Monday, June 27, 2011
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
of the United States of America,
and to the republic for which it
stands; one nation indivisible
with liberty and justice for all."
Porky’s reciting the fourth version of the Pledge of Allegiance. The current version was adopted in 1954, two years before “In God We Trust” replaced the original national motto, “E Pluribus Unum”.
Th-th-th-th..hell, it’s done, okay?
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Steve Weddle has issued a vacation noir flash fiction challenge at Do Some Damage. I dunno if my offering here contains enough noir for DSD, but it does contain a cougar on the loose and nice enough bridge…
Ray Adam Latiolais
The natty man was polite, but would clearly rather be doing anything else than assisting this…harridan. She had turned cashing traveler’s cheques into an inquisition about the bank’s services and then into a freaking tour of the bank itself.
He could not believe the manager had encouraged it on the mere possibility that this woman would open an account at the branch. The manager had smelled money and insisted that he show the woman every courtesy and answer all reasonable queries. He thought it was because the woman and the manager were in the Sour Old Bitch Club together.
For the last hour plus he had closed his eyes and thought of England…or at least the nice English boy he had met earlier and had arranged to meet again later. The only good thing about working in the touristy part of town was meeting cute tourist boys. He was lost in, let’s call it thought for a moment and had missed a question. The woman was Not Happy and was threatening to talk with the manager.
This day could not end soon enough.
OH! EM! GAH! He was so adorkable! The glasses and that really cute haircut…he could dress better, but what boy couldn’t? That could be fixed. She so hearted working in the touristy part of town and meeting cute tourist boys.
And he was so nice. He had been asking her and that goth cow Esmeralda such intelligent questions about the area and he had been so polite the whole time and had hardly looked at their tits at all. Esmeralda had whispered that he might be gay, but she was just being a bee-otch because he had totally complimented her on her retro-punk look and had said nothing about Esmeralda’s scary goth ass.
She could totally tell that they had so much in common by all the things he asked about! The museums, the planetarium, and the best routes to get there, the harbor tour and the times it left. She could totally amaze him with all that junk she had learned in art appreciation! That semester at the community college was finally paying off.
She really hoped he stayed until her shift was over. This day could not end soon enough.
Mr. Adorkable picked up his smartphone and made farewells to the suddenly crestfallen baristas. The punk rock barista blurted the name of her blog and that she totally hoped that he would visit it. As he exited the café he passed the woman from the bank and nodded politely to her. She sniffed at him and continued to the counter to give the young ladies very stern and precise instructions on how to build her latte.
He made his way to a surprisingly well-kept public restroom where he put away the hipster glasses, made a few changes to his attire and hair, had a slash, washed his hands, and exited the gents’ looking much different than when he entered. His father had run summer stock when he wasn’t heisting and had taught Mr. Adorkable how to create character with a few simple changes in style and demeanor. He looked older, better dressed, and taller than he had in the café.
As he walked to the observation deck on the wharf he passed the woman from the bank again. His polite nod got another sniff. At the deck he fed a few bills to a telescope and took a look at the the city’s iconic bridge. He thought it a nice enough bridge. It went all the way over the water.
The woman from the bank sniffed at the forwardness of young men these days. In the restroom she made a few changes to her attire and make-up, swapped her handbag for another she carried in the first, dropped the wig into it, had a slash, washed her hands and exited the ladies’ looking much different than when she entered. She knew her way around the makeup counter but had picked up a few tips from someone with stage training lately. The middle-aged harridan from the bank was replaced by a woman of a certain age. She drew admiring glances all the way to the observation deck.
A familiar hand tucked into the crook his arm. The woman kissed his cheek and nuzzled his ear.
“Mrs. Robins..oof…Ms. Willis.”
He moved aside and let her look at the bridge.
“It’s a nice enough bridge. It goes all the way over the water.”
“Oh, that! Four in, plus a driver, and one more to shut down the silent at the security firm’s office…it’s downtown but if it can’t be done over the ‘net I’ll eat that very sharp hat of yours…umm, in and out in no more than ninety seconds, and the take would be about 200K. Almost worth a six-man crew. What’s the route out like?”
“There isn’t one. The city’s set this place up like a theme park. The streets are made for foot travel. Auto traffic’s so restricted it’s impossible to get a car near the bank…at least not in any way that wouldn’t attract the cops attention. The best bet would be to split up, fade into the crowd, and regroup later, but it’s not a very good bet.”
“Too bad. It is such a darling little bank.”
She looked up from the scope to peer at him critically.
“You and punky barista seemed to get on well. Did you make plans with her for later?”
“Pfft. Why should I dally with such callow youth when there’s all this milfy goodness at hand?”
“Woof. Are you happy now, Charlie? Can we get on with our vacation or do you need to plan another impossible job tomorrow?”
She left the scope and wrapped her arms around him.
“I’m sorry, Allen, but I was just feeling so fat and lazy. You’re sweet to humor me. Yes, I’m done.”
“Okay then. So, this afternoon we can go to the stuffy museum and see the Monet exhibit, go to the hip museum and see the Manet exhibit, go to the planetarium and see the planets, go on the harbor tour and get a better look at the nice enough bridge that goes all the way over the water…”
She made a moue.
“I was trying to be a gentleman and let you know that I appreciate you for your intellectual and spiritual qualities and not just your obvious physical charms, but ‘or we can go back to the room and fuck like bunnies’, a’ight?”
“I vote for the bunny option!”
“¡Ay, mamí! Okay, but I get to be Lauren Hutton this time.”
The afternoon went nicely. The champagne, strawberries, and whipped cream that room service had provide quickly and without comment had been consumed with giggles and moans. After a brief rest Charlie was encouraging Allen’s trip from her toes to points north when he suddenly stopped cold.
“Allen? What is it?”
“You’re a bad influence, Charlie. I just figured out how to get away from the bank.”
The gleam in Charlie’s eyes shifted from one deadly sin to another and her smile became predatory.
“Tell mama, dear boy.”
Allen told mama. Charlie was thrilled and rewarded him for his cleverness. He recovered nicely and was able to walk by morning.
Two days later they had a crew and a week later the bank coughed up nearly 100K more than Charlie predicted.
Charlie crouched down in the cab of the streetsweeper being driven by a mustachioed Allen.
“You’re more than just a pretty face, Mr. Green.”
“Oh, I know, Ms. Willis. I’m a cute ass as well.”
Charlie laughed and patted his knee.
“You are a very cute ass, dear boy.”
“Charlie? What do you say we take a little vacation after this?”
Over 500 words and no pope jokes!
Monday, June 6, 2011
Etymology: Middle English adrad, adred, from past participle of adreden, adraden to be afraid, from Old English adrædan, ondrædan (from ¹a-, on + drædan to fear, dread) & ofdrædan, from of– (akin to Old English ofer over) + drædan – more at DREAD
archaic : put in dread : AFRAID
"What sort of English king is it who cannot lay his tongue to a word of English? You mind last year when he came down to Malwood, with his inner marshal and his outer marshal, his justiciar, his seneschal, and his four and twenty guardsmen. One noontide I was by Franklin Swinton’s gate, when up he rides with a yeoman pricker at his heels. ‘Ouvre,’ he cried, ‘ouvre,’ or some such word, making signs for me to open the gate; and then ‘Merci,’ as though he were adrad of me. And you talk of an English king?" – The White Company, Arthur Conan Doyle