Wednesday, May 31, 2017

True Ghost Stories- The Sepulveda Ghost

  It was Thanksgiving, as I rode home from my sisters house in San Fernando Valley. The streets at night in Los Angeles are normally pretty barren, but since it was a holiday weekend, I felt like I was peddling through a ghost town. I was twenty two at the time and sharing a one bedroom apartment in Van Nuys. My roommate was out of town, so I was preparing myself for a quiet night. No crazy girlfriends nor any of my alcoholic friends would be banging on my door tonight, so as I made my way down Sepulveda Blvd, a smile of relief spread across my face.

  When I finally reached my building though, this peace full night at the pad took a one eighty.

There was an older lady standing outside my building. She was alone and dressed in a fur coat with a matching hat. She looked out of place. I don't know if it was her apparel, or how she was just standing there staring off into space, but something was off. There was also a large stack of books and boxes with her, as if she was moving or something. And when I passed her on my mountain bike, goose bumps shot up my arms and back.

 There was a liquor store next to my apartment complex, so I figured a beer was in order.
It must of took me less than a minute to make my purchase, and when I came back outside, she was gone. "Weird." I mumbled to myself.

So, I shrugged it off and made my way to my humble abode.

 As soon as I enter my apartment though, red flags shot up. It was strangely chilly in my place.

It was almost winter, but this apartment never had gotten cold before. It had always remained an even seventy degrees all year round, but on this night it felt like it was in the low forties.

 The cold was coming from a corner of the living room, and as I walked by it (baffled) something grabbed me! It squeezed the lower side of my back. I swung around with my fists up, but the only thing there was the cold.

 So, I just sat down and opened my beer. What to do, right?

 A few minutes had passed, and the cold remained. It felt like I was having a stare down with something I couldn't see. So, out of no where, I blurted out, "Get out of my house!"

And sure enough, that's all it took. The temperature began to rise to its normal seventy, and after that, I never had any other visitors from the land of the dead. ( Crazy girlfirends and drunk friends excluded of course )

Sunday, May 28, 2017

Beer Cans and Dog Hair

Our daily rituals involve picking up beer cans and dog hair....

Finishing off uneaten vegetables from sun bleached lawn chairs....

Bitching is so typical with retirement and un unused timeshares...

Decades of marriage habituals is like baking rice krispies squares...

It's fun in the start, but soon turns to boredom and tempers flared
But, no matter how bad it gets, I hope you know I always cared....

I can remember the day, when I heard you fart for the first time.

You were so embarrassed, and my bellowing laughter was probably out of line

But now, you have no problem with you ass saying hello and goodbye
And when I cover my nose and wipe the water from my eyes
I'm still amazed by the sound that's created from such a petite size
The years have passed us by, and things have begun to sag….
Our wrinkled faces now resemble crumbled grocery bags
Gravity has taken over, in all the important parts
Your boobs hang past your belly
While my balls droop out my shorts

But, if it was wrong getting married , I don't want to be right
I love our 12 ounces of knowledge, we consume every night

And if we were younger, and I was stronger....
I'd climb on top of ya, I swear

But, I'm not, so before you go to bed.....

Please clean up the beer cans and dog hair

Thursday, May 18, 2017

Wise One of Japan (Chapter Three)


(Train Station intercom) Ladies and gentleman, please refrain from boarding the next oncoming train, because there will be a selection check for all arriving passengers. Please stay behind the yellow line until the selection check is completed. Thank you for your cooperation.

"Why are we stopping?" asked Mao.

"I don’t know. Are they checking ID’s today?" responded an old lady, that was sitting next to her on their commute.

"I heard they might be in Tokyo, but we are still two hours away.Why would they come all the way out here?" Mao said back in "I'm about to start panicking tone of voice."

The old lady turned to her and said, "Yea, that’s true. Their check points are only in the city. Maybe, there was an accident or something."

"Yea, maybe another salary man was having a bad day. Oh, okay, here we go. We are moving again. That scared me a little bit."

"Yea, me too. Ever since my friends daughter was taken away.I have been afraid to travel into the city."

"I know. My husband and I were just talking about this yesterday. I should have listened to him, but we really do need the money now."

"Do you have any children?" asked the old lady with a smile.

"Yes, we have a daughter."

"Oh really? Is a boy or a girl?

"A girl, her name is Mally."

"She sounds adorable. Oh, I have always wanted a little girl. But now, I am too old to have children. I guess I missed my chance. How old is she? Come on, tell me everything about her. (Pause) Oh no, we are slowing down again. I am going to be late for work if this keeps happening."

(Train Intercom)

Ladies and gentlemen, please be advised that we will be having a mandatory selection check at the next approaching station. Please have your ID’s ready for inspection. Thank you for your cooperation.

"Colonel Sandry, I appreciate that your men have arrived on a timely matter, and that you are assisting us in today’s selection check."

"Well, it’s not like we had much of a choice in the matter, Mr. Landor."

"Oh please, your human formalities are not needed with me. Please, just call me Landor."

 "Oh, I can think of a few other things I can call you as well." The aging colonel responded with a sneer on his face.

"No that is not needed. Just simply call me Landor."

"Yea, ok, whatever. So, Landor, what exactly do you want me and my men to do today?"

"That is an excellent question and the answer is this. You and your men will be assisting me in gathering specimens for our lab."

"And when you say specimens, you actually mean innocent people that meet your qualifications?"

"Yes, that is exactly what I mean Colonel Sandry, and I want you to remember that I am in charge of you and your men, so I would advise you to follow my orders, verbatim."

"Hey, like I said before, I have no choice in this matter."

"Excellent answer, Colonel Sandry. Now, we must get ready for our approaching train. It should be arriving in the next five minutes or so. But until then, please have your men keep these people behind the yellow line. I want this to go as smooth as possible. I will not tolerate any foul ups. Is that understood, Colonel Sandry?"

" Don’t worry about me and my men. We are seasoned professionals. There won’t be any problems. (Asshole)

  And as the train approached with bewildered passengers peering out of the windows, the Neaitans and the U.S. military went to work. Colonel Sandry had been ordered by his commander and chief to assist with the inspection points throughout the Japanese region, and like all of the other high ranking personal, he followed these orders with gritted teeth because he cared about his mens welfare.

 The Neaitans had threatened to destroy any military that stood in their way, and they had the means to do it, at least this is what our worldly leaders believed anyway, so this worlds military men were ordered to stand down and assist or be charged with treason and even possibly death. 

But Colonel Sandry had been a time bomb ever since this had begun. He was a diehard patriotic and had followed orders his entire life without question, but this was too much for him. Every time he had to listen to one of these bastards talk down to him, his right hand would slowly move closer to his 45 that was holstered to his side, especially when douchebags like this Landor character would sneer at him every time their eyes met. Colonel Sandry could imagine opening up the back of Landors head with a three round burst. But then, he thought about the men he was in charge of and their families, and so with this, he controlled his anger.

Landor could feel the hate from Colonel Sandry as well, but didn’t care in the least. He understood why he was disliked but his opinion of the human race was so low, it was like comparing a seasoned fishermen’s guilt for the umpteenth fish he had just sliced and diced. Landor had a job to do on this miserable little planet and the daggers that were shot at him on a daily basis would not slow him down.

 Not even an old war horse like Colonel Sandry and his itchy trigger finger would get in the way of repopulating this world with Landors alien race. And at this point, Mao was staring blankly at the back of the seat in front of her, wondering to herself, “How could I have been so stupid?”


Saturday, May 13, 2017

Billy the Thief

This is a story about a thief named Billy....
That gave grief to the TL peeps
by making every room chilly
He was a downer, that would steal the shoes off your feet, and then act willy nilly....
And this is why the towns people
planned for his death lilly....

He got his first taste, at the local liquor store,when he was eight, craving for entertainment....

Stealing, while his friends
cheered with amazement
And then enjoying the aftermath booty of fruity sugar snacks
Englazed from front to back, while their parents slept off their grave shift....

He liked to shop for clothes at the dime store
With his crack head street whore....

And when the staff were not looking
They'd stuff their pockets to the galore
Until stolen trinkets over flowed
And fell to the floor....
Security always considered watching them a chore
When she died, he swore that he wouldn't live this lifestyle anymore
But an old dogs learning curve is like paddling without any oars

He liked pressed shirts tucked inside his tight pants
Flexing his chicken chest with a limp wristed fight stance
Loving a drug addict romance, while covering up his arm tracks
One hand on a stolen gat, and the other on his stash

He considered himself a baller....
Standing tall, and hanging out of windows as a ghetto cat caller.
Running with the knuckle draggers, and street hustle braggarts. Getting by on lies and low standards....

Billy was found, face down, in an embankment....
Blood stains dried to brown on his Nike made face lift....
A make shift shank finished the engagement
"I'm sorry...Don't kill me!" was his last statement

 He was placed in his early grave...
Releasing him from his glass pipe enslavement
And now he haunts the Tenderloins alleyways
And cardboard covered pavements...
Wondering how he could have changed this fate
That was placed at his arraignment....

This is just another story of a lost soul debasement
Never rising, crawling with the roaches and baseheads
Another life wasted....
A walking corpse in search for a replacement
And now his memory is getting faded

On a street pole, duct taped and pasted…..

Tuesday, May 9, 2017

Flying Mice and Glowing Orbs


  As he lied in bed, with his right leg in the air, a childhood memory surfaced.

   He was seven years old at his home in California. It was the beginning of summer, and he had just returned from his towns annual Flower Festival. He was grinning ear to ear with excitement because he had been waiting for this day to arrive for at least three months, and for a child, three months  can seem like a decade, if not more.

  Other than today’s agenda for him, this festival was the only thing to look forward to, if you were a kid in this sleepy town. It had stuff for the grownups to do, which was pretty much escaping your reality at the local bar, but if you were under the age of puberty, you had to rely on your imagination for entertainment, especially if you were the loner type.

  He wasn’t an outcast or anything. He played with the neighborhood kids, but when it came to fun, or what he considered “real fun” he preferred his own company. He figured out that it was best not to invite any one over when he was being creative. Because his type of creativity, had been reported back to some stupid parent in the past for being dangerous, cruel, or in how the blabber kid said, “It was scary!” So, to avoid any punishment, his experiments had become top secret missions.

  So,  it was just him and his test subject, which was a field mouse that he had captured the day before.

  Today’s "Fun" would be if he could fly this rodent over the hills that had shadowed his town. And since his folks house sat at the base of these hills, it shouldn’t be too difficult, he figured. But the question that had been bouncing around in his head was “How many balloons would it take?”

  And this is the reason why he had to keep his curiosity on hold for so many months, since this weekend was the only time that he could find helium balloons, due to the towns festivities.

Five? Seven? He figured that he would play it safe with an even ten.

It was do or die time!

  After smuggling the balloons up to his families  sun deck, he gathered his test subject from its waiting room ( which was actually just a shoe box) and put the little critter in its flying capsule ( which were two plastic baskets originally intended for holding strawberries at the local super market).

“Good luck mouse.” He said calmly. And without any countdown, he released the balloons into the air.

  Ten were more than enough. The aircraft shot straight up into the blue sky, until the little cage disappeared into the heavens above. And as soon as the balloons were just a a mere dot, the ocean breeze blew it over its intended goal, never to be seen again.

But he had to save his victory dance for another time because of the footsteps coming up quickly from behind, followed by his mothers voice.

"What the hell are you doing?"

He had been caught. He didn't know how much she had witnessed, but knowing his mother, information gathering was her stong suit.

"Was that a mouse? What's wrong with you? Jesus Christ, answer me!" his mothers asked in fury.

At first, he just stood there with his head towards the ground, before mumbling his answer back to his infuriated mother.

"Uh huh. I was just playing." he responded.

"PLAYING?" His mother shouted back at him with now confusion in her voice.

"I wanted to go....but I'm too big."He said.

"Go where?"

"I wanted to see where the red star goes. It flies over our house sometimes."
He then lowered his head back down while mumbling "Sorry".

The two just stood there in silence until his mother spoke up.

" I understand."

This response confused him to the point of looking up to his mother and witnessing the small tear
rolling down her cheek.

"I've seen it too...when I was a girl." She said.

"Have you seen other things as well, mama? You know...like scary things?" He asked.

She then hugged her son and said, " Yes. I still do from time to time. You will get used to it."

And get used to it he did, to the point that he preferred the things that went bump in the night than the normal boring life his peers resided in.


  He liked this memory.

  It was one of those incidents in his life that stuck around after all of these years, and eventually gave him the idea that completed his latest mission. And with is bum leg, he smiled and thought to himself, “These muscle relaxers are really good.”

Then, his drug induced sleep over took him.

But suddenly, his much needed rest was rudely interrupted by the flash grenade that was tossed through the living room window.They had found him.

  Two days ago, he had floated a bottle of sarin gas, the same way as he did the mouse, into a audience that had different views of decency than he. He escaped by leaping off an apartment complex and into a dumpster, as the feds kicked open the roofs door from above.

"This was fun." He said to himself, as the swat team poured into the house.

"But I'm tired of playing. Maybe I will finally get to find out where that ship was heading."

Right after those eighteen words exited his mouth, he picked up the pistol that was lying at his side, put the barrel in his mouth, and pulled the trigger.








Monday, May 8, 2017

Holding the Title

 Brian couldn’t smile anymore.

  Well, let me rephrase that, he could smile, but only during the times he was absent from his companies office. He had been employed by Sheffield and Son ten years prior, and had managed to climb to super star status as lead sales man, but lately, things felt…well…dead. He was bored with his job. And to make it even worse, the new batch of office folk, got under his skin. He didn’t really know why these people annoyed him so much. It could have been that he was over a decade their senior, or maybe because they were just a bunch of paled faced, pencil pushing douche bags, that only trash talked about whom ever wasn’t in front of their computer that day.

More than likely it was both…

And on top of that, he knew his days of glory were eventually going to come to an end.

There would be a new hero, and what he saw these days, he wasn’t impressed. He couldn’t come to grips with being replaced with this new generation. Someone that was just mediocre. Someone that would eventually beat his numbers and be hailed around this office like a God, while he faded away in their memories.

And here he was, bright eyed and bushy tailed, waiting to be called into the boss’s office for his yearly review.

He sat there with his best smile, nodding “Good Morning” to the office people, as they scurried back and forth from their cubicles to the copy machine. Brian just sat there with a smirk on his face watching these huge assed twenty something year olds, squeeze pass each other, while wearing their best polite non offensive faces. “Douche bags.” He thought to himself.

“Oh..Hey! Hi Brian.”

It was Heather the secretary.

“Are you going on a trip?” she asked.

“Good morning Heather. Yea, something like that. I thought that it would be easier to bring my bag with me, so that I can drive straight to the airport.”

“That’s cool.” Heather said with a smile.
“Jeff should be ready for you soon.”

“Thanks.”
“Brian! Buddy! Get on in here!”
“And the head Douche callith…” slipped out from under Brians breath….

It was Jeff, the owners son. “Hey buddy! How’s my super star doing this lovely morning?”

“Good morning Jeff. I’m fine. How are you doing?”

“Winning buddy! Always winning. You know me.”

“That’s good to hear, Jeff.”

Jeff Sheffield had been running this office ever since his father died two years before. He was in his early thirties, aggressive, and still living in his college football glory days.

On the service, if you could get passed his frat boy personality, he wasn’t a bad guy, but he was still one of them. And he wasn’t just one of them, he was now, the head office douche in front of this loser parade. Brian never trusted him.

Something was off. These were strange days for Brian. His faith in the human race had been on a nose dive recently, so anyone that was remotely friendly, made him go into defense mode with a returned smile, in crocodile form

Was he just simply burned out?

   This question always kept him up every night, while he prepared for the following work day, and last night wasn’t any different. He was ready. Today would be is blaze of glory. He was tired of being tired. 
 
 This new view of humanity reminded him of the time when he was a child, in his bedroom that he shared with his younger brother. He was lying across from his brothers bed, staring at the pillow and ruffled up blankets, when he saw it. For a brief second, he saw a body looking back at him as if it was a reflection in the mirror, but, this body was green and grotesque with a demon face.
 
  Was it his true reflection or an entity that had surfaced from another dimension? All he knew was that this was just another secret he would have to keep to himself. He knew, even at such a young age, that if you start blabbing about ghosts and goblins, you will be labled as crazy. So, he swallowed it like he every thing else that he had witnessed, and got on with his life.
 
But now, these things he had hidden away in his past were resurfacing, along with his recent darker view towards todays man.


“So…Brian. You know why you are here, right? It’s that time of year when I have to give you some more bad news.”

“Bad news?” Brian retorted.

Jeff sat down on his leather couch, sighed, and made a look on his face like he was about to tell him that the world was coming to an end.

“Yeah… I’m sorry to say buddy…YOU ARE STILL A BETTER SALESMAN THAN ME!”

“Ha! I got you didn’t I?” Jeff put his hands behind his head and grinned ear to ear.

“Yea, you got me Jeff. So, can we get this over with because I have some potential new clients I want to get a hold of.”

“Relax buddy. They can wait. I know you hate doing these things but you know “Company Policy”. Here. You know what you have to do. Read the form and sign at the bottom.”

Brian took the form from Jeff and just went straight to the signing part, and handed it back to his younger boss.

“Are you okay, Brian? Lately, you seem to be upset about something. What’s wrong buddy?”

“Nothing’s wrong. You know me. I just have to keep moving.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, Bri! You’re a shark! We both are. There’s blood in the water, so you better get out of here before you lose the scent…KILLER!” And when Jeff said this with his fake smile and infamous wink, Brian was halfway out the door.

Jeff sat back on the couch and muttered, “Jerk.”

He missed his father. He missed the talks they had. He missed his fathers’ advice about dealing with problem employees, especially in how to get rid of the older ones.

“Fuck em.” Is father would always say.
“Just kiss their ass until their numbers drop. And then, put em out to pasture and find a new one that will work for less.”

“I miss you pop.”

Jeff sat there in silence and began to day dream about the times in his life when scoring touchdowns and new girlfriends was all that had mattered. But, it was time to get back to work, so after a quick stretch, he picked up Brians form.

It had appeared that Brians new John Hancock was simply…”FUCK YOU JEFF!”

Right then, the intercom on Heathers desk clicked on.

Jeffs voice- “Heather. Is Brian out there?”

“Um…no. He just walked out. His bag is still here though, so he’s probably close. Do you want me to look for him?”

Jeff voice- (sounding more irritated) “Don’t worry about it. But, if he comes back, send him in here.”

“Okay. Oh…wait…I hear his phone in his bag. I wi…”

The ringing was what set off the C-4 that Brian had prepared the night before.
And right after Brian made the call from the mens toilet, the entire building came down.




 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 


Saturday, May 6, 2017

Montana Chickens


She seemed like a nice old lady...

Late, into her eighties...
With a smile that would light up the sky

I was eight years old...
Stepping out of our vacation motor home

Wiping away the sleep from my eyes....

Livingston, Montana...
Is where my crazy family had landed
Stiff and tired from a three day ride....

She greeted us from the porch....
White and gangly like a stork
Then hugged my mother with a loving pride...

I looked at my surroundings....
The muddy ground....
And the sound of the Yellowstone River pounding, near by....

The old Conway farm, was worn down
And uncharmed....
But, had a beauty that would make you cry.....

After a couple of minutes talking...
The mother/daughter team came a walking
And called me over, to their side....

Grandma had a problem....
And she wanted me to solve it....
A feathered terror that was two feet high....

It was a little red chicken.....
That had escaped into the forbidden....
And the freedom had turned it shy....

I was assigned to the mission....
And if a failed, I'd never be forgiven
With out a victoy, I'd surly die....

So, for the next two days...
I wore my best hunter gaze
But, my prey left me mystified....

I felt like Rocky Balboa...
But, moving like old man Noah....
Trying to save a feathered friend from the rising tide....

I finally captured the stupid chicken....
It was caught slipping, eating bugs happily, double dipping...
When a tackled it, giving my best war cry....

I carried it back to the house....
And dropped it on my grannies blouse...
With a greedy hand out, awaiting my prize....

And that's when I realized grannie was senile
When she only awarded me with a spacey smile


While the bird ran out the door and vaporized....

Tuesday, May 2, 2017

Ghost Story- The Mill Valley Santa


  I have enough material to entertain any campfire audience through out the night, when it comes to ghost stories. My trunk is full of them. And when I’m into story four or five, I myself start to believe I’m full of shit, but believe me, these stories are real.

 
This one is about the time I came face to face with a full apparition.

   I was working for a produce company in San Francisco, delivering organic fruit and vegatables to the well off residing in the Bay Area. Part of my route was in Mill Valley, which is located on the otherside of the Golden Gate bridge. If you can imagine a bunch of rich hippie types living in the woods, you can get the gist in what this place looks resembles.

   Anyway, it was my first week on the job, so the driver that was leaving was riding shotgun, while directing me through out the day. We pulled up to this house, which had a ridiculously long drive way. So there I was, humping this box of apples and what not to this monster house, and when I entered the front yard, the heebie jeepies started to run up the back of my neck. I walked up to the front door with my head on a swivel and knocked on the door.

 No answer.

    I shrugged, put the box on the door mat, and turned around to a very old ( very white ) old man in ( very white ) pajamas. He resembled Santa that was dipped in a vat of bleach. He just stood there with this dead stare. It was like he was looking though me without blinking, nor moving. And now that I think about it, I probably had the same expression.

 So, after five seconds or so, I just scurried around him while mumbling an awkward, “ Um..eh..excuse me.”

 I bolted for the truck, and when I jumped inside, my ride along looked up from his book and asked how everything went. I just started up the truck, blurted out, “ I think I just seen a ghost, dude.” And kicked up dust.

   Two weeks later, I had another delivery at that house, but this time an older lady answered the door. I asked her if her husband was a heavier set man with a beard. She answered yes, but how did I know? So I told her about our encounter, and of course she replied back to me that that was impossible because he had died two years prior.

Letters from Syria