Ahh... More great law enforcement videos.
You might be a drunk moron if...
And more drunk still...
And the same dude, more drunk still...
I begin to suspect these are skits, but man, are they funny...
Subscribe
Posts
All Comments
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
RE-Charge
Six days to word on The Last Captain, or so we were told.
I want to thank my UFGirlz; your encouragement has been constant, and greatly appreciated. One might think I was an Adonis with a nice personality, given the level of constant encouragement and attention I get from each of you (especially the one who isn't a UF-writer).
Thanks. Thanks very much.
I wanted to say something witty today, but I believe my heartfelt thanks more appropriate.
I want to thank my UFGirlz; your encouragement has been constant, and greatly appreciated. One might think I was an Adonis with a nice personality, given the level of constant encouragement and attention I get from each of you (especially the one who isn't a UF-writer).
Thanks. Thanks very much.
I wanted to say something witty today, but I believe my heartfelt thanks more appropriate.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Chugging Along
Some days I get quite a bit done. It seems today was one of those. Here, another excerpt from Bridge of The Broken, is a portion of that produce:
Venkman waited for Larissa to clear the door before following her from the building.
“This was nice,” she said over her shoulder, catching him watching her ass. She snorted, punched him in the shoulder as he took two long strides to catch up.
As he felt no remorse for appreciating her assets, and showed none, instead asking, “How so?” suspecting he knew the answer.
“Working together. Reminds me of how we met.”
He grinned, “Yes. Yes, it does.”
“What do you think is up?”
“I think it’s all mental masturbation until your guy gets back with more details.”
She nodded, a thoughtful expression he knew well creasing her brow, “If he finds anything.”
“True. Sometimes you don’t get anywhere until it drops in your lap.”
Larissa laughed, “Again, like how we met.”
His phone started to vibrate. He took it out, glanced at it. Now why is the Lieutenant calling me? he thought as he answered.
“Venkman, your partner was involved in a shooting,” the lieutenant said without preamble.
“I know, that’s why I took the day off, Lieutenant.”
“What?”
What the fuck? Venkman thought, barely holding his tongue in check.
“Oh, no, I’m not talking about the one yesterday. Sorry. There’s been a new incident. This one involving Baptiste.”
“He’s alright?” he asked, sudden concern spiking his bloodstream with chemicals.
Larissa looked at him in alarm, sensing his sudden stillness.
“Yes, he’s uninjured. I just thought you should know… And I thought to ask if Baptiste has a girlfriend or something. I tried his home, but got nothing. I seem to remember a woman at the Christmas party…”
So you can scare the shit out of Myrna too, you fucking twit? Venkman thought. Rather than lie, he said nothing.
A moment passed in silence.
The Lieutenant broke it, “So, do you know a number where his girlfriend might be reached?”
“He must not have updated his record, Lieutenant. You can’t ask him?” he asked, knowing the man couldn’t.
“Oh, no. You know how it is. No one can talk to them but their representatives and the investigators from Homicide and Internal Affairs.”
“I’ll be there in a bit, Lieutenant.”
“No need.”
“I know. Still.”
A sigh, “See you soon, then,” the Lieutenant answered.
Not if I see you first, Venkman thought as he ended the call.
“What’s up?” Larissa asked.
“Light on details, but the LT says Baptiste was involved in a shooting. He’s alright. I need to go to Myrna’s place and get her.”
“Shouldn’t the Lieutena-“ she began.
He shook his head, calling up the address, “He about stopped my heart delivering the news. I won’t have him doing that to her.”
She stepped close, wrapped an arm over his shoulder, “You’re a good man, Nigel Venkman.”
Venkman smiled, kissed her cheek, “Thanks. Can I drop you at home or the office?” Baptiste and Myrna hadn’t had Larissa over to their home, mostly because Myrna held a grudge against Larissa for not executing Rankless Wardlaw when she had him in her power. Venkman didn’t want to take the chance Myrna would add this incident to her list of complaints against the former Imperial.
“The office is closer,” she said, releasing him and starting toward the truck.
Joining her, Venkman felt a warmth in his chest that had everything to do with her effortless understanding.
Venkman waited for Larissa to clear the door before following her from the building.
“This was nice,” she said over her shoulder, catching him watching her ass. She snorted, punched him in the shoulder as he took two long strides to catch up.
As he felt no remorse for appreciating her assets, and showed none, instead asking, “How so?” suspecting he knew the answer.
“Working together. Reminds me of how we met.”
He grinned, “Yes. Yes, it does.”
“What do you think is up?”
“I think it’s all mental masturbation until your guy gets back with more details.”
She nodded, a thoughtful expression he knew well creasing her brow, “If he finds anything.”
“True. Sometimes you don’t get anywhere until it drops in your lap.”
Larissa laughed, “Again, like how we met.”
His phone started to vibrate. He took it out, glanced at it. Now why is the Lieutenant calling me? he thought as he answered.
“Venkman, your partner was involved in a shooting,” the lieutenant said without preamble.
“I know, that’s why I took the day off, Lieutenant.”
“What?”
What the fuck? Venkman thought, barely holding his tongue in check.
“Oh, no, I’m not talking about the one yesterday. Sorry. There’s been a new incident. This one involving Baptiste.”
“He’s alright?” he asked, sudden concern spiking his bloodstream with chemicals.
Larissa looked at him in alarm, sensing his sudden stillness.
“Yes, he’s uninjured. I just thought you should know… And I thought to ask if Baptiste has a girlfriend or something. I tried his home, but got nothing. I seem to remember a woman at the Christmas party…”
So you can scare the shit out of Myrna too, you fucking twit? Venkman thought. Rather than lie, he said nothing.
A moment passed in silence.
The Lieutenant broke it, “So, do you know a number where his girlfriend might be reached?”
“He must not have updated his record, Lieutenant. You can’t ask him?” he asked, knowing the man couldn’t.
“Oh, no. You know how it is. No one can talk to them but their representatives and the investigators from Homicide and Internal Affairs.”
“I’ll be there in a bit, Lieutenant.”
“No need.”
“I know. Still.”
A sigh, “See you soon, then,” the Lieutenant answered.
Not if I see you first, Venkman thought as he ended the call.
“What’s up?” Larissa asked.
“Light on details, but the LT says Baptiste was involved in a shooting. He’s alright. I need to go to Myrna’s place and get her.”
“Shouldn’t the Lieutena-“ she began.
He shook his head, calling up the address, “He about stopped my heart delivering the news. I won’t have him doing that to her.”
She stepped close, wrapped an arm over his shoulder, “You’re a good man, Nigel Venkman.”
Venkman smiled, kissed her cheek, “Thanks. Can I drop you at home or the office?” Baptiste and Myrna hadn’t had Larissa over to their home, mostly because Myrna held a grudge against Larissa for not executing Rankless Wardlaw when she had him in her power. Venkman didn’t want to take the chance Myrna would add this incident to her list of complaints against the former Imperial.
“The office is closer,” she said, releasing him and starting toward the truck.
Joining her, Venkman felt a warmth in his chest that had everything to do with her effortless understanding.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Recharging
Spent this weekend crawling in the headspace, making things right (Rather, as right as they ever get up there). I actually sat down and did some writing on Bridge of The Broken, which I have been absent from for about two weeks.
I have said before that I rarely remember my dreams. Saturday morning was one exception. I woke twice in the early-morning hours, vivid recollections of both ringing through my head. One was a horror, the other sexual. Both are still bothersome. The latter dream kept me from returning to sleep at O-Dark-Thirty, so I spent some time in the living room reading.
Regardles of my subconcious' gymnastics, I spent a pleasant Saturday with my daughter, goofing off on the computer and generally basking in the kid's glow.
Sunday morning was raining cats and dogs, a problem as I was to go hunting with Doc Chris. We drove through even heavier rains to get to Suisun Marsh. I was concerned as my rain-gear is pretty pathetic, and I do not like getting my feet wet all that much, not to mention my great-grandfather's gun. On our arrival at the club house it started to rain harder. As we stood on the back porch, waiting for our rental dog (The hunting demi-god, Rebel), it continued to rain even more heavily.
Doc Chris, who is a generally positive guy, said, "I'm sure it'll stop raining for us."
I looked at him.
"You have to be positive."
I shook my head, "I am positive. Positive it's raining like fuck out there."
We waited a bit, chatted with the kennel-mistress, and picked Rebel up. A few more minutes of jaw-jacking and we drove out to our field.
The skies didn't exactly part, but the rain eased, becoming a light mist. It was 0817 when I left my phone in the truck.
Rebel charged out the gate and immediately went on point. Bird up, Doc puts it down. Rebel begins to retrieve the bird to hand. There is a ruckus in the next field over. Their bird flies into our field. Thirty yard crossing shot. Doc takes it with a nice shot. The neighboring hunters' dog, Greta, picks the bird up and begins to retrieve, but then puts it down on command.
To cut a short story shorter, it took forty minutes for us to get all eight birds remaining on our card. We were done hunting by nine, and I was home by ten AM. My feet barely had time to get wet.
Quite the feat.
I cleaned my great-grandfather's LC Smith shotgun when I got home, prepping it for off-season storage, reflecting on why I so enjoy hunting. Later, I bragged to my father about what an excellent day we'd had. We had quite the conversation about it.
All in all, a damn fine weekend. I am refreshed, for the most part.
I have said before that I rarely remember my dreams. Saturday morning was one exception. I woke twice in the early-morning hours, vivid recollections of both ringing through my head. One was a horror, the other sexual. Both are still bothersome. The latter dream kept me from returning to sleep at O-Dark-Thirty, so I spent some time in the living room reading.
Regardles of my subconcious' gymnastics, I spent a pleasant Saturday with my daughter, goofing off on the computer and generally basking in the kid's glow.
Sunday morning was raining cats and dogs, a problem as I was to go hunting with Doc Chris. We drove through even heavier rains to get to Suisun Marsh. I was concerned as my rain-gear is pretty pathetic, and I do not like getting my feet wet all that much, not to mention my great-grandfather's gun. On our arrival at the club house it started to rain harder. As we stood on the back porch, waiting for our rental dog (The hunting demi-god, Rebel), it continued to rain even more heavily.
Doc Chris, who is a generally positive guy, said, "I'm sure it'll stop raining for us."
I looked at him.
"You have to be positive."
I shook my head, "I am positive. Positive it's raining like fuck out there."
We waited a bit, chatted with the kennel-mistress, and picked Rebel up. A few more minutes of jaw-jacking and we drove out to our field.
The skies didn't exactly part, but the rain eased, becoming a light mist. It was 0817 when I left my phone in the truck.
Rebel charged out the gate and immediately went on point. Bird up, Doc puts it down. Rebel begins to retrieve the bird to hand. There is a ruckus in the next field over. Their bird flies into our field. Thirty yard crossing shot. Doc takes it with a nice shot. The neighboring hunters' dog, Greta, picks the bird up and begins to retrieve, but then puts it down on command.
To cut a short story shorter, it took forty minutes for us to get all eight birds remaining on our card. We were done hunting by nine, and I was home by ten AM. My feet barely had time to get wet.
Quite the feat.
I cleaned my great-grandfather's LC Smith shotgun when I got home, prepping it for off-season storage, reflecting on why I so enjoy hunting. Later, I bragged to my father about what an excellent day we'd had. We had quite the conversation about it.
All in all, a damn fine weekend. I am refreshed, for the most part.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Stupid
You can slap the stupid out of people, but you just can't slap the stupid out of people.
Damn.
Damn.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Films
Jay Lake just put up a list of some of his favorite films. Being entirely unoriginal and a slave to fashion, I decided I needed to do my own:
Non-Anglophone Films:
La Femme Nikita
Cyrano de Bergerac
REC
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon
Beaulieu 13
Science Fiction:
Alien
Aliens
The Matrix
Life Force
Outland
Crime:
The Usual Suspects
Lock Stock, Two Smoking Barrels
The Green Machine
Snatch
The French Connection
The Departed
Blood in, Blood Out
Heat
Taken
Bullet
Colors
Animated:
Heavy Metal
Watership Down
War:
Full Metal Jacket
Saving Private Ryan
Beast Of War
Fantasy:
Conan the Barbarian
Lord of The Rings Trilogy
Excalibur
Western:
The Magnificent Seven
True Grit (Both Versions)
3:10 to Yuma
Comedy:
The Pink Panther
The Hangover
American Pie
A Brief History of The World
Monty Python's The Quest For the Holy Grail
Ice Pirates
The Blues Brothers
Other:
The Seven Samurai
Stand By Me
Non-Anglophone Films:
La Femme Nikita
Cyrano de Bergerac
REC
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon
Beaulieu 13
Science Fiction:
Alien
Aliens
The Matrix
Life Force
Outland
Crime:
The Usual Suspects
Lock Stock, Two Smoking Barrels
The Green Machine
Snatch
The French Connection
The Departed
Blood in, Blood Out
Heat
Taken
Bullet
Colors
Animated:
Heavy Metal
Watership Down
War:
Full Metal Jacket
Saving Private Ryan
Beast Of War
Fantasy:
Conan the Barbarian
Lord of The Rings Trilogy
Excalibur
Western:
The Magnificent Seven
True Grit (Both Versions)
3:10 to Yuma
Comedy:
The Pink Panther
The Hangover
American Pie
A Brief History of The World
Monty Python's The Quest For the Holy Grail
Ice Pirates
The Blues Brothers
Other:
The Seven Samurai
Stand By Me
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)