Hey! I'm back! I know I know I know I've been gone forever and all of the worlds worth of heck is about to come crashing down around me and the instability caused by the cliffhanger that was my last post threatens to end life as we know it.
Sure.
I've been neglecting this little sidebar of my life. Not that its been without productivity mind you. I've been writing. And writing plenty, what with poetry, stories, essays, LETTERS! Oh wow. Its been quite interesting and I think for those others who visit my site it would be without heart to refuse a peek into the world beyond my blog. Here's the deal-
I haven't written the third installment in the vacation story quite yet, I've heard no protest to that fact so I figure well enough that there aren't many people who altogether mind. I don't want to rewrite the entire thing in all honesty, so I'll just give you a brief rundown.
We went to Yosemite, saw great stuff, hiked forever, left yosemite just before a giant rockslide crashed into the road we had just driven on. Went to the grand sequioa trees, biggest trees on earth, went inside one that was burnt out and hollow, got lost, found the rest of my family in there as well. Got a picture with all of us standing inside the tree, left there, went to the grand canyon, broke rules, went udnerneath the railings and sat on the edge of a 7000 foot drop got pictures of that too, went to Taos NM and white water rafted down the Rio Grande, it was a good time. Hit a BIG rapid and I develope a major cramp in my leg, I go over the side. My dad grabs my leg as I'm falling over the edge, sees my sister also going over the side. I wave goodbye. He lets go of me and dives for her, I grab the red strap on the front of the boat and hang on for dear life, raft guide says to let go or I'm going to tip the boat over. (shrug) I let go and end up flying down a good 500 feet worth of white water rapids without a boat, it takes twelve seconds. Then we find out that another guy fell out right where I did, got his foot caught in my rapids, and nearly died. He was okay though, we found that only his knee was torn out and they took him to the hospital when we got back. Following that we drove forEVER and the toilet in the camper thing backed up. We found out when I stepped in it.
That's all.
For a glimpse into what else I've been doing with all this amazing spare time (huh? whats that?) Herein I present episode one of: THE UNCOMPROMISING ADVENTURES OF MANCONE AND BLANGIRL!
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The Uncompromising Adventures of Mancone and Blangirl EPISODE 1: CHICAGO
Sirens blared. The ultimate signal that some sort of criminal hell was about to meet justice in the form of a thousand pounds of police car, normally two or more officers each with more than generous bellies bursting beneath the Kevlar bobbing up and down as the legs beneath cover some serious ground in pursuit of the criminal fiends.
Chicago. 1954. In those days, Chicago heard more than enough of its share of sirens. Today wasn’t much different. Except that today it wasn’t 1954. Today it was 2006. And it was a Wednesday. Which didn’t matter to many people involved in the scene at hand. Many of them couldn’t care less if it were a Wednesday or not, what they cared about was something rather more pressing, like their lives.
Four crazed criminals wielding Uzi’s and shotguns tore down the road in a large armored Jeep firing in all directions and laughing their sinister black brains out.
An old woman surprised herself by dodging elegantly. But no one saw it.
Three police cars were in hot pursuit each carrying at least two armed officers who, as is the usual case in these scenarios, could do little more than chase the bad guys till someone’s fuel ran low or until SWAT arrived.
“Where’s my SWAT team!?” A rotund officer spat into his radio.
“SWAT says they’re already occupied with a bank robbery several miles across town.” The radio squawked.
“WHAT!?”
“They made sure to apologize.”
Suddenly, for no reason at all, one of the police cars clumsily crashed through a freestanding fire hydrant and was rendered incapacitated. Which, logically, left only two police cars. The criminals ahead took note of the situation, shrugged opportunistically, and began firing all of their bullets at the lead car.
It exploded appropriately and the third police car blew through its wreckage sending flames and metal and several boxes of donuts flying across the air.
“Backup! I said I need backup!” The last officer yelled.
“They’re all on break,” The radio returned serenely. “Probably best to check back in about fifteen min-”
“I DON’T CARE IF THEY’RE ALL ON BREAK!” The officer screamed. “If someone doesn’t get here fast, WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!!!”
A fist-sized streak of orange bolted suddenly on the officer’s right, flying like lightning towards the apocalyptic Jeep. The streak of orange ricocheted off the right side mirror of the Jeep and burst through the window.
The policeman saw the Jeep suddenly swerve violently.
SCREEEEECH!!!
The armored jeep turned so sharply that it rolled from its base and hit the pavement on its side. Sparks flew and smoke erupted from the screaming metal as it slid painfully across the street. The last police car’s break lights ignited brightly and the tires smoked to a stop.
The Jeep continued to sizzle and steam in the emptiness.
The officer slowly opened the door of his squad car and pulled his weapon from the holster.
Across the street a window opened and a large man with no hair, a face full of stubble, and half the societally accepted number teeth leaned his head out and shouted. “Hey! Shut off that bloody siren! I’m trying to watch TV in here!” The window slammed shut.
Four crazed and slightly dizzy Uzi-wielding criminals burst from the broken vehicle and began firing.
Bangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbagbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbang!!!!!!!!!! KabooM! Rattattattattattattatt! KABLAM!
The officer instantly returned fire.
Bang!
He then ducked behind the door he had opened and began to pray.
ZzzzZZZZOOOOOOOoooommm! Another bright orange streak whizzed, Doppler-effect past his head. In the distance he heard a terrific smack, a painful cry, the sound of an Uzi clattering to the ground, and the word ‘Oaf!”
The firing stopped.
The officer blinked twice. It had been a strange day for him. What with all of the shooting and the car chasing and the… well the orange things. He was quite certain that he had never been involved in a high speed car chase when, at random, an orange thing would fly into the offending vehicle and blow it off the road. Except perhaps for that one time when that guy in the tuxedo with the British accent had thrown the traffic cone and then fought all the thugs by hand even though they were carrying guns with that woman who kept screaming “James! James! James!” Right before they both disappeared never to be seen again. He shook his head suddenly. That was beside the point.
He poked his head carefully above the door just to take a quick peek.
Bangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbang!
“Obviously, if you’re a police officer and you poke your head above an armored squad car to look at a bunch of crooks who are carrying guns, they are going to shoot at you.” Said the voice beside the officer. The officer jolted and turned toward the source of the noise. There was a man lying covertly across the front driver and passenger seats. He was wearing a bright yellow suit with a gleaming green belt. Atop his head there was a small yellow hat with a palm-leaf sproot flapping out of it.
It was at this moment that the poor officer’s consciousness quite decided that it was quite in the wrong place for the moment and stepped out to find a stiff drink. The officer’s unconscious body flopped against the pavement.
“What a shame.” Said the funny man in the squad car.
The gunfire continued.
“This is Arby to Mancone, do you read me Mancone?” A small radio within Mancone’s ear crackled suddenly. “I read you Arby, what’s the situation?”
“They still have guns, Mancone.”
“Thank you Arby I’ll pass the word. Anything else you can tell me?”
“Not much more, sorry.”
“Alrighty then.”
The squad car promptly tore itself apart. Well actually not the whole squad car, just the ceiling, and just the part near the front. Which wasn’t much to speak about except to say that normally it would be impossible for a single man to tear the roof off on an armored squad car, bend it upright and use it as a shield unless there was involved some serious amounts of muscle.
Like I said, the squad car ceiling promptly tore itself apart. Mancone (the one in the freaky suit) stood upright in the front seat of the squad car holding the dismantled mass of metal, bent upwards to form a standing shield. He took a quick peak to survey the situation.
Bangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbang!
Mancone’s head disappeared behind the makeshift shield.
“Obviously, if you’re a superhero and you poke your head above the safety of a dismembered police car roof to look at a bunch of crooks who are carrying guns, they are going to shoot at you.”
“Its nice to see you again, Blangirl. Can you spare any munitions?” Mancone spoke to the shining female figure crouched beside him. She wore a strong dynamic of colors; most of them were some shade of orange. However she also donned a long flowing cape of rich lavender. Around her torso she had strapped a thick gondolier normally employed in the transportation of bullets or shotgun shells or grenades. In this case, the grenade pockets were each occupied by fresh, ripe blangils. (Oranges, for the uninformed folk.) “Oh I think I could spare some. I’m out two already though, I hope they weren’t bruised too badly.”
“Blangils do not bruise as badly as most other fruits, I would not be entirely concerned. They were each excellent shots by the way. Have you been practicing?”
“Of course I have, and thank you, Mancone.”
“Of course, Blangirl, any time.”
“Any word from Arby?”
“Yes, he reports that they still have guns.”
“Well we’ll have to resolve that won’t we?”
“I suppose so.”
“Lets do it.”
“Okay.”
Two masked figures leapt suddenly from behind a dismembered squad car. The sight of them was enough for three of the four criminals to cease fire just in wonder of the vision bearing down upon them. The fourth one was incapacitated so he really didn’t present a great deal of relevance at this point. Deciding that whatever it was could be determined to be more of a threat than not, regardless of what they were or where they came from or why the female was seizing blangils from a belt, the three criminals shrugged their shoulders and pleasantly continued firing at the two oddities directly before the first was pummeled directly in the mouth by a high-speed projectile.
The blangil bounced soundly and dropped to the pavement.
WHAM!!! A large fist impacted the second thug and drove him to the ground, gun blazing, (The bullets however weren’t accomplishing much as the majority were zipping away into the air by now.)
The startled third redirected his weapon, arcing it towards the man in the yellow suit, who ducked gracefully, dodged beneath the stream of bullets, and secured a good grip on the criminal’s left leg. Which meant that terrible things were in store for the criminal.
“Oh no!” He cried out as his footing was quite unexpectedly torn from beneath him. His back hit the ground, but he still had the gun, which meant that terrible things were in store for the masked hero holding the criminal’s foot. That is to say, terrible things would have been if the gun hadn’t been quickly and powerfully kicked away by a shining orange boot.
“Have a taste of citrus!” Shouted Blangirl suddenly pointing a small can of what certainly appeared to be pepper spray at the offender’s terrified face.
SSSSSSS!! A fine wet solution sprayed out of the cap on the can, the criminal screamed in pain.
“AHH! Who are you!? What is this!?”
“This?” Blangirl stood strongly as Mancone rose beside her. “This- is:
THE UNCOMPROMISING ADVENTURES OF MANCONE AND BLANGIRL!
And you are a good for nothing thug who has finally received his justice!”
The criminal rolled in the street rubbing his burning eyes. “What? What’s going on! I don’t understand!”
“Well we don’t expect you to, scum.” Mancone replied. “It’s an inside joke.”
“Huh?”
For reasons that were never adequately explored, the criminal suddenly developed a terrific throbbing pain in the side of his head, a large welt, and fell unconscious.
“Job well done.”
“That it was Mancone.”
“Four less crazed criminals for the city of Chicago to have to worry about.”
“We should check in with Arby.”
“Absolutely. I’ll grab the weapons.”
“Why? He always just throws them in that room with the rest of them. He’s got quite enough as it is…”
The sound of their voices slowly faded into the distance as the fallen officer’s consciousness returned significantly more inebriated than it had been when it left. The officer’s eyes opened. That’s strange…He thought. I feel as though I’ve been drinking. He sat up quickly, too quickly in fact. So quickly that his intoxicated consciousness could not keep up and he promptly knocked out cold. It was a shame for him, because if he had stayed awake he would have been just in time to see a large black SWAT chopper across the horizon and begin purposelessly deploying officers onto the ground. Once there they roughed the criminals up and handcuffed them and swore at them as was appropriate and threw them into the back of a nearby SWAT van. They then set up a crime scene perimeter with long yellow tape filled with lots and lots of men in trench coats who, throughout their many years as detectives had become very good at looking important by perfecting the thoughtful-chin-rub-maneuver and the confused-head-scratch-technique.
The investigation lasted a complete twelve seconds before everyone decided that they were well enough along with their jobs having captured the criminals after all and went for a nice lunch.
Meanwhile, miles across town, two perfectly normal individuals wearing thick backpacks stuffed with some colorful costuming and a delicate assortment of weaponry, stepped out of the darkness of an alley and turned to enter an old abandoned monolith- the old Hotel Regina.
To be continued…
So here's the deal- I'm going to publish a book. 
ahem...) So the deal is that by the end of this year I want to have spoken to at least ONE publisher concerning the book of shorts (which I have yet to compile... dang it.) As for which short stories will enter the book well... We'll start with the ones I like and we'll move on from there. For as much writing as I have done I am still unaware of what is and is not kosher concerning an actual published book. I've seen short story books with one short story. I've seen some with thirty and a prologue. Its dependant. This will be my project though, it will probably remind me a lot of my first entrance into public school in my younger years and I will once again feel very much like a fish swimming in something very strong and potentially alchoholic (no jokes arby. that would be sad. 
)
If its any good and remotely successful it will then be my foot in the door and my first feel of publication, which is important. Wish me the best of luck and for heavens sake pray for me because I am going to need it. WHOo!
(Also, a slight note concerning the intention of this blog. It will probably alter, perhaps significantly. I have my email back and I've been having far too much fun with that recently. Especially in indulging in the gap that this blog was initially created to fill. 
