling waves being thrown in every direction and you are sure the boat will capsize. A surge of excitement can be felt throughout the boat and then you finally get sucked into the class 4 vortex. Hold on because the raft is thrown in the air! Now yell out, "Wooooo-Hoooooo!!!!" The boat is soaked and so is the entire crew. Don't worry; there are holes at the bottom of the raft to let the water out.
In one class 4 section, a girl from another raft fell out. We passed by and pulled her in by the life vest. We managed to catch up to the raft she fell out of and connected the rafts with ores so she could get on the original raft.
Once the river started to die down and we were getting towards the end of the journey, I asked the guide, "So what's the highest drop you've ever gone down?"
"In a kayak? 30 feet."
We were all amazed. "What's it like?"
"It's totally scary! But it's fun!"
Someone asked about the most distance someone has ever dropped. The guide mentioned someone who canoed down a hundred foot drop and compacted his spine! Crazy bastard!
I became curious about creatures finding themselves on the raft. "Are there any water moccasins on this river? Could they swim on the raft?"
I was re-assured that the water was too cold for water moccasins, but it could have copperhead snakes. The guide went on to tell the story of a baby copperhead that slithered through one of the drainage holes on the raft and they had to get him out with an ore. Then I was reassured that the chances of this happening were slim, but it did happen once to him!
Once hitting the shore, we simply walked off the raft and found ourselves back at the site where we departed. We simply dried off, changed our clothes, and the adventure was over for the day.
If you are searching the internet for information on white water rafting and happen to stumble across this article, I strongly encourage you not to use this as a reference guide! Seek a professional company that will teach you how to white water raft and will take you out on the river with experienced guides and rescue personnel. It will make your experience more enjoyable and much safer!

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

CB Sex

Hello All:
I think I might have experienced what could have been considered the very tail-end of CB radio use in the the late 1980s. I remember as a young boy in the 1970s how popular CB radios were. It seemed everyone had them in their cars. A drive down the street, and you could see large CB antennas mounted to people's roofs. Even my father had a collection of CBs. He owned a large 40 channel base radio complete with AM, LSB and USB--even the illegal switch in the back to communicate on shortwave/ham frequencies. This was set up in the closet of the basement and was complete with extra meters, amplifiers and various devices to improve reception. My father also had two mobile Cobra CB radios; one of them being a 40 channel radio that was similar to his base unit--complete with AM, LSB, USB and the illegal switch in the back to access shortwave/ham frequencies.
And then one day he got sick of it all. He simply packed everything up and stored it in the closet.
Years later when I was a senior in high school, I noticed that some of my friends had little CBs in their cars.
"I have a nice CB radio at home. Maybe I'll hook it up my car and cruise around like everyone else." It was my fathers bulky 40 channel Cobra radio. I even connected an illegal linear amplifier in series with the radio so that my broadcasts could go far. And to hide it from a possible police officer who might have pulled me over; I wrapped the illegal amplifier in an old Dunkin Donuts bag. I'm sure it wouldn't have looked too suspicious to see a bag with a bunch of wires sticking out!
Ah... those were the days. I would pull up in front of my friend's house while talking on the CB radio. Inside the house, my voice could be heard bleeding over the television... the radio... over a guitar amplifier... even the kitchen toaster! This was due to the illegal amplifier connected to my CB.
The last I remember of my CB experience; I was driving home one afternoon and could see smoke coming from under the passenger seat. The way I had haphazardly connected all the wires to my car battery, a small fire broke out.
"Oh no!" I immediately pulled over, ripped the wires apart and burned my hands while extinguishing the fire. As for rebuilding my setup, I suppose I had gotten preoccupied with other things. The CB and equipment was eventually put back in the closet at home.
Today, CB use in America for the most part is dead. Some people say that the CB actually killed itself. At its peak in popularity, channels had become saturated with so many users that communication was impossible. Businesses and organizations that relied on radios for communication had no choice but to turn to private digital networks. And let's not forget the cell phone age. Today we all have a small device in our pockets which have access to telephone and internet medium. What use do we have for CB radios?
I sometimes wonder if the CB radio will come back. In a world where these is no longer anonymity in electronic communication (IP addresses, telephone numbers, etc), the CB would actually allow people to remain virtually untraceable. I'm surprised that criminals or simply mischievous people who wish to misbehave haven't turned to CBs. But the day when people get that smart is the day that specialized FCC agents will be back in business to monitor and track people down.
CB Sex

It was a Friday morning as special agent of the Federal Communications Commission, Patrick Clayborn, checked into the local headquarters office. This particular FCC office was nothing more than a suite located in an office building that appeared and operated as a some ambiguous business firm. For you see, offices where FCC agents operate must maintain secrecy in the event that a criminal retaliates from a recent bust.

Agent Clayborn has over forty years experience with the FCC, specializing in enforcing the rules and regulations of citizen’s band radio. He’s done countless investigations, and issued numerous fines for using CB radios improperly. Unlicensed operators who felt they were above the law, illegal radios that broadcasted over channels not designated for CB, linear amplifiers that caused harmful interference over other channels, black market equipment, even people who simply misbehaved on the air; Agent Clayborn has shut these people down by confiscating their equipment, issuing fines, and even sending some people to jail. And for kids who played on their parents’ CB radios when Mom and Dad weren’t home; Agent Clayborn had a special punishment. With specialized signal equipment, he would track down the home of the assaulting radio which usually had a pricey CB antenna mounted to the roof. He would throw a rope and grappling hook over the house which caught the antenna. From there, the merciless Agent Clayborn tore the antenna down—shingles and all!
“Let those little brats explain to their parents what happened!” Agent Clayborn would say while laughing.
Inside the home, children sobbed out of fear while wishing they hadn’t broken the law. They should have known better than to misbehave with Mom and Dad’s CB.
Yes, those were the days!—good times. But Agent Clayborn can now be considered the very last of a dying breed of FCC agents. Let’s face it; who uses CB radios anymore?
Well, apparently there is a small population still using them; and they use them for all the wrong reasons! This is why Agent Clayborn’s chief called him into the office that Friday morning: To assign him a new case.
“Have a seat, Clayborn.” announced Chief Strausson as he entered the office.
Agent Clayborn did as asked. Seconds later he was given a photograph which was nothing more than a black and white image of a shapely pair of naked thighs that supported an amazing bubble ass. The way the owner bent over in the photo, her pussy lips poked through the pair of thighs and made a glistening sideways smile.
“Nice!” exclaimed Agent Clayborn. “Is this your new girlfriend?”
“Nope!” answered Chief Strausson “She’s your new case. And that’s the only photo we have on file.”
“I wish I had more cases like her.” commented Agent Clayborn with a smile.
“I’m glad to hear that you enjoy her so much. I need you to really get to know her… track her down and go in for the bust.”
“What’s she done?” asked Agent Clayborn.
“Her CB handle is the Foxy Beaver. She’s a public nuisance. She ties up channel 18 on the citizen’s band near Interstate 18, right around the area of the forest preserve. She talks dirty and taunts motorists—mainly truckers—to find her. Whoever succeeds, she promises, will finally have a piece of her.”
“So like a fox hunt?” asked Agent Clayborn.
A Fox hunt, in case the reader is unaware, was a game that was played back when CB use was at its peak. A CB-er identified as “the fox” would hide at some remote and hidden location and key up throughout the night when requested. Dozens of people would try to find this person through measuring signal strength, or even asking for clues over the radio. The first hunter to find the fox would usually receive some sort of prize—maybe a jackpot of money that was contributed by those playing the game, or simply a lame trophy. Sometimes, sex by an attractive and very horny female “fox” could have been a prize for those wishing to play that sort of game.
“That’s exactly the sort of games she’s playing with motorists.” affirmed the chief. “But she’s using all sorts of filthy language over the air, posting nude pics of herself throughout oases and trucker stops, and tying up traffic on the highways as hundreds of truckers try to track her down. State police stepped in to locate her and shut her down. But she’s too good!. The trail soon runs cold when a strong broadcast signal is measured. It’s like she can relocate the antenna without anyone seeing.”
“And that’s why no one has won her, yet.” cited Agent Clayborn.
“And you want me to do a full-time investigation and finally shut her down.”
“You’ve got it!”
Everyone captivated by the allure of the Foxy Beaver understands that has a secret hiding place in some remote location where she parks her vehicle to talk dirty on the CB. As state troopers and the FCC suspect, her aim is to attract the attention of horny men—mainly truckers—who would give anything to finally have a piece of her. But there are some who say that she has an even deeper purpose. It’s as-if she’s looking for a specific individual; maybe a long, lost lover who might have been a trucker, himself.
Some people theorize and speculate on the special tricks that the Foxy Beaver uses to avoid being tracked down by all those horny truckers and law enforcement personnel. While cruising the roads in her car, surely she uses her trusty K40 whip antenna mounted to the trunk. But when at her secret spot,  it’s disconnected from her CB radio. Two coax cables might be connected to a switch box which then feed into the back of the radio. The selector switch would then allow the Foxy Beaver to choose either an antenna about one mile north in the forest, or an antenna which is located one mile south from her in the forest.
Surely someone would be able to track the location of the antenna and follow the coax cable back to her car, right?
But the Foxxy Beaver was so sneaky and clever when setting up her secret operation. She might have climbed a considerable distance up a tree in the forest to mount her antenna. Then she would have applied decorative bark to the tree to hide the coax cable as it fed down the tree. And surely she had plenty of time on her hands, for she actually buried the cable in the ground—actually trenched it a good foot in the ground to prevent people from digging and finding it. She did this with both antennas and ran their cables a mile away to the secret spot.  To this very day, men and women—alike—have tried in vain to track down the legendary Foxy Beaver.
“Mmmmmmm…it’s an early Friday night, and I’m in the mood.” announced the Foxy Beaver as she keyed up the mic on Channel 18. “Anyone want to play with me, tonight?”
“I will!” answered a very, eager voice in return—assumedly a newbie trucker. “Who is this?” he asked.
But before the Foxy Beaver could answer, one of her fans quickly spoke up over the air. “That’s The Foxy Beaver! Don’t you know anything?”
“Well who is she?” asked the newbie trucker.
“We all wanna know!” answered the other trucker. “We all wanna find her and finally have a piece of her ass! Welcome to another Friday night fox hunt, hosted by the Foxy Beaver… Blue balls guaranteed!” Then the trucker spoke directly to the Foxy Beaver. “Hey Foxy Beaver?”
“Yeah, go ahead.” she replied.
“I’m sick of jerking off every Friday night after hearing your voice and not finding you. Tonight I’m gonna find you and rape your ass. I hope you’re ready.”
The Foxy Beaver merely keyed up the mic and softly giggled, “That might be fun…”
Three miles down Interstate 18 at the adjoining road of Tower Avenue; retired FCC agent, Lawrence Black, sat in the local pub and drank a beer. He, too, had decades of experience in enforcing the rules and regulations of citizen’s band radio. But CB radio use declined, and Lawrence was eventually forced into retirement—layoff.
Just like all the countless truckers, law enforcement officials, and any possible FCC agents on the case; Lawrence wished to track down the dirty-talking Foxy Beaver. But his motive was personal. Tonight was the night. He finally had the tools necessary. He built his own homemade CB signal sniffer, just like the one he used years ago. It’s sensitivity, and signal directional indicators would guide Lawrence right to the dirty mouth of the Foxy Beaver. And when he found her, he would show her, exactly, what that dirty mouth was for along with her shapely thighs, bubble ass and pointy tits that she bragged about on the CB.
Just then, Agent Clayborn walked into the tavern and immediately spotted his old coworker.
“Son of a bitch!” yelled Lawrence while nearly slamming his mug of beer on the table.
Agent Clayborn smiled and cautiously approached. “Lawrence?”
“They didn’t send you, did they?” asked Lawrence.
“Well that all depends. What might they have sent me for?”
“The Foxy Beaver?” suggested Lawrence.
“You’ve got it!” affirmed Agent Clayborn.
Lawrence slapped the table. “Awe, man! Shit! Well you’ve got some competition.”
“What do you mean?” asked Agent Clayborn as he sat down at the bar next to his old coworker.
“I’m looking for her, too.” said Lawrence.
“You’ll never find her.” warned Agent Clayborn. Then he looked up to the bartender, “Bud Lite, please.”
“You’re wrong about that.” snapped Lawrence. “I’ve got a sniffer.”
“A sniffer?”
“Yeah, I built it myself.” Lawrence pulled his homemade sniffer out of his jacket pocket and proudly displayed it to Agent Clayborn. “And it’s 100% FCC legal for citizen use. I made sure that it doesn’t create any harmful interference, and it also accepts unwanted interference.”
The speaker suddenly squawked a live transmission from the Foxy Beaver as the signal direction indicator pointed down Interstate 18 towards the forest preserve. “I’m wearing red panties this evening, and I hope our little fox hunt puts some silk on them.”
“I’ll make ‘em silky with a hot load of my jizz!” boasted a male voice.
Agent Clayborn shook his head in disbelief and handed the sniffer back to Lawrence. “Look…” he began. “... this case is being handled by law enforcement personnel and the FCC. Why don’t you let the authorities take care of this before you do anything stupid.”
Lawrence only laughed. “Is that what you’re going to tell all those hundreds of motorists, tonight? Are you going to tell them to go home and let the authorities take care of it? Yeah, right! I, for one, won’t back down! I’m in just like everyone else, and I want a piece of her ass!”
Lawrence finished the remains of his beer and continued. “It’s a little bit of a different game out there than it was years ago, isn’t it? What, are you going to drive to her house and rip the antenna off her roof? Times have changed, and you’re way outdated. And I believe that your antenna was ripped down some years ago—if you know what I mean.”
“That’s it!” snapped Agent Clayborn. “Look, I know what this is about. You want to gloat over the victory you had with Ruth some years ago and rub it in my face. We both wanted that fresh-out new hire, but you won her before I had a chance. But this isn’t a game, Lawrence. I know you want another victory and get to the Foxy Beaver before I do. But don’t stand in the way of the law. This is a serious matter. And who’s living in the past?”
Lawrence smiled. “That’s a great idea, Clayborn. I bet I can get to her faster than you.” With that he stood up from his chair and walked out of the tavern, assumedly on the way to forest preserve to track down the Foxy Beaver.
“Ooooo! It’s so hot tonight.” called out the Foxy Beaver on Channel 18. “I already have my shirt off. Maybe I should take my bra off… but then my titties would show.”
“Take it off!” demanded a male voice.
“Anyone else want me to take off my bra?” asked the Foxy Beaver.
By now, both Agent Clayborn and Lawrence were in the forest preserve with their sniffers. But don’t think they were alone! They were among countless truckers and curious motorists who all had walkie talkie CBs that were tuned to Channel 18, and scurrying about the edge of the forest in hopes to find the Foxy Beaver.
“Do it!” demanded another male voice in response to her removing her bra.
“Okay…” The Foxy Beaver’s mic made all sorts of noise as she positioned it, assumedly near her upper body, and locked the mic down so that her CB would remain transmitting while removing her bra. The entire community on Channel 18 listened in awe and fascination as the clasp of the bra could be heard unsnapping. And although a very soft noise that followed, everyone knew that it was the bra sliding off the Foxy Beaver’s arms and shoulders.
“There they are!” announced the Foxy Beaver. “My titties are all naked and waiting for someone to play with them.”
“Breaker 18 for the Foxy Beaver!” called out a male voice.
“Go ahead, break.”
“Hey, I’m one of your biggest fans at the oasis off Highway 18. I like the pic of your ass and have it hanging in my cab. Are you ever going to show us your tits?”
The Foxy Beaver giggled. “No, you’re just going to have to find me and see them for yourself.”
“Well what do they look like?”
“They have pink and pointy nipples…” answered the Foxy Beaver. “Do you want me to shake them for you?”
The entire community on Channel 18 listened in awe and fascination as the sound of titty skin could be heard slapping the sides of the Foxy Beaver’s chest.
“Beautiful… I could almost see them…”commented a random voice.   
In the meantime; FCC Agent, Clayborn, and retired Lawrence raced to be the first to reach the Foxy Beaver. Lawrence had a considerable amount of experience in tracking the Foxy Beaver, and learned how to escape the crowd of people by sneaking some distance into the woods. He knew that the Foxy Beaver buried the coax cable which ran from the antenna to the CB radio through the ground. And he knew from theory that she hid two antennas that were separated by two miles and connected by a switch box which fed her CB radio. By selecting either A or B, she could transmit from the antenna of her choice.  It would only be a game of patience for Lawrence. He would sniff the signal from under the ground a bit further until the Foxy Beaver switched antennas. Lawrence would wait patiently until she switched back and transmitted some more on “his” antenna and coax.
Agent Clayborn was parked along the shoulder of the highway with countless truckers and other motorists. “Jeez… this is a zoo!” he said to himself. While stepping out of the car, he was greeted by a pair of irate state troopers. “Get back in your car and get out of here!” one of them ordered.
It was no problem for Agent Clayborn. He simply flashed his badge, “FCC agent! I’m here on a case under federal jurisdiction.”
“Okay…” answered the state trooper who quickly turned his attention to a group of truckers who held walkie talkies. “What are you all doing here?”
“We were just…”
“Just getting the hell out of here!” interrupted the officer. “There’s nothing going, so you better leave if you know what’s good for you!”
“Maybe if I’m lucky, one of you truckers will find me and will begin by sliding your hard erection up the insides of my panties so that it rides up and down my ass...” said the Foxy Beaver over Channel 18.
Agent Clayborn was some distance into the woods. He had a good sniff on the buried coax cable and was receiving every transmission from the Foxy Beaver. He had to admit, her dirty talk was sure addicting. It kept him awake and actually fed his imagination.
“Then you can pull it under my crotch and rub it underneath before.. before…” She started to breathe heavy, nearly hyperventilated out of excitement.
Agent Clayborn was there on an assignment. This was to be strictly business. But in all the years that he did his job and served as an FCC agent who enforced the law, he never helped himself to any personal rewards. Retirement was just around the corner, maybe even sooner if they laid him off. Would it really be so bad if he helped himself to a nice sample of the Foxy Beaver’s ass when he finally found her?
“FCC! Get out of the car and put your hands up!” Agent Clayborn would declare upon finding the mysterious Foxy Beaver. His gun—maybe both guns (if you know what I mean)—would be pointed at her.
Wearing nothing but her red panties with naked, pointy, pink-nippled tits exposed; the Foxy Beaver would reluctantly get out of the car. Her game was over.
“Kneel on the ground and put your hands behind you!”
She would do as ordered
Agent Clayborn would handcuff his suspect who was guilty of talking so dirty over the CB with her mouth glossed in red lipstick. He then would stand in front of her with crotch just inches from her face.
He would unzip and unbuckle his pants just enough to expose his ever-swelling cock. “I need to search you and make sure you have no contraband.”
The worrisome Foxy Beaver would remain nearly naked and on her knees with face looking at the ground.
But Agent Clayborn would be sure to lift her face up so that her glossy, red lips would nearly touch the head of his cock.
Was there a way out of the fines and possible jail time? Hoping to get off with just a warning, the Foxy Beaver would carefully wrap her warm lips around Agent Clayborn’s cock.
“Have you ever been in trouble with the law?” Agent Clayborn would ask. “Did you know that what you’ve done on the CB is highly illegal and could very well result in jail time? I bet you’re hoping for a way out of all of this.” With that, Agent Clayborn would grab the sides of the Foxy Beaver’s hair and thrust his hard cock down her throat.”
Unprepared for the sudden assault, the Foxy Beaver would initially gag.
“That’s it! Take it! Take every bit of it!” He would push and plaster the nearly-naked Foxy Beaver against the driver side door while continuing to fuck her face with his aggressive cock. Agent Clayborn would be the first to see the Foxy Beaver’s much sought-after titties with pink and pointy nipples. He would squeeze, pinch and abuse them while driving his cock in and out of the Foxy Beaver’s mouth. Sometimes he would completely remove it and enjoy the sight of her gasping and taking deep breaths. It was because she was excited.
“Up! Get on your feet!” Agent Clayborn would order.
As the Foxy Beaver stood up, she would be guided over to the trunk of her car and then bent over—face down—and treated, exactly, like a dirty-talking criminal should be treated.
Agent Clayborn would pull down the Foxy Beaver’s panties, just enough to expose her amazing bubble ass. “Beautiful…” he would exclaim while sliding his excited, hard cock up and down the crack of her ass.
“Spread your legs!” Agent Clayborn would order.
Still in handcuffs, the Foxy Beaver would have no choice but to obey. She would endure, with pleasure, the sensation of his stiff cock thrusting inside of her horny, wet pussy. And he would be so rough, grabbing her by the back of her hair and holding the side of her face on the trunk while thrusting his cock in and out. And there was no resisting while being in handcuffs.
Seconds before exploding, Agent Clayborn would pull his cock out and slide it up and down the crack of the Foxy Beaver’s ass while blowing his load. But he wouldn’t be done, yet. He would pull her panties back up, and then rub the material into every drop of his cum. It would be Agent Clayborn who would put the silk on the Foxy Beaver’s panties for the night.
Afterwards, the handcuffs would be released from the Foxy Beaver. “You’re free to go...” he would announce. “...under one condition.”
“What’s that?” nervously asked the Foxy Beaver with smudged mascara, messy lipstick and ass and panties that were saturated with cum from a stranger.
“You get back in that car and keep talking dirty on the CB. You let my friend find you who is currently tracking you the way I did. Don’t worry; he’s not an FCC agent. He’s retired and just wants to fuck you. But I want him to find my cum all over you. I want him to know that I got to you first.”
“Hi Ruth!” said a familiar voice on Channel 18. It pulled Agent Clayborn out of his wild fantasy. It was the voice of Lawrence who spoke coldly over the air. “I know who you are, Ruth. Remember me?”
“Who is this?” replied the Foxy Beaver.
“It’s Lawrence...”
“I think you have me confused with someone else.” answered the Foxy Beaver
“You can stop playing games.” snapped Lawrence. “I saw you enter the oasis some weeks ago as you were leaving one of your pictures. I guess life is just so full of irony. I had no idea I was tracking my old girlfriend. But it made the game all the more interesting.  I’m back, and I’m so close to you right now. And you’re not going to like what happens to you when I finally get you. I don’t like it when someone leaves me.”
Agent Clayborn couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Was this for real? Was he in a race to save the once fresh-out new hire, Ruth, from Lawrence who had revenge on his mind? “Ruth! It’s me!” he keyed up on Channel 18. “It’s me, Agent Patrick Clayborn. Listen, I can save you! Hurry up and switch over to the other antenna and key up. I’ll track you and save you!”
“Okay, but hurry!” called out the Foxy Beaver. “There’s no telling what he’ll do! He has a violent side, and that’s why I left him.”
“It’s too late for that!” answered Lawrence. “I’m close enough to see your car... I can see her car, Clayborn… I can see...” There was a long pause as the he held the mic down. “What the hell? It’s nothing more than a repeater! She can be miles away and transmitting at her house! You bitch! You dirty, little bitch! You fooled us all!”
Exactly thirty-one miles away from Highway 18, retired FCC agent, Ruth Doralop, sat naked in her car which just so happened to be parked in the garage. She keyed up and laughed over the air one last time. “Game over... This is the Foxy Beaver signing out…”
I guess that’s how retired FCC agents have their fun. :-)
The End!