A Small Chuckle for the Day

"Forgiveness", the Reverend began.

"Forgiveness is at the heart of the Church's message. We cannot go about our daily lives with anger and hate in our hearts."

The young Reverend looked around at the faces of his parishoners. Each face was upturned toward his own, and he smiled inwardly at their attention.

"To err is human," he continued, "to forgive divine. As our fists are closed in anger, we make enemies rather than friends. It encourages the building of walls rather than bridges."

The Reverend looked around again, seeing the nods of the men and women in the church.

"How many of you attending services today can claim to have no anger towards anyone else? How many of you can claim to have no enemies?"

Slowly, an elderly lady stood up from where she had been seated and raised her hand in acknowledgement.

"I have no enemies, Reverend."

The Reverend raised his arms up to the Heavens in praise and said, "Mrs. Abernathy! Our eldest member! Take note all of you! Mrs. Abernathy has been alive for 96 years and yet has no enemies! Tell us, Mrs. Abernathy, what is the secret? How have you accomplished such a task?

Mrs. Abernathy calmly looked back at him and responded, "It's easy, Reverend. I outlived the bitches."

The Art of David Kawena

Those of you who have been around my blog for a while may remember my Disney Hunks post. All of those drawings were from an exceptional artist, David Kawena, who posts his art over at DeviantArt. I was visiting his page earlier today and saw that he has several new pieces of art up for his fans. I didn't save them all, but did download 4 that I really liked.

Please go visit his page and leave him some comments!

Sarcastic, Ironic, and Somewhat True

Looking for Religion?

Beware Things That Go Bump in the Night: A Halloween Tale

The Halloween moon was just beginning to peek over the horizon as the sun went down upon the small community of Hilldale. Being the end of October, the winds had already started to blow cool dry air through the area, causing the trees and shrubs to sway in time with the autumn gusts. Small clouds of orange and brown oak leaves playfully swirled across the lawn of 265 Forester Lane, but they went unseen by the home's single occupant. Jacob Sorenson, the newest resident of Hilldale was too busy pacing around his living room, pulling back the curtains to look down the long road. His wife had left hours ago and she was, by now, very late.

Normally, Jacob liked having the house to himself. He could have the volume on as loud as he wanted on the television set. He could leave as many lights on as he wanted. And he could walk around in his boxer shorts, all things his wife frowned upon his doing. Tonight, though, he was doing none of those things.

He had heard from his neighbors that they were all expecting a hoard of creatures to rampage through the quiet town that very night! Apparently, the community of Hilldale was not as quiet or as safe as Jacob had been led to believe. As it was, he had only agreed to move to the United States because his wife had family here. He was perfectly content to have lived his entire life in the town of Smithingsgate back in his dear England. There were certainly no creatures roaming the streets at night back there. But now, he was beginning to see a bit more clearly just how different things were across the ocean.

Now, Jacob was most certainly not a cowardly man. However, he felt he was justified this time in being frightened. Waves of undead walking through the town streets? How could anyone take that for granted? Just how callous had his neighbors become if they were nonchalantly preparing for an assault that night? It boggled Jacob's mind.

Pulling the curtains back for the umpteenth time, Jacob let his eyes sweep up and down the street looking for his wife's car, but there was nothing moving out there. She had left to the store to buy much needed supplies for the night; just how long could that take? Jacob was beginning to worry that she may have been caught up in something already. Why had she insisted on leaving the house!?

Returning to his pacing, Jacob went through the instructions given to him by his neighbors, people who had experienced and survived countless nights such as this one. He had a chair already placed by the door, ready to be used as soon as his wife returned home. He had all of his window blinds closed and curtains drawn. That was simply a precaution, he was told. No one ever made for a window, but it was best to not allow a view from the street nonetheless. All of his exterior doors were tightly shut, their overhead lights extinguished to not call attention to them. The only light on was the light to the main porch; it allowed Jacob to see if anyone or anything was walking up to the house. Everything else that his neighbors had suggested he have on hand had needed to be purchased, which explained his wife's absence.

Jacob moved back to the front window, peering out again for signs of his wife's return. But what was this? Jacob was sure he could see movement across the way. It appeared as if a small group of monsters had already begun to gather. Looking up into the sky, Jacob could see that the last vestiges of the sun had long since disappeared, the only natural light now coming from the silvery moon hanging suspended over the town. Surely they weren't abroad already? His neighbors had assured him that nothing would happen until later in the evening!

Jacob could feel his heart begin to pound. Ever since he was a child, the very idea of monsters, creatures, and zombies had terrified him. His parents had assured him that no such things existed, but he knew better. He had always had the ability to see things that no one else could. He vividly remembered the shadowy figure in his closet that would try to blend in with the dark clothes, but Jacob had seen its glittering eyes. His mother would assure him that his room was safe, but Jacob could hear the whispery breaths of the thing under his bed, a creature waiting to grab his legs as soon as his feet would drape over the edge of the mattress. Yes, monsters existed; most people, though, either couldn't or wouldn't see them.

Jacob looked out of the window again. There was still no sign of his wife, but now he was certain that there were groups moving around outside. Luckily, some of the men from the town had already built a bonfire in the middle of the park, and Jacob could see the bright orange flames dancing high in the sky. Hopefully most of the monsters would be attracted to the flames and be dealt with over there; hopefully none of them would make it down to his dark corner of Forester Lane. Perhaps he should shut off the porch light after all, he thought, just to help his little house go unnoticed.

Suddenly he heard a thump on his wooden porch.

What was that! he thought, his breath beginning to come in short gasps. Had one of the groups made it to his house after all? Had they bypassed the bonfire and wandered down the street instead? Frozen with fear, Jacob's eyes darted to his window, but the blinds and curtains made it impossible for him to see what was outside.

There it was again! A couple of solid thumps and the patter of feet walking across his porch! He was sure of it!

Rather than looking outside, Jacob raced to his rear door, considering bolting out the back way when five solid knocks stopped his dead in his tracks. The pounding knocks had not come from the front, but rather from the back! He could here shrill voices screaming through the light wooden door, though he couldn't make out what they were saying. What could creatures of the night have to say, anyway? Jacob heard fists pounding at his back door again, and then deeper voices raised, issuing what sounded like commands. The pounding stopped.

Jacob ran back to his living room in time to see small hunched figures being followed by slower shadowy shapes. Just how many of them were out there?

A crash sounded from upstairs, a deep and resounding thump that made Jacob jump a foot in the air and let out a small shriek. What was that? Had the creatures managed to get in through an upstairs window? Grabbing the flashlight off of the side table, another item recommended by his neighbors, Jacob raced up the stairs and peered into the room where the noise had come. The bright beam lit up his extra bedroom as Jacob panned the light back and forth. He immediately saw the curtains billowing into the room.

The window was open!

Jacob's hand trembled as he continued to shine the light into the darkened room when he spied the source of the sound. It was not an undead as he had feared; rather, a book had fallen off of a shelf and landed on the floor. Clearly, the wind had pushed the book over. Passing a shaking hand over his sweating brow, Jacob quickly crossed the room and closed the window. Now that he realized he wasn't about to be eaten alive, he took a deep breath to steady his nerves. He didn't think he would be able to stand another strain like that.

He shut his light off and began to descend the stairs when the pounding came again, this time on the front door. The light thumps were punctuated by high voiced shrieks and the clatter of many feet on the porch.

My God, thought Jacob, I'm doomed.


At that moment, Jacob saw the glow of headlights brighten his front windows. His wife was home! Rushing down the last few stairs, Jacob ran to the door, ready to thrown it open at a moment's notice. But then he froze.

If he opened the door for his wife, what would happen then? Would he see things that would haunt him the rest of his life? Would some of the creatures try to dart inside before he could get the door closed again?

Suddenly, he heard his wife's voice raised outside, saying something to the gathered mob of ghouls and zombies. What was she saying? He heard her voice coming closer to the door as the shrill voices began to laugh and chatter even louder.

What was going on out there?

Suddenly, Jacob heard someone kicking at the door and shouting his name.

"Jacob! Jacob! Open the door!"

It was his wife!

Dashing the last few feet to the door, Jacob quickly turned the heavy steel bolt and unlocked the door, throwing it open as quickly as he could. Standing there, her form outlined by the bright bonfire blazing across the way, the porch light accentuating the creases in her face, Jacob's wife scowled at him as she lifted her arms to show off several plastic bags from WalMart filled with Halloween candy.

"Damn it, Jacob, why wasn't the door open? And why aren't you sitting out here with the bowl of mini snickers bars I left? The trick-or-treaters are here already!"

So saying Matilda Sorenson gestured around her at the several children dressed as goblins, ghouls, and zombies, their parents watching from the sidewalk.

"Damn it Jacob, please don't tell me you've been hiding in the dark! I swear, you go further into the deep end every day, you fat useless chicken. I should have listened to my mother all those years ago. She always said you were a flake, you know."

Pushing passed the frozen Jacob, Matilda called from over her shoulder. "One second, my dears, let me grab the bowl of candy."

Jacob stood there at the door, looking out at the painted faces of the neighborhood children. There was a vampire. And over there was an undead boy, blood pouring from an open wound on his neck. Trick-or-treaters? More like little monsters!

Jacob hated anything relating to monsters. As his wife returned to begin passing out candy to the shrieking children, Jacob averted his eyes from the scary costumes. He just knew he was going to have nightmares. That is, if he could even get to sleep with the closet monster glaring at him all night long.

Happy Halloween!

from Dr Mandragora

Thank You!

A HUGE Thank You to everyone who helped me track down the source of that strange sign-in window that appeared mysteriously on the blog recently.

Just and Fer gave me some suggestions that were tried, and thanks for that. Your comments let me know I wasn't on the raft alone! Lol.

And a thousand Thanks to Mr. Urs who figured out the problem incredibly fast. I would ask you how you knew what the problem was, but my pedestrian understanding of computers would prevent me from comprehending your answer. ;)

Somebody Help!

I am not very technology oriented and so, when things go wrong with the computer, I tend to not know what the heck is going on.

For the last few days, when I try to get in to my blog, I get this weird pop down menu appear asking me to log in to some website I have never even heard of. I put a screen shot up to show the menu.

Does anyone know what this is? And how do I stop it from appearing? I thought it was a virus of some sort, but I see it on my iPhone as well.

Anyone? Anyone? Beuller?

Weird Things to Say When Buying Condoms

• My Granny is visiting me this weekend.
• I use these on my fingers during "puppet time" at school.
• My dad loves this flavor.
• Ha! Now I can smoke my cigarettes in the rain!
• So, I hear you get off work in a few.......wink wink!
• Umm.....where is the chloroform?
• By the way, you guys are out of sleeping pills. Just FYI.
• How close are you to your mom?
• Well, I won't be cleaning crud out from under my fingernails tonight!
• Will these go over the handle of a broom?
• These are the best water balloons ever!

Hee hee! A little inappropriate, but funny I think. Feel free to add your own in the comments.

Wizard of Oz

The Haunted Railroad Tracks

In San Antonio, there is a railroad crossing where Villamain Road becomes Shane Road where many motorists claim to have experienced a ghostly encounter.

The story goes that a busload of children was struck by an oncoming train as it was trying to cross the tracks, the result being the horrific death of them all. Ever since, the children's spirits are said to linger at the spot to assure that no such accident ever happens again. Anyone who stops on the tracks has their car pushed out of harm's way by the tiny spirits, small handprints left behind on the vehicles.

I personally have never been to the tracks since ghost hunting has never been one of my interests, but I have relatives who claim they have experienced this phenomenon.

The following story, by S.E. Schlosser, is based upon this legend.

*************

Ghost Handprints

retold by S. E. Scholsser

My wife Jill and I were driving home from a friend's party late one evening in early May. It was a beautiful night with a full moon. We were laughing and discussing the party when the engine started to cough and the emergency light went on. We had just reached the railroad crossing where Villamain Road becomes Shane Road. According to local legend, this was the place where a school bus full of children had stalled on the tracks. Everyone on board the bus had been killed by an oncoming freight train. The ghosts of the children were reported to haunt this intersection and were said to protect people from danger.

Not wanting a repeat of the train crash, I hit the gas pedal, trying to get our car safely across the tracks before it broke down completely. But the dad-blamed car wouldn't cooperate. It stalled dead center on the railroad tracks.

As if that weren't enough, the railroad signals started flashing and a bright light appeared a little ways down the track, bearing down fast on our car. I turned the key and hit the gas pedal, trying to get the car started.

"Hurry up, Jim! The train's coming," my wife urged, as if I didn't hear the whistling blowing a warning.

I broke out into a sweat and tried the engine again. Nothing.

"We have to get out!" I shouted to my wife, reaching for the door handle.

"I can't," Jill shouted desperately. She was struggling with her seat belt. We'd been having trouble with it recently. She'd been stuck more than once, and I'd had to help her get it undone.

I threw myself across the stick-shift and fought with the recalcitrant seat belt. My hands were shaking and sweat poured down my body as I felt the rumble of the approaching train. It had seen us and was whistling sharply. I risked a quick glance over my shoulder. The engineer was trying to slow down, but he was too close to stop before he hit us. I redoubled my efforts.

Suddenly, the car was given a sharp shove from behind. Jill and I both gasped and I fell into her lap as the car started to roll forward, slowly at first, then gaining speed. The back end cleared the tracks just a second before the train roared passed. As the car rolled to a stop on the far side of the tracks, the engineer stuck his head out the window of the engine and waved a fist at us; doubtless shouting something nasty at us for scaring him.

"Th..that was close," Jill gasped as I struggled upright. "How did you get the car moving?"

"I didn't," I said. "Someone must have helped us."

I jumped out of the door on the driver's side of the car and ran back to the tracks to thank our rescuer. In the bright moonlight, I searched the area, looking for the person who had pushed our car out of the path of the train. There was no one there. I called out several times, but no one answered. After a few minutes struggle with her seatbelt, Jill finally freed herself and joined me.

"Where is he?" she asked.

"There is no one here," I replied, puzzled.

"Maybe he is just shy about being thanked," Jill said. She raised her voice. "Thank you, whoever you are," she called.

The wind picked up a little, swirling around us, patting our hair and our shoulders like the soft touch of a child's hand. I shivered and hugged my wife tightly to me. We had almost died tonight, and I was grateful to be alive.

"Yes, thank you," I repeated loudly to our mystery rescuer.

As we turned back to our stalled vehicle, I pulled out my cell phone, ready to call for a tow truck. Beside me, Jill stopped suddenly, staring at the back of our car.

"Jim, look!" she gasped.

I stared at our vehicle. Scattered in several places across the back of our car were several glowing handprints. They were small handprints; the kind that adorned the walls of elementary schools all over the country. I started shaking as I realized the truth; our car had been pushed off the tracks by the ghosts of the schoolchildren killed at this location.

The wind swept around us again, and I thought I heard an echo of childish voices whispering 'You're welcome' as it patted our shoulders and arms. Then the wind died down and the handprints faded from the back of the car.

Jill and I clung together for a moment in terror and delight. Finally, I released her and she got into the car while I called the local garage to come and give us a tow home.

borrowed from American Folklore

Donkey Lady Bridge

The Tale of the Donkey Lady is one heard by every child in San Antonio. I personally have never bothered to see the bridge allegedly haunted by this spirit, though I am familiar with the story. Being not in the best frame of mind, I was not up to retelling the story myself, so borrowed this version from here.

***

The tales that I have on the Donkey Lady are not directly related to me, however they were relayed to me through friends in highschool. These are people I have known all my life, and have no reason not to believe them.

One night in late 1987, while at my best friends house, four fellow companions showed up. Bored and looking for something to do, we suggested they visit the "Donkey Lady Bridge". This local was only a short drive from the house(5 or 6 miles) and was a local favorite amongst late night stories. They agreed and were soon driving out of sight.

About six hours later, their vehicle returned to our driveway with only one occupant. Assuming he had taken the girls home and was ready to party in S.A., we went out anxious to greet him. What we found at the car was something I'll never forget; the windshield was busted, the front dented, and there was what appeared to be blood all over the hood. We immediately ran to the driver side door to see if John (not his actual name) was all right. However, John was just sitting there staring out the windshield with a blank expression on his face. After several minutes of consistent badgering, we finally got him to talk.

He, Lisa, Terri, And Jill (their names are changed also) arrived at the bridge. They began to honk their horn and call for the donkey lady. (According to legend this is how you are supposed to get her attention.) After about fifteen minutes of not seeing anything, they decided to go into the woods and look for her themselves. What happened next was truly unbelievable, and if I hadn't know John all my life and seen the car I would not have believed what he said next.

While walking in the woods, John said he got the feeling they were being watched. He immediately stopped and told everyone to be quiet. Looking around and evaluating the situation, he discovered in the distance what appeared to be two eyes staring at them off in the distance. These eyes seemed to be reflecting from the moonlight and were of a color that was said to be indescribable. Immediately the girls panicked and began to run back to the car. John was quick to follow, and soon after he turned away there was a horrible scream from the direction of the eyes. He described it as almost being a cry from an intelligent animal. To afraid to turn around, he picked up his pace as he ran to the car. When he got there the girls were already inside screaming at him to get in and leave. As he was trying to find his keys, he heard the sounds of what seemed to be a horse running in their direction. Starting the car, he slammed it into gear and put it to the floor. Suddenly, a figure appeared in the road in front of them. Too afraid to stop, John collided with the figure. It hit the hood of the car and rolled over the roof. Looking in his rear view mirror, he said he thought the figure got up and continued to pursue them.

After hearing this and seeing the condition of the car, Steve and I, immediately felt this deserved a second look. John told us that he would never return to that bridge again, but if we wanted to risk our lives to go right ahead. Grabbing two flashlights and a pair of shotguns, (that was the biggest weapon Steve's father had) we jumped in my pickup and made way for the bridge. As we drew closer, we slowed down, and turned on the many off road lights my truck had. These lit the road and the woods to the side of us as if it were day time, giving us an outstanding view of the bridge as we approached. The first thing we noticed as the bridge drew close were the amount of blood on the road. However, these were the only signs of evidence we could find. Upon investigation of the woods by foot, shot guns in hand) we discovered what seemed to be several tracks of a small horse (unshod) leading to the road. After several hours of looking and not finding anything else, we returned to the house. By this time John had already found his way home, and we laid in bed, to excited to sleep.

To this day, none of the four individuals involved in this story have returned to the bridge. Did John actually see and strike the Donkey Lady that night, or was it merely a stray pony startled by their presence? All I know is that something was there that night and it did scare our friends half to death.

The Donkey Lady bridge is the bridge that crosses Elm creek via Applewhite Rd., approximately four miles North of Loop 1604 on the South side of town.

photo from kotsu777's Photostream

The Tale of the Weeping Woman

La Llorona: A Hispanic Legend
by Joe Hayes

This is a story that the old ones have been telling to children for hundreds of years. It is a sad tale, but it lives strong in the memories of the people, and there are many who swear that it is true.

Long years ago in a humble little village there lived a fine looking girl named Maria Some say she was the most beautiful girl in the world! And because she was so beautiful, Maria thought she was better than everyone else.

As Maria grew older, her beauty increased And her pride in her beauty grew too When she was a young woman, she would not even look at the young men from her village. They weren't good enough for her! "When I marry," Maria would say, "I will marry the most handsome man in the world."

And then one day, into Maria's village rode a man who seemed to be just the one she had been talking about. He was a dashing young ranchero, the son of a wealthy rancher from the southern plains. He could ride like a Comanche! In fact, if he owned a horse, and it grew tame, he would give it away and go rope a wild horse from the plains. He thought it wasn't manly to ride a horse if it wasn't half wild.

He was handsome! And he could play the guitar and sing beautifully. Maria made up her mind-that was, the man for her! She knew just the tricks to win his attention.

If the ranchero spoke when they met on the pathway, she would turn her head away. When he came to her house in the evening to play his guitar and serenade her, she wouldn't even come to the window. She refused all his costly gifts. The young man fell for her tricks. "That haughty girl, Maria, Maria! " he said to himself. "I know I can win her heart. I swear I'll marry that girl."

And so everything turned out as Maria planned. Before long, she and the ranchero became engaged and soon they were married. At first, things were fine. They had two children and they seemed to be a happy family together. But after a few years, the ranchero went back to the wild life of the prairies. He would leave town and be gone for months at a time. And when he returned home, it was only to visit his children. He seemed to care nothing for the beautiful Maria. He even talked of setting Maria aside and marrying a woman of his own wealthy class.

As proud as Maria was, of course she became very angry with the ranchero. She also began to feel anger toward her children, because he paid attention to them, but just ignored her.

One evening, as Maria was strolling with her two children on the shady pathway near the river, the ranchero came by in a carriage. An elegant lady sat on the seat beside him. He stopped and spoke to his children, but he didn't even look at Maria. He whipped the horses on up the street.

When she saw that, a terrible rage filled Maria, and it all turned against her children. And although it is sad to tell, the story says that in her anger Maria seized her two children and threw them into the river! But as they disappeared down the stream, she realized what she had done! She ran down the bank of the river, reaching out her arms to them. But they were long gone.

The next morning, a traveler brought word to the villagers that a beautiful woman lay dead on the bank of the river. That is where they found Maria, and they laid her to rest where she had fallen.

But the first night Maria was in the grave, the villagers heard the sound of crying down by the river. It was not the wind, it was La Llorona crying. "Where are my children?" And they saw a woman walking up and down the bank of the river, dressed in a long white robe, the way they had dressed Maria for burial. On many a dark night they saw her walk the river bank and cry for her children. And so they no longer spoke of her as Maria. They called her La Llorona, the weeping woman. And by that name she is known to this day. Children are warned not to go out in the dark, for, La Llorona might snatch them and never return them.

The Rooster and the Cat

I witnessed the oddest thing today.

I was walking along a field and came to a pond when I spied a cat and a rooster sitting by the water's edge. They seemed to be conversing, about what I have no idea, when the rooster pushed the cat into the water. The cat splashed around, blinking and sputtering, while the rooster crowed with laughter. And I realized this was an illustration of a truism of life.

A wet pussy means a happy cock.

San Antonio Ghost Stories

The Call From Beyond

This story has been around as long as there have been land line telephones, but it still gives me the shivers.

Seems there was a young family (mom, dad, and a boy about 7) who had just inherited a house out in the country. The only way in or out of their property was by a winding lane that skirted the edge of the graveyard. Now this particular night the parents were in a big hurry because they had to get to an awards banquet where the mom was receiving an award from the state. The babysitter was on her way, but time was running short and the parents decided their son would be safe by himself in the brief time he'd be alone.

Unable to wait any longer, the parents drove away in the face of big storm brewing, leaving the little boy alone for the first time in his life. Almost immediately a cold rain began to splatter against the house in big drops, and the wind increased to a howl. Suddenly a giant bolt of lightning ripped the skies apart and hit the big old oak tree down the lane from the boy's house -- falling into the graveyard and blocking the only way in or out by car. As the tree was falling, it took out the phone and power lines as well (remember, this took place before we all had cell phones and email). The lights went out and the house got dark and spooky and the poor little boy huddled alone under the kitchen table.

It was then that the phone rang. Overcoming his fear, the boy crawled over to the kitchen phone and answered. It was his grandpa! The boy began to relax instantly, and for the next three hours they chatted about baseball and fishing and all the sorts of things 7 year old boys and their grandpas chat about. Finally his grandpa said that he had to go, but that the boy was to be brave and that mom and dad would be home very soon.

As the boy hung up, the front door burst open and in ran his mother and father. Where was the babysitter? She'd obviously been unable to drive past the fallen tree -- the road crew had only recently cleared the lane. She couldn't call because the phones and power were out.

But the phones couldn't be out. The boy had talked most of the night on the phone. Hadn't he?

The next morning the phone crew arrived to fix the downed line and when they moved enough of the old fallen oak tree to get to the line beneath it they noticed something very peculiar. The line was broken in the middle, and each end had been mashed into the soft soil of a grave. The grave of the young boy's grandfather.

Can I Interest You in a Tasty Beverage

Life pressures are beginning to overwhelm me again, especially as certain dates begin to approach. So, I thought I would do the mature and responsible thing and begin drinking again. Yay! And my favorite drink of all time? The Long Island Iced Tea.


Long Island Iced Tea

1 part vodka
1 part 1800® Tequila
1 part rum
1 part gin
1 part triple sec
1 1/2 parts sweet and sour mix
1 splash Coca-Cola®

Mix ingredients together over ice in a glass. Pour into a shaker and give one brisk shake. Pour back into the glass and make sure there is a touch of fizz at the top. Garnish with lemon.

Drink responsibly!

And yes, if you look carefully at the strange white smudges midway down the glass, that is indeed Elvish script floating in my drink.  Gandalf the Gray doesn't leave me alone!.

Batman Really Needs to Find a Girlfriend

So, Robin is the only person Batman's been touching?

I realize Dick is Batman's "boy wonder", but still.

It's Getting Old

You know what I am getting tired of? Posers.

I haven't been a member of the Blogosphere for as long as some of you, but I have already seen my fair share of bloggers pretending to be someone that they are not. I have read through blogs allegedly belonging to young people who later turn out to be trolls, adults pretending for reasons of their own. More often than not, those blogs are typified by outrageous happenings and drama drama drama. In my opinion, these blogs generally give themselves away with inconsistent facts. It takes a bit of time, but I can usually tell when I am being trolled.

And now I find myself reading another blog that is showing all the signs I've come to associate with a fake author.

I cannot fathom what pleasure is had by someone fooling others. Is there is a sense of power? Of superiority? Is the author laughing as he reads through comments and emails from others offering him condolences, support, and friendship? Does he tell his real life friends about the gullibility of the people who run/read blogs?

I will not identify the blog that I am certain is being written by a troll because my goal here is not to embarrass anyone or call someone out in public. I am also planning on reading the blog for a bit longer, just to see where the fantasy goes. After all, I may be able to incorporate some of the events into a better written story one of these days than the original author has been able to put together thus far.

Balloon Boy: Stop the Madness

Dear Playhouse Forum...

Dear Playhouse Forum,

I never thought it could happen to me!

I was at home last night with my best friend Brad. Brad is a pretty good looking guy. He is 5' 8", has brown hair and brown eyes, and came out years ago as bisexual. We had made plans to spend the evening watching scary movies and hanging out together.

Now, I have never considered myself as gay or bi or anything, having had a girlfriend in my life since I was in junior high school, but that didn't mean that I wasn't cool with Brad's sexuality.

Well, we were laying on our stomachs side by side on my bed. I had just taken a hit off of my bong when I realized that I was getting pretty horny; I could feel my cock pressing into the bed beneath me. With the head on my shoulders floating a bit after my bong hit and my other head throbbing persistently, I decided to hit on my handsome friend.

I put my arm around him semi-jokingly, and he laughed quietly but put his arm around me. After letting him get comfortable with my arm around him and we had each sort become accustomed to our closeness, I started massaging his shoulder with my one hand. He let out a little moan of pleasure, his voice deep and throaty; he closed his eyes and stretched a bit. Since we were lying down on our stomachs, still watching the television, I sat up and began massaging him with two hands over his shirt.

I was most assuredly turned on already and I could tell that Brad was getting there. My massage was doing the trick on my handsome friend. His back was soft and toned and delicious to rub. I continued rubbing him this way for several minutes, listening to his breathing get heavier and heavier.

Once I could tell that he was extremely relaxed and enjoying the sensation of my hands on his skin, I began to work my hands farther down his back. I slipped my hands under his shirt and felt his bare skin. His shoulders felt amazing and by this point I had a pretty incredible hard on.

I decided to be bold and started to massage his legs. I started at his feet, squeezing and stroking his toes, arches, and heels. I then stroked his calves, feeling the small hairs beneath my hands and his strong muscles. I quickly worked up his thighs and headed towards his firm butt. In silent approval, he reached around behind him and gave my forearms a little squeeze.

I laid down behind him, positioning myself so that we were spooning, my obvious erection pressing into the crack of his butt. One of my hands began to rub and squeeze his firm ass, my other hand reaching around and massaging his crotch. Suddenly, he rolled over so we were facing each other. He grabbed  my hand and placed it back onto the bulge in his pants. It was very clear to me, even through his jeans, that his cock was stiff.


Brad stared into my eyes and I could tell that he was very turned on. With a slight grin on his face, he started unbuttoning my pants. I was somewhat terrified but horribly excited at the same time. He slipped his hand into my boxers and took hold of my stiff cock, his thumb caressing the tip. The smoothness with which his thumb moved over my head showed me that I was leaking a ton precum at this point.

I unbuttoned his pants and shoved my hand greedily into his briefs. I pulled out his cock and we stroked each other off together. I decided it had enough waiting and I just went for it. I knelt over his lap and licked the head of his cock. He gasped and squeezed harder. Even though I've never even fantasized about another man before, I realized this is something that I was excited to do and decided to just go for it. Taking a large breath into my lungs and Brad's cock in my hand, I took the whole thing in my mouth.

Let me just tell all of you curious Playhouse readers out there that a man's DICK FEELS AMAZING in your mouth. It was so soft and had a good taste to it. I know I like my girlfriend to go deep, so I pushed his manhood to the back of my throat. I gagged slightly, but I kept going, tonguing his shaft and feeling the head of his dick going down my throat. It felt so good, and I wanted him to cum in my mouth so badly. I mixed up licking his shaft and balls with strong sucking, deep throating, and slow strokes, making sure to keep my lips pressed tight. This experience was almost as arousing as my first time having sex.

Saliva would build up and drip down his cock, so I would slurped it off and keep working his cock. Even though it started to get a little uncomfortable being hunched over Brad's beautiful body, I continued drooling over his cock for the next half hour. We were both so completely intoxicated with the aroma of sex and curiosity and naughtiness that we had totally forgotten my mom and dad were home and sleeping in the next room. Not, that it mattered, we could hear them coming if they woke up.

I massaged his balls with my left hand and stroked him, my hand matching the rhythm of my mouth moving up and down Brad's hard cock. I was pretty sure he was gonna cum in my mouth any second, because his crotch was tensing and his legs were beginning to shake slightly.


Brad was really getting into getting sucked and began thrusting gently into my mouth. I wasn't really expecting that and his movements just made things difficult for me, but I liked it at the same time. I'm really used to being the dominant one, and I think it was really arousing being the slave for once and just getting down and blowing someone. We lay there for a long time, feeding off each others energy as he got closer and closer to climaxing.

Unfortunately, right at the point I thought he was going to shoot his load into my mouth, the front door of my house slammed shut. We both freaked out; Brad pulled out of my mouth and pulled his pants up, got off the bed, and stood looking at the closed bedroom door.  I had to wipe my mouth with the back of my hand to remove a nice little trail of precum. Once no one came into my room, Brad lay down on the bed while I left the room to check. It turned out it was just my mom being ridiculous like always and checking the front yard for some reason known only to her.

I went back to my room and told Brad what the noise was. Since we were both unnerved, though, from the unexpected interruption, we decided that I should just get his bed set up since it was getting late. I pulled out the mattress from the sleeper sofa in my room and set it up for him.

As I passed him to get back to my bed, Brad grabbed my arm and pulled me back towards him. Looking deep into my eyes, he brought his lips up to mine and gave me a long sweet kiss, his tongue slipping over mine, his free hand squeezing my ass. As we pulled apart, I could see a silent promise in his eyes, a promise that we would pick up where we left off another day.

Playhouse readers, I have to say that I never slept as soundly or as sweetly as I have that night. Thanks, Playhouse Forum, for all of your great work and for sharing readers' stories with the world!

Your faithful reader,

Filipo Duran

Book Review: The Child Thief

I just finished the book The Child Thief by Brom, the book that has been on my sidebar for a while and thought I would give my opinion of it.

The Child Thief is based on the Peter Pan story, originally written by J. M. Barrie. Everyone is familiar with Peter Pan, the lovable boy who never grows up, battles pirates, and takes other children for great adventures in Neverland. The author Brom, however, interpreted Barrie's story differently. He saw Peter as dangerously unbalanced, a frightening character who kidnapped children for his own ends, who placed them in dangerous situations that led to death, and the "pirates" as misunderstood adults trapped against their will in a land of magic.

Yeah, I know, that is one serious reinterpretation.

The book opens in New York with our meeting a boy named Nick who's brother is killed by gang members. He is saved from a similar fate by Peter, who then leads him through a magical mist onto the island of Avalon, where he lives with his gang of kidnapped children named Devils.

As the book progresses, we meet more of the children who are being trained as warriors to fight and kill creatures known as Flesh Eaters. The Flesh Eaters are actually a settlement of Pilgrims who accidentally landed on Avalon while looking for the New World. As adults, their bodies were not able to absorb the magic in the food, water, and air in Avalon and were physically warped into monstrous looking people. The Flesh Eaters are governed by a man known as The Reverend who sees the faerie creatures as demons; Captain Hook, known simply as The Captain, is made out to be a sympathetic man, partial to the fate of the children, and a hero rather than a villain.

We see the children taught to hate, murder, and fight under the direction of Peter who himself is somewhat under the control of a faerie called The Lady, a figure obviously based on The Lady of the Lake. We see the villagers under the control of The Reverend, a man with powerful religious convictions, who keeps the villagers under his thumb and inflicts torture and terror upon any children who are captured while The Captain does his best to temper the atrocities inflicted by the other villagers.

All in all, I cannot see how this book can be considered a reloading of the Peter Pan story. Rather, this is a twisted and dark tale that usurped the characters created a century ago by J. M. Barrie. It took me three weeks to finish it; not because I am a slow reader, but because I had to force myself to turn each page.

If you like dark and unsettling tales, you will definitely like The Child Thief. The author does a very good job of creating and incorporating unpleasant emotions and events (one of the children Peter "saves" is molested by her father), uses many familiar myths (Lady of the Lake, Cernunnos the Horned God, etc), and crafting memorable characters. If you like escapist fantasy, fun stories, and a happy ending, I suggest you stay away from this book.

A Conundrum for Your Consideration

3 men go into a motel. After enquiring after the cost of  a room for the night, the manager informs them that a room would cost them $30. So each man pays $10, gets  room key, and each goes to the the assigned room.

A bit later, the manager realizes that the room he rented the group was actually $25 and not $30, so he sends the bellboy to the room with $5 as a refund.

On the way to the room, the bellboy can't figure out how to evenly split the $5 amongst the three men, so he decides to give each man $1 and keep the other $2 for himself.

This means that each man paid $9 for the room, which is a total of $27. The bellboy kept $2.

$27 + $2 = $29.

Where Is The Other Dollar?

The Fall Nuts Are Ripe

Here is a story I saw today over at The Raw Story (www.rawstory.com).

It is precisely for reasons such as this that I am not a fan of religion. Now, I have made several posts regarding faith, but please note that faith has nothing to do with religion. Religion is a creation of man; faith is something all together different.

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North Carolina church to burn ‘Satan’s books,’ including works of Mother Teresa

by Kathleen Miller

A Baptist Church near Asheville, N.C., is hosting a "Halloween book burning" to purge the area of "Satan's" works, which include all non-King James versions of the Bible, popular books by many religious authors and even country music.

The website for the Amazing Grace Baptist Church in Canton, N.C., says there are "scriptural bases" for the book burning. The site quotes Acts 19:18-20: "And many that believed, came and confessed and shewed their deeds. Many of them also which used curious arts, brought their books together, and burned them before all men: and they counted the price of them, and found it fifty thousand pieces of silver. So mightily grew the word of God and prevailed."

Church leaders deem Good News for Modern Man, the Evidence Bible, the New International Version Bible, the Green Bible and the Message Bible, as well as at least seven other versions of the Bible as "Satan's Bibles," according to the website. Attendees will also set fire to "Satan's popular books" such as the work of "heretics" including the Pope, Mother Teresa, Billy Graham and Rick Warren.

"I believe the King James version is God's preserved, inspired, inerrant and infallible word of God," Pastor Marc Grizzard told a local news station of his 14-member parish.

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Sigh....unbelievable.

Animals of the Apocalypse

frog + zebra

Frobra

eagle + rhinoceros

Eagloceros

pug +duck

Puck

cat + shark

Cark

(or Shat, lol)

tiger + squirrel

Tigrrel

squirrel + dog

Squog

The Conservatards Strike Again

Yes, I think we should impeah (sic) President Obama because he is working to bring more benefits to the American people. How dare he! Who does he think he is! After all, it's not like we already have pieces in place to help Americans. Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid, Food Stamps, subsidized low income housing, school free lunch programs, etc are not government programs to help people. They are purely capitalistic and free market based!
I'll tell you who needs to be impeached...whoever the hairstylist is who dyed this woman's hair, because damn!

So, blondie is questioning the President's competnce (sic)? I find this particular remark ridiculous in the extreme. President Obama has been in office for 10 months, yet everyone thinks we should have new laws in place, odious laws passed under Bush repealed, etc. People seem to forget that President Obama is not a dictator; he isn't able to single-handedly bring laws into existence or remove them. He has to work through Congress who traditionally is a slow-acting political body. He pushes for legislation; he doesn't create it himself.  Come on, people, get a clue as to how our government works.

So, this fellow feels as of he is extremey (sic) over taxed and doesn't want amesty (sic) for others.

I would argue that perhaps we need to increase our school taxes and put the extra revenue into a decent spelling program, because this fellow is obviously operating under a bit of deficiency.

My forefathes (sic) were Christian. Obama's were from Kenya. That explains a lot.

What?

What is that even supposed to mean?

Christianity is a religion, Kenya is a country. Apples to oranges, my balding conservatard.

So, the stundents (sic) were supporting the Republican ticket. Do I really even need to say anything about this one?

Bush's plan to invest money into the banking and automobile industries was the very essence of Socialism, government owned and controlled industry, yet Republicans had no problem with that. President Obama wants to assure every American citizen has access to affordable healthcare and they paint that as evil. What rubbish.



By the way, please note that I have nothing against the Republican party and actually hold more than a few conservative views. However, I do think that the US should spend more of its money on the needs of its own citizens rather than pledging that money overseas. I am all for helping people throughout the world, but we need to assure our own citizens have what they need first, before seeing to the needs of other countries. Just my two cents.

Happy Thanksgiving to My Canadian Friends

Well, well, well!

Being the provincial rube that I am, I never realized that Canada celebrated Thanksgiving. Now, as opposed to the American Thanksgiving, Canada's has nothing to do with pilgrims, Indians who felt sorry for clueless settlers, or anachronistic dishes such as turkey, cranberry sauce, potatoes, and pumpkin pie. (These dishes either were not served at the first Thanksgiving or were impossible to make due to a lack of available ingredients.)

Rather, Canadian Thanksgiving was codified into a nationally recognized holiday from a series of holidays that began in 1578 with the explorer Martin Frobisher; since 1879 Thanksgiving Day began to be observed yearly, though the date was announced yearly and was different every year. Its theme also changed annually to reflect an important event to be thankful for or to commemorate a specific event.

In 1957, the Canadian legislature set the second Monday of October as Thanksgiving. Now, not all Canadians even have a huge meal with families as their Thanksgiving tradition. Some go on vacations, some enjoy picnics, and some even go hunting.

So, with these tidbits of information in mind, I wish a great Thanksgiving to my Canadian readers and my friend Tommy in particular. Have a great one!

Happy Anniversary Seth!

So, my good friend Seth over at Sethboyardee is celebrating two years of blogging. That is an amazing accomplishment, as far as I am concerned. As someone who is already struggling to come up with ideas for a blog that is only 3 months old, I cannot imagine the amount of creative effort and time it took for his 24 months of daily entries, many days in which there are more than 1 post.

So, 10, 000 thanks, Seth, for sharing your thoughts and feelings with the world. There are many of us out here who look forward to seeing what you have going on each day, and many more of us who owe you a big THANKS for giving us the impetus to start blogging ourselves.

Twinkle Twinkle

A philosopher once asked,

"Are we human because we gaze at the stars, or do we gaze at them because we are human?"

From Stardust by Neil Gaiman

Mr. Grumpy Gills

This evening, I was going through my last few posts to see what I had written. I generally try to keep a balance to the place, making sure there aren't too many photo posts, or in the news posts, or ramblings - sort of an internet feng shui if you will - when I realized something.

My last few ramblings have not been rambling, but rather Beckian rants, and I must apologize for my rather antagonistic words. I also looked at the comments section and found that in some cases I responded in a rather snarky manner to readers' comments and emails. I really do appreciate what everyone has to say even when you disagree with my opinions, contradict my facts, or insult my food and can only say that I meant no disrespect to anyone.

My only defense is that I am under a tremendous amount of personal strain, and there are days when I am very much on edge, my mind clouded with terrible thoughts and worry. I recognize that is not a full nor a satisfactory excuse, but there you are.

So, I will try my best to return to my light and fluffy posts in an attempt to bring a hint of a smile to us all and hope no one has been unduly put out.

Dr M

Heeeeeeeeere's Lulu!

I received an email yesterday from someone wanting to see my Boston Terrier who I mentioned in the post A Storm is Coming. So, making her blog debut, here is Lulu.

Here is Lulu traveling in the car with me yesterday afternoon. I had an errand downtown to attend to and decided to bring her along. It was the first time she has ever gone with me somewhere other than the pet salon to get bathed and have her nails trimmed.

Here is Lulu sitting on the couch. She likes sitting next to me as I read through blogs, etc. but rarely follows me when I get up to do something. Rather, she just cranes her head above the arm rest to see where I am, the lazy old lady. She is 10 years old, by the way.

Wallpaper Wednesday