Be careful, be mindful, be well.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
I forced myself to write this in a day and it’s rougher and broader than I’d like. Hope it doesn’t suck too much.
©2010 Ray Adam Latiolais
The van (“Executive Service, quality since 1977!”) moved sedately through the industrial area making full, unhurried stops at each stop sign, and signaling every turn with fully functional, undamaged turn signals. The driver had done two walkarounds and checked the blinker fluid before the job. There was nothing about the van that would arouse suspicion in even the most dickish cop.
It turned into a gated warehouse. The driver waved a card at a box and the gate opened. Still moving carefully, it pulled up to a roll door that was opened with the same card. The van drove into the warehouse and the door closed behind it.
The five passengers sat still until the door had completely closed.
The driver drummed the steering wheel and bounced in her seat.
The Mob guy let out a deep sigh and crossed himself.
The big shooter let his back touch the seat and whistled the spaghetti western thing.
The really big shooter closed his eyes and rubbed his palms together.
The smart guy, in the back seat with the bag, caught the driver’s eye in the rear-view and nodded.
“Nice work. Let’s meet in the office and start wrapping this up.”
The smart guy ran the crew even though the Mob guy had funded the job. The Mob guy had known about the place and the thing, but the smart guy put the plan together.
The crew unassed the van and made their way to the office in the corner of the warehouse. The Mob guy cleared his throat.
“Look, guys, I’d feel better if youse’d give me youse’s pieces right now. I wanna get ridda ’em, you know, ASAfuckin’P.”
The crew grumbled a bit but handed over the weapons the Mob guy had provided. The Mob guy nodded happily.
“Tanks, youse guys.”
The Mob guy took the weapons to the tool room to strip them and drop the parts into an acid bath. The rest of the crew went to the office to wait for him.
The wait was shorter than expected.
The Mob guy slammed into the office with an unstripped, not-eaten-by-acid gun in each hand.
“You stupid redneck fucks! La famiglia is gonna get 100% of this job!”
The shooters crouched and reached for their holdouts. The driver and the smart guy had each taken a position in the back corners of the office and faced the door as soon as the crew had entered. Both had a small, easily concealed handgun ready. The Mob guy fired, but that two-gun shit never works and he hit no one. The driver and the smart guy emptied their clips into the Mob guy.
He went down like the sack of shit that he was.
When the bullets stopped the shooters moved quickly and, without even being asked to, shot the Mob guy in the head. Then they turned and took aim on the driver and the smart guy.
The smart guy held up a hand.
“Shane, Wooley, easy. Fade and I aren’t the ones who just tried to cornhole you, are we? Guido’s gone now, so we got no problem, right?”
Fade batted her eyes. Wooley snorted and lowered his gun, but Shane kept the trigger tight and jutted his jaw.
“Damn it, Sand. What the fuck, man! You fuckin’ knew, man! YOU! FUCKING! KNEW!”
“Take a breath, Shane. I didn’t know. I suspected. You know those Mob guys can’t be trusted. And I’d rather be safe than dead, so Fade and I worked up this contingency plan.”
Shane lowered his gun.
“Why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you tell me, man?”
“No offense, Wooley, but I don’t know you that well. And Shane…have you ever won at poker?”
“All right, man. I’m sorry. You the smart guy.”
“Yeah. Now y’all get rid of these guns and this body and I’ll call my fence. Stay cool and we’ll have this dealt with today. A’ight?”
The crew were each 180K richer and out of town by the next morning.
Yeah, that’s right, "the thing".
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Thursday is Thanksgiving Day in the USA. Here’s the list of things I’m thankful that Odin has given us. As always, the inevitable zombie apocalypse weighs on my mind.
The inevitable zombie apocalypse!
The New Orleans Paperbags finally made it to, and won, the Supergame.
Prince finally shut down that played-out, old intarwebs.
That hot of piece ass (it doesn’t spell "HOPA" otherwise), Jenny Dry-Erase.
Abe Vigoda is still not dead.
The return of the Triceratops.
'Gilligan’s Island' was finally canceled.
That blasted psychic octopus died and will thwart my evil plans no longer.
The vuvuzela workaround.
The US FDA recalled 280,000,000 bad eggs and somehow missed me.
And, always Bettie Page!
Monday, November 22, 2010
My thanks to everyone who supported and contributed to the MSF fund drive.
Breck Sullivan-Carpenter – Miss Breck was one of my first internet friends and is my favorite witch. You wouldn’t know it to look at her, but all her kids are in college, and are brilliant.
Elizabeth White – Miss Beth is an awesomely all-purpose monkey. She muses, writes, and reviews.
Stephanie Craig – Miss Stephanie didn’t even know me and contributed. Canadians…it’s like they’re from another country or something. She designs jewelry and owns Lucky Fish Jewelry.
Hilary Davidson – Miss Hilary is half-Canadian yet has a full share of their dark power. She’s the author of The Damage Done which you should buy now and avoid her fearsome wrath. My copy is signed by Miss Hilary herself. She wrote, “Evil Ray, Step away from the table and keep your paws where I can see them. My hands are licensed by the CSIS/SCRS as lethal weapons and I won’t hesitate to use them. Warm regards, Miss Hilary.“
Laura Lawrence – Miss Laura, like Miss Breck, is one of my oldest interweb buddies and was kind enough to give up a post on her blog to pimp the fund drive.
Finally, and most importantly, ma chère mère, Lois, sœurs, Shyra, Patti, and Beth, et beau-frères, Gus, Tony, and Mark. Thanks for not disowning me and stuff.
Why did I do it? It ain’t rocket science. If we can make the world a better place for everyone to live, then the world will be a better place for everyone to live.
We now return you to our regularly scheduled diablerie.
Friday, November 12, 2010
I’m raising money for Médecins Sans Frontières/Doctors Without Borders until the 21st of this month…that being my birthday. If you can spare a few dollars, quid, euro…anything you like, really, I’d appreciate it, and you’d be my favo(u)rite.
Nota bene, you’ll being giving directly to my PayPal account, so if you do contribute you’re putting your trust in me, Evil Ray. I will donate any funds collected as early as possible on the Monday after the drive ends.
It’s for my birthday! If you love me, you’ll give!
Don’t worry. I’m only taking a short break from being evil.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
I see my old comrades, how proudly they march
Renewing their dreams of past glories
I see the old men all tired, stiff and worn
Those weary old heroes of a forgotten war
And the young people ask “What are they marching for?”
And I ask myself the same question
Eric Bogle, The Band Played Waltzing Matilda
When I was a boy, and when Dwayne Hoover was a boy, all the people of all the nations which had fought in the First World War were silent during the eleventh minute of the eleventh hour of Armistice Day, which was the eleventh day of the eleventh month.
It was during that minute in nineteen hundred and eighteen, that millions upon millions of human beings stopped butchering one another. I have talked to old men who were on battlefields during that minute. They have told me in one way or another that the sudden silence was the Voice of God. So we still have among us some men who can remember when God spoke clearly to mankind.
Armistice Day has become Veterans’ Day. Armistice Day was sacred. Veterans’ Day is not.
So I will throw Veterans’ Day over my shoulder. Armistice Day I will keep. I don’t want to throw away any sacred things.
Kurt Vonnegut, Breakfast of Champions