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Quickly swilling done the cold, acidic coffee from his mug, he settled back in to the computer chair, interlaced his fingers and gave his knuckles a satisfying crack...reminiscent of small, timed explosives. He leaned forward and began to type.Quote:
Originally Posted by Rick
"It's go time, Junior" he muttered quietly, smiling to himself....
(cue Gothic music here)
Quote:
Originally Posted by Rick
Having finished his keyboard attack of the man that had haunted him for most of his adult life, causing sleepless nights, and a constant look behind him for fear of being followed, he now felt at ease. There was a calmness that came over him as he thought about the four ruined marriages and excessive drinking caused by the torturous thoughts of that fated day in 1976. He became eerily calm as he stared at that trophy goat head mounted above the news paper articles and photographs of Peter. He had feared that he would never find the man who last posted on Wilderness Survival Forums almost seven months ago. But now - all is right in the world.Quote:
Originally Posted by trax
Hang on a minute...... Have I just stepped into one of those twilight zones? :confused1:
Until he heard those fateful words, "You've Got Mail," chiming from the speakers on his computer. "Well, that was quick," he thought to himself. "Too da**ed quick". He sat with his hand poised over the computer mouse like a gunfighter standing in a dusty street in the noon day sun. He chewed a bit on his lower lip as he waited for the message to appear on his screen.
"Long time, no see," was the opening line of the email.
The vein pounding in his forehead, his left eye twitching uncontrollably, he tried to fight down the oncoming sense of rage. It was hopeless, he knew and as the cacophonous laughter of serious deer hunters echoed through his head he threw the keyboard, smashing it against the cold and uncaring horns of the goat mount.Quote:
Originally Posted by Rick
"NOOOO!!!" he screamed, "NOT Dick Sleeping!! Not Dick Sleeping!!"
His hand squeezed the mouse as he scrolled to read the message on his screen. He could almost hear the nasally voice he had come to despise speaking the words as he read on. Vivid images of Peter the Dick taking charge of the bunny slope, trying to impress the 16 year old girls with his intermediate skills. Memories of thickly applied "zinc" warding off sunburn from Peter's prominent nose. The 8-Track player stolen from Randy's truck during the 10 minutes that Peter had left the lodge....
And what is this? Peter is taunting him because he is now married to Josephine, Randy's first wife? Does Peter know what Randy discovered on his wedding night? Does he know that Josephine was Joseph before the surgery?
Ya'll are SO Wrong!!!
Then came those weird flashbacks; it was some nasty leftover psycosis from the bad acid he used to do while listing to the "Dead" jam on the 8-track. "Wait a minute!" he cried aloud, "I never had an 8 track!" Then there was something about "the wall of God," and a man in a Twinkie suit...:innocent: :sneaky2: :cool2:
I don't know about Bigfoot but I was married to Big Squat.
He had surprised himself at having landed the keyboard so precisely on the horns of the goat mount. And he smiled as he gave the cord a flip and deftly caught the keyboard in his outstretched hand.
He needed to calm himself down and a stiff drink was just what the doctor ordered. He slid the desk drawer open and gently lifted a bottle of VAT 54 from it's hiding place. He popped the cork, slowly poured a fist full into a water glass and placed the water glass in the desk drawer. He took a long pull off the bottle before running the back of his hand across his lips. The French wouldn't approve of his drinking style but he never liked them anyway. French Canadian...maybe. But certainly not real French. Not escargot eating, never shave your armpits French. He shuddered as the thought of an unshaven French maiden flashed through his mind. Oh yeah, she might be a looker with a great set of gams but that whole lumberjack thing bothered him. It reminded him too much of Josephine...or Joseph and his four hour marriage. He eyed the glass sitting all alone in the drawer and needed something to wash away bad thoughts. He hoisted the glass and said, "Here's to you Jo. You were a h**l of a dame... or guy." and finished it in one drink.
As he slammed the glass down he realized that no matter how he drank, there was still an attraction there...feelings that he never really understood.
"AGGGHHH!!!" He cried out: "This is wrong on so many different levels!" :sneaky2: :innocent: :cool2:
So he called BENESSE. She would understand........... :innocent:Quote:
Originally Posted by Sarge47
Or would she ? his mind races as he tries to find the right words, His pulse quickened as he heard her Familiar voice on the other end "Hello", The sweat beading on his forehead "Hello" Shaken, He began to speak,Quote:
Originally Posted by Ken
"Have you seen my 8-track?" He asked. "Is Jerry Garcia really Grateful now that he's dead, do you think? Should I move to San Francisco? Who's the guy in the Twinkie suit? He's got the nicest eyes..." :innocent: :sneaky2: :cool2:
I didn't read all the post in this thread so someone may have already said this. But it looks like a bird about to land under the feeder.
The thing about the guy the new fella was attacking (or responding to) is that he hasn't logged on in seven months.
And won't until he does a Google search on his own name. :innocent:Quote:
Originally Posted by crashdive123
He wrapped his paws around the snub nosed .38 and rubbed the barrel softly across his cheek. This was the first time he'd thought about that two timer since the three of them ran into each other on fourth street. He'd always thought that Jo could handle a fifth too well. Call it a sixth sense but he knew something was wrong. Yeah, he'll remember the eighth of June for a long time. What a surprise to run into Jo and Dick Sleeping at nine o'clock that evening. He'd have bet a ten spot she wouldn't have cheated on him. He wouldn't have...oh, whatever.
In retrospect, the faint mustache wasn't really that faint at all. Another sign he'd overlooked.
A thousand once treasured memories race through his troubled mind, It Suddenly all Makes sense, The Hairy legs, The flat chest , Of Course he whispered with a drunken sigh, How could i have been so blind,?
And all at once he was overcome by nausea as he read the words, "maybe the three of us should get together....."
Again he tightened his grip on the shiny revolver he held in his shaking hand,
"Looks like I'll let some lead do my talkin'," he said to himself. Or perhaps it was the VAT 54 talking or maybe it was that voice in his head. Whoever it was, he was talking his language. English. He wasn't bi-lingual. In fact, after the horrible incident with Jo, he realized he wasn't bi anything.
But yet, he knew there was still something there...something deep under the covers, and he had a sneaky suspicion that these thoughts and feelings would want to well up, but that damn Dick Sleeping couldn't be beaten. So, he shrugged and spun the wheel of his fine peacemaker.
And just then, he heard a muffled sound of footsteps on his back steps. Pausing for a fast pull from the VAT 54, he quickly headed to the back of the house and tripped over the dog. He caught himself, and ran through the house, turning on the porch light as he pulled the door open. There was nobody there, nothing in sight, except a worn pair of orange ski boots that he recognized from years ago.
"Orange ski boots," he thought to himself. Dick always did have terrible taste in clothes. Then he noticed the note tucked neatly in one of the boots. He glanced around cautiously as he plucked the note out of the hideous orange boot.
"We have a score to settle," was all it said.
As his head cleared a bit from the alcohol he noticed something that had escaped him earlier. He picked up one of the boots and looked inside to check the size: "25 EEEEEEEE!"
Then it came to him; Josephine"s/Joesph's hairy chest, & back, and legs, & face....Jo was a.....BIGFOOT! How Dick Sleeping got those boots was beyond him. He sank down onto the floor in complete humiliation. He looked at the Charter Arms "Bulldog .44" clenched tightly in his hand. Slowly he raised the pistol, stuck the barrel into his quivering mouth; & then, slowly squeezed the trigger: "CLICK."
"Dang," he muttered, "I forgot to buy bullets.":sneaky2:
Now, He hears noises from the bedroom, "Oh my God" they are awake now, He knows he must do something and do it Fast ! but for the first time he begins to feel the effects of the alcohol cursing through his veins, as the room begins to spin, he knows what he must do, But How? How can he reach the toilet without being seen, Feeling like a trapped animal, he drops to his knees and begins to crawl, But not stealthy , like a predator stalking it prey , More like a drunken Raccoon after consuming fermented wild berries,
Crawling towards the bathroom, he sees the faint light of the computer monitor glowing from the office flickering on the wall. It reminds him of the Northern Lights he had seen so many times when living in his remote arctic camp, 240 miles from the nearest road or village. He crawls away from the direction of the porcelin throne, and towards the magical, mystical monitor lights. Pulling his drunken self up from the floor by the legs of the chair he'd made out of a driftwood log, he stares blankly at the monitor. In a stupor he begins reading...suddenly like a slap to the face, from a pissed-off Detroit pimp, the words he reads begin to sting. His Nemisis is not just his lover, a sasquatch, and transgendered homosexual....he is also his cousin! And, he has been making wild posts to online forums under his name!
And with a great heave, he purged the booze and the Chinese food from his stomach. And there, floating on the top of the regurgitation, was a tiny slip of paper. As he reached down and picked it up - he remembered swallowing that last fortune cookie much to quickly.
In the dim light, he read the faint words, "You will soon find your Dick Sleeping. Your Lucky Numbers are........."
Free from the booze he looked down at his hand. How on earth did a snub nose .38 turn into a Charter Arms Bulldog? He realized he needed to cut back on drinking. He chuckled to himself. That wasn't going to happen. He placed the weapon on the desk and started typing.
"I got your note," the email began. "There's only one thing I have to say..."
"if you ever go to the Chinese Garden, whatever you do, Avoid the Kung Pau Chicken !"
and if your fortune cookie has a handwritten note, that says "I pooped in your po po platter" immeditaly go to the Emergency Room!
With that being said, He removed the lone chop stick resting behind his ear and flicked away the bits of rice and peas from his keyboard then began to type,
I am extremely confused right now, This Morning I almost ended my life, It must have been divine intervention that I did not succeed, Not one, but two pistols and not a single bullet, What could the reason be, Why am I not able to just end my pain ? Please Oprah, help me understand Why ,
He looked down at the gun, it had changed back into the .38; then into a snake, then a puppy, then the .44! He realized that he was getting flashbacks from all the bad acid he'd dropped years ago. Suddenly he gasped! No! It couldn't be! In a moment of clarity he came to realize that HE was Dick Sleeping! (Gasp!) :sneaky2:
He stood staring in the mirror with tears streaming down his face. A victim of Multiple Personality Disorder only now did he realize that he had whipped his own a$$ all those years ago. Worse, he was the one that had purchased those horrible ski boots. He really was Dick Sleeping. He liked Peter Knap a lot better. He like Betty Sue Sounder best of all but that was probably another personality.
As he looked in the mirror his face started changing into the other people that inhabited his mind. Suddenly one stared back at him that shook him to his very core! "NO!" he screamed; "It can't be!" Staring back at him was the face of the current President of the United States! :innocent:
And then he heard Josephine calling from the bedroom. Or was that Joseph?
So in the end, he got what he's been giving.
As the fog of that amber colored liquor that he had come to rely on continued to lift he realized that this was not the end. How could it be? The realization of what he had almost done caused him to break out in a cold sweat. Not unlike the time he waited in the waning shadows for his chance at revenge. Revenge. Oh, the realization of his delusional life, fueled by desires deep within his soul was becoming more clear. He now knew what he must do. The end? Hardly! This was a new begining.