Lots of exciting things going on. In reference to last week's post, all but two of the books I've ordered have arrived. I read Jordan Krall's Fistful of Feet, almost done with King Scratch, halfway through David Agranoff's Screams from a Dying World, finished Gina Ranalli's Wall of Kiss, and plan to start Christian TeBordo's Better Ways of Being Dead this week.
There's some other news, but it's family related and I do not believe I'm at liberty to reveal that quite yet. Waiting for the confirmation that everyone else has heard about it first.
Once again I was visited by Jehova's Witnesses, and once again I was annoyed. I was about two seconds away from throwing them the "Can I tell you about my Lord Satan?" or rolling my eyes into the back of my head and espousing the dark virtues of dead Lord Cthulu (long may He sleep) when I was saved by the wife. I am entirely too diplomatic.
Then we have the whole world watching Egypt. It's about time someone other than the US started a national uprising. When humans rise up of their own free will to exercise their inherent rights to freedom, I am a happy camper.
Now from the Pueschel's craptastic-why-did-I-waste-time-writing-this file I give you (and pardon the formatting, openoffice and blogger don't seem to mesh very well):
"An Evening Out"
It's been so long since I had a nice quiet evening with a lady. It would be a longer time still until I would actually have one. She's so lovely too. Deep blue eyes you just want to crawl into. Long auburn hair so soft it might not even feel like it's there. Too bad it's probably going to be a looonnngg night. Oh well. Might as well start up some conversation.
“So, this is a nice place.”
Oh shit. There's one now.
“Yeah, has a nice atmosphere.”
She certainly took that well.
“Wanna tell me why you just shot that man?”
“He was a ninja.”
She raises an eyebrow, “A... ninja?”
“Yeah, my grandfather pissed off a whole clan of them back during the war.”
“So they want to kill... you?”, the eyebrow still stands at attention.
Look around, everyone staring as usual, but no objections.
“Yeah something like that. They got grandad years back. Poor guy, he was in the bathroom. They just keep coming, though. Sins of the father and all that.”
She leans back in the chair, eyebrow resting for the moment, “What about your dad?”
Ow. Barrel of the gun tries to blister my leg through the napkin on my lap. I've go to remember to bring along a hand towel or something next time.
“They'll get him eventually. They've backed off on him. Prefer to focus on me. Fortunately I'm the last.”
Is that? Maybe?
“How many have you killed?”
Collect my thoughts. Check the clip. Ten rounds.
“Sorry, ummm... that makes three tonight.”
She gives me that uniquely feminine “you dumbass” look, “I mean altogether.”
Pop the clip back in. Quickly feel under my jacket for the spares.
“I dunno. Couple hundred maybe.”
“Doesn't it take years to train a ninja?”
What's with all the damn questions? I mean yeah, having a contract on your head is interesting, but it's a pretty straightforward thing.
They're not backing off tonight. Oh well.
“So where are they coming from?”
Duh. Japan. Where all the honor-bound psycho killer ninjas come from. I'm really starting to think trying to get laid isn't worth it anymore.
“Not real sure, actually. I think dad and grandad got all the really good ones. I think they just pull anybody off the street nowadays. I know for damn sure I'm not good enough to take on real master ninjas.” I look to the gun in my lap, “Especially with a pea shooter like this.”
“Must make life interesting for you.”
Yeah, yeah. Real fucking interesting. Haven't slept a full night in years, not to mention relationship difficulties. I probably shouldn't mention that.
“Eh... Not really. You get over the adrenaline rush of killing another human being after the first hundred or so. Now its like putting on your socks.”
“The truth usually is. So. You want some wine? Try the house vintage, it's exceptional.”
Dammit, here comes another one. She may be on to something. Where the hell DO they get all these guys?
“I dunno... This is really weird.”
Reach behind me. Get the second gun.
“Nah, nah, come on. Here. I brought one for you too. If you see any waiters coming at me with a steak knife, just point and click. Like checking e-mail.”
Like checking e-mail? Where do I come up with this crap?
“Look, I'm sure you're a really nice guy...”
Here we go...
“I've heard that one before.”
“But I should probably go...”
Like I didn't see that coming. Well, guess I better warn her.
“Well, alright. I understand. Look, just remember you've been seen with me, so they'll probably come after you too.”
Her eyes light up, “Excuse me?”
“Yeah, you know. Hostage situation. Just giving you a heads up.”
“But I barely know you...”
"Yeah, well, they don't know that. They should. But they don't”
“What am I going to do?”
“Well, the way I see it, you've got two options. One, taken from the cheesy action film bible, you stay with me and stay alive.”
“And option two?”
“Take the gun and go home. They'll quit bothering you after the first five or so you take out. Should blow over for you by morning.”
“But I don't want to kill anybody.”
How many times have I seen that flabbergasted look?
“They want to kill you. Head down!”
“I don't care!”
“Neither do they.”
“Fine. Look. Just take me home.”
Throw number two back in its place. Now for the most important question...
“Do you get sick on rollercoasters?”
“Good. Just checking.”