Godplace/Mission238 forums

Open Discussion => General Discussion => Topic started by: mini on March 11, 2011, 08:19:12 PM

Title: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: mini on March 11, 2011, 08:19:12 PM
I couldn't find where to post this, so here goes...

This is a short story (entirely fiction) that I wrote.  Let me know what you think.  Should I write another?  Feedback appreciated.

(positive feedback GREATLY appreciated :ugly: )

The Good Guys Always Win
by mini

He was drunk.

If there is anything I dislike more than a loudmouth drunk messing up my families weekly pilgrimage to our favorite Mexican restaurant, I have not found it.  Somehow, when you mix obnoxious with alcohol, the resulting mess doesn't sit well with my favorite ten inch burrito.

My wife and kids were uncomfortable.  So were the other patrons.  And Suzanne our waitress was trying to be as cordial as possible.

We have been coming here for years now.  Suzanne and her husband Ricardo had opened the place in 2005.  It is their life-long dream.  And it was love at first taste for us.  Tuesday is our family night, and every night is the same.  They quit asking our order 2 years ago.

But tonight, there was a drunk sitting one booth down from our table.  He was facing me, and I was facing him and the front door.  But at this point, he was not paying as much attention to me as much as he was La Bamba playing over the speaker.  He had to be the first person I have ever seen that was red faced in anger over La Bamba.  And it was not the song that he was mad at, it was the fact that Ricardo had only played it twice.

"Margaritas?" I asked Suzanne when she brought our cheese sauce. 

"Si" she whispered.  "He's had 4 so far, and he was a little drunk when he came in.  Ricardo has called the police."

Great.  Now my burrito was gonna be interrupted by an arrest.  I tend to get cranky when my mexican food is interrupted.

Suddenly the drunk yelled something about the virtues of Ritche Valens, and then a tirade of profanity laced words about Mexico, Mexicans, and illegal immigrants in general.  His words were not kind.  He grabbed for Suzanna as she walked by, but missed.  I'll give her one thing, shes quick on her feet.

Two things happened right then.

One, I got mad.  I don't get mad very often, but I knew Ricardo and Suzanne well enough.  My wife and Suzanne had become fast friends.  Both adored their grandmothers.  Suzanne's 87 year old grandmother (everyone called her Abuela) lived with them over on 5th street.  Abuela didn't speak a lick of English, but somehow, my wife and her got along great.  Suzanne and my wife loved their families.  We have had Suzanne and Ricardo, both of their kids, and Abuela over every year for the past 4 years to celebrate the 4th of July.  We pack up every Cinco de Mayo and enjoy traditional food with them.  (Hint, never bring store bought chips.)  Every Christmas, we take their kids gifts.  They do the same for ours.

I even taught Ricardo how to hunt deer.

And now some drunk is messing with my friends.

The second thing that happened was the police officer stepped in.  I should probably preface this remark by saying we live in a smaller town with a population of around 14000.  And no, we dont know everyone, but the chance of seeing someone you know when you are in town is nearly 100%.  And when the police officer stepped in I realized it was my cousin, Marty.

Ricardo had come out of the kitchen and was talking to Marty.  Unfortunately for me, they were still talking when the drunk saw me staring at him.  His next tirade included everyone in the restaurant, but was aimed at me.  Then he called my wife a name that shouldn't be repeated.

When he paused for a breath, I told him "Shut. Up." loudly enough for the restaurant to hear.  I saw Marty do a collective glance that included me, my family and the rest of the people, then his gaze rested on the back of the drunks head.  The drunk started to get up, and Marty started to come forward.  And then I saw the lightbulb go off in Marty's head, and he slid into a empty booth.  He was gonna watch the show.

Marty and I grew up playing together, as cousins often do.  And as male cousins often do, we fought like cats and dogs.  It was never a issue of anger, but simply dominance.  Some days he would win.  Some days I would win.  One day when we were 14, I pulled a stunt on him that to this day, we talk about.  He had walked up to me while I was sitting at a table, during a family picnic, and went to throw me to the ground.  What resulted next was one of the funniest scenes that I have stored in my mind.  We have argued the logistics of it for the past 18 years, but the result is always the same.  I won that fight fair and square.  And it was fixing to happen again. 

The drunk paused at the edge of my table and asked if I had a problem with him.

"Yes.  You are drunk.  And you are interrupting everyones dinner.  And you called my wife a very inappropriate name.  Apologize and leave."  In his drunken stupor, he had been given a false confidence.  I was relaxed, leaned back in my chair.  I was no threat to him.

My wife was scared.  My kids were wide eyed.

Then he grabbed for me.  With my left hand, I slapped his arm away, knocking him off balance.  His momentum, combined with me slapping his arm spun him around.  Instantly I hooked my left foot in front of him and jerked back while with my right foot I kicked his now exposed back.

The result today was the same thing Marty experienced 18 years ago.  He was flat on his face on the floor in a matter of two seconds with the wind knocked out of him.  I shifted slightly, and rested my foot uncomfortably on the back side of his neck  The drunk was suddenly stone cold sober.  And everyone was staring, slack jawed.

"Mister," I said quietly, "I hate having my dinner interrupted.  Now apologize to my wife."  He mumbled something.  Slightly, I increased the pressure of my foot on his neck. 

He yelled, "I'm sorry Ma'am."

"Now apologize to Ricardo and Suzanne.  You have made quite a scene in their restaurant."

"I'm sorry!"  By now he was starting to cry a little.

"You're interrupting everyones dinner.  Apologize to them."

The "I'm sorry" had turned into a sob.

"Now Im gonna sit here and finish my dinner.  If you so much as wiggle, I will break your neck.  Is that understood?"  He started to mumble through sobs, but a slight increase in foot pressure a second time got the words out clearly.

I looked at Marty.  "Sir, I would be honored if you would join me at my table for dinner."  He hated when I called him sir.  Grinning he walked over.  He knew all to well what the drunk was feeling.  He bent down, handcuffed him and then set down across the table from me.

Slowly, a table of older ladies started clapping.  Then another.  Before it was over, everyone was clapping and grinning.

And we got our meal on the house that night.
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: The Purple Fuzzy on March 11, 2011, 08:40:02 PM
Love it! :bigcheese:
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: SippinTea on March 12, 2011, 03:04:23 AM
Tee hee! Me likes it. :D

:beret:
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: MelodyB on March 12, 2011, 05:08:53 AM
I like!
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: sunlight on March 12, 2011, 06:27:17 AM
YAY! another thing to look forward to!

I think this rates up there with the yankee bear stories! WOOHOO!
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: MsJennJenn on March 12, 2011, 06:47:50 AM
Next please! :demand:
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: Roscoe on March 12, 2011, 12:53:45 PM
 Mini, you have a talent for writing. I must say, I'm amazed. :o I thought your only talent was pestering folks. :lol:
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: SippinTea on March 12, 2011, 05:12:43 PM
.... and preaching. :)

.... and a few other things. :)

:beret:
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: The Purple Fuzzy on March 12, 2011, 08:35:09 PM
We should start a GP Publishing House. ;)
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: Lynx on March 12, 2011, 08:39:55 PM
I wouldn't advise it.  Even the UPCI media division is having trouble.  :sadbounce:
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: SippinTea on March 12, 2011, 09:17:55 PM
Quote from: The Purple Fuzzy on March 12, 2011, 08:35:09 PM
We should start a GP Publishing House. ;)

I agree! We've got authors AND illustrators on board, and photographers for cover art and publicity... oh yeah, I'm likin' this idea. ;)

Seriously now... if everyone on GP marketed their skills to everyone else, just THINK of all the Christmas and birthday shopping that would be done ahead of time! ;)

:beret:
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: chelleebelle on March 12, 2011, 10:35:07 PM
Anxiously awaiting the next segment...

Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: Roscoe on March 12, 2011, 11:47:09 PM
Quote from: chelleebelle on March 12, 2011, 10:35:07 PM
Anxiously awaiting the next segment...
Make him hurry up. You can make him do things- we have to wait impatiently. :laughhard:
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: taco_harvell on March 13, 2011, 08:44:31 AM
 :thumbsup2: :thumbsup2: :thumbsup2: :thumbsup2: :thumbsup2: :thumbsup2: :thumbsup2: :thumbsup2: :thumbsup2: :thumbsup2: :thumbsup2: :thumbsup2: :thumbsup2: :thumbsup2: :thumbsup2: :thumbsup2: :thumbsup2: :thumbsup2: :thumbsup2: :thumbsup2:
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: mini on March 14, 2011, 04:36:09 PM
Quote from: five-oh on March 12, 2011, 11:47:09 PM
Quote from: chelleebelle on March 12, 2011, 10:35:07 PM
Anxiously awaiting the next segment...
Make him hurry up. You can make him do things- we have to wait impatiently. :laughhard:

Shes got the next segment now...if she gives me a thumbs up, Ill post here in a bit...

Warning...its different from the other one, like night and day, but still along the lines of "The Good Guy."
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: mini on March 14, 2011, 04:54:02 PM
DAN
by mini
Dedicated to my lovely wife chelleebelle

Dan walked along the edge of the road, facing the oncoming traffic. His mind was a torn battleground, thick in the fog of depression. Absolutes that once stood as assured were only ruins. From the mists you could hear the cry of desperation, brokenness, and heartache. He didn't have the heart to end his life, but wished it would suddenly go away. He had never prayed for death yet secretly he wished for it.

For the hundredth time today, he asked himself what was worth living for. He knew he was living in self pity, but the ironic thing was, when you were in the pit of self pity, you were blind to the way to get out.

It happened on a Monday afternoon. She had just picked up the kids from his parents house, and was on her way home. Dan had put a roast in the crock-pot that morning, and she was going to start the potatoes when she got home. Yet a half a mile away from home, a dump truck driver who was strung out on meth and running from a cop ran over the car, killing her and both kids instantly.

The blessing and curse of a small town is everyone knows everyone. His parents heard the sirens, and it wasn't long before someone called them. Dan wrestled in his mind with the person that called his parents that day. A certain panic at the tragedy, yet a certain satisfaction that they were the first with the news. If she had had Dans cell phone number she would have called him personally. Such is the life of a gossip, and the satisfaction they get being the first one to deliver bad news or opinion.

Dan had been with a customer and missed their calls. So when the troopers pulled up at work 30 minutes later, he was blissfully unawares of what had happened. He knew both troopers. Calvin had graduated a year ahead of him in school. Scott was a long time friend. When he saw two of them, his stomach went queasy. Dan knew that two troopers, looking stiff and formal, were not here to bring good news. Out of a habit he looked at his phone. It was then he saw the missed calls, the voice mail. The room started to spin. Things didn't look right. He saw the look in his Scott's eyes. Immense sorrow.

Looking over Scott's shoulder, Dan saw his dad pull up. He could tell at a distance that he had been crying. Scott waited till Dan's dad stepped through the door to break the news. At least he tried to break the news. Scott couldn't bear to see the news hit, Calvin had to finish.
Dan passed out. Somewhere deep inside him, something broke. Combine that with the intense emotional wave that passed over him, it was to much. When he came too, their faces were the first thing he saw, and he knew it was not just some bad dream.

The following days were a blur. Life insurance took care of the funerals. A lawyer acquaintance took care of the trucking company for no cost. The settlement left Dan more money than he had ever seen.

But the depression set it. Bit by bit, the world grew darker. It seems that when you think you have reached rock bottom, you can find a way to go lower. For months he had slept on the couch. He couldn't bring himself to open the doors to their rooms. Something small would trigger a emotional flashback, and suddenly he would find himself lower than before.

Unconsciously, he glanced at his watch. 2:16 pm. He always left the house before 3. The school let out at three, and the school kids walked by his house. He couldn't hear their voices without pain.

Peoples words hurt the most. They meant well, but it was like they poured salt on deep festered wounds. The healing wasn't taking place. "Move on." "You have to get over it." "She would have wanted this." The most well meaning person could hurt the most. After a while, people stopped visiting. A few dear friends had stuck it out, but even they limited their contact after a while.

Dan glanced around. He was was entering downtown. With a bitter sigh he stepped up on the sidewalk. He caught a glance of himself a window. At some point, he had given up trying to maintain any decent appearance. His jeans were in bad need of washing. The stubble on his face had long given way to a beard, and his hair was a greasy mess. The shirt he was wearing should have been thrown away along time ago. Dan knew he needed a bath. But each of these were tied with painful memories, and the energy and effort had long been accounted as not worth it.

Its surprising his house was as clean as it was. His impact there was limited. Yet when he was home, he was usually on the couch. Eating was a afterthought, and usually some frozen dinner. He used to love to cook, but now it hurt to much. Once a week, he would take out two sacks of trash, one from the kitchen, the other from the bathroom.

Walking on, he turned at the next block, crossed the street, and went over to the bench in the alley behind the bank. Years ago, someone had tried to make it a urban utopia, complete with flowerbeds, tables, and benches. Now all that was left were six benches and the flowerbeds. Dan liked the isolation, and the fact that the benches were almost hidden from a casual glance inside the doorway. Most people had forgotten about it. Fewer yet even cared. Wild ivy had taken over most of the area, and drowned out most of the surrounding noise.

He sat down on the 2nd bench. As usual, no one was here. Once he had came here and found a jogger resting. But that had been months ago.

His habit was simple, although mundane. On any weekday, he was out of the house by 7:30, and back around 9. Most of the time he would sit in the house with it as dark as possible. Then every afternoon, about 2, he would make his way to this park, and stay till about 4:30. Then back home, till the next morning. He would go to the store to get the essentials, but that was once a week at the most. Contact with people was limited. "Why grow close when they will hurt you?" was the thought he wrestled with.

A sudden sound interrupted his thoughts. It was a girl, nearly Dans age. She sat down on the first bench inside the doorway. He felt a surge of panic. He couldn't get out without passing her. He watched her for a moment. She had red hair and sad eyes.

The benefit you get from struggling with your own personal trials, is you can spot those trials in others. It was a revelation for Dan. With the revelation was decision. He looked at the ground in front of him. Why should he care? Didn't he have enough heartache? He pondered this a moment. Suddenly he felt eyes upon him. Startled he looked up to find her staring at him. Suppressed, he realized she was not looking at him in pity or fear, but with curiosity. The surge of panic was back, the animal instinct to escape.

Her eyes seemed to draw him in. He broke the gaze first to stare at a imaginary spot on the ground. For a long minute, then two, he stared. Slowly he peeked again at the spot where she sat.

She was gone.

The next day, it was more curiosity than anything that drew him back to his favorite spot. He arrived at 2:20. At 2:25 she was back. Again the stares, again, the panic. And by 2:40 she was gone again. For the next few days it was the same routine in this secret utopia.

On the 5th day, she waved as she left.

Dan had noticed some things about her. She always wore her hair up. She dressed nicely, not necessarily fashionably. She seemed sad, but yet it seemed both of them brightened a little when they saw each other.

On Saturday, he went to the little park. He doubted she would be here, but the curiosity was drawing him. He noticed the bottle only after he had set down. There was a note in it, rolled up to slide easily in the neck of the bottle. Looking guiltily around, Dan picked it up.
Shakily, he slid it out.

It a girls handwriting, "I did not think to tell you until after I waved and was gone, but I wont be back until Monday." He knew it was her.

Monday, his response was written inside the same bottle, and placed on her bench by the time she sat down. She smiled when she read it. She left a note for him.

Daily throughout the weeks, they continued this exchange. The notes began to grow longer, the smiles came more often. Without him noticing, the rays of sun began to shine through the fog of depression. She told him about her life. Slowly, he began to share his story. One day he wrote of when his wife and children died. It was the hardest note yet. She cried when she read it. He cried too, not so much as for himself, but for the fact that she was crying.

After several weeks, she moved to the bench across from him, then to his bench. Strangely, he didn't mind.

Then she asked him to dinner. He thought of his ragged clothes. His unkept hair. His first love. She watched his face, and saw the struggle inside. It was a huge bridge to cross for both of them. "Will you give me a few days to answer?" Dan asked quietly. "Yes," she replied brightly. He left that day before she did.

That night he shaved his beard. The next day, he was at a local retailer when they opened. It was the first time he had purchased new clothes in months. New jeans, new shirts, and two new pairs of shoes. His next stop was at the barbers.

The surprise and excitement in her eyes was worth it. Uncharacteristically, she hugged him, then jerked back blushing. He didn't have to tell her his answer. She picked him up at seven that night.

And four weeks later, they said their vows in a little church on the south end of town.
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: SippinTea on March 14, 2011, 05:03:50 PM
Alright, Mini. That's it. Full-length novel simply MUST be finished and ready to publish by mid-summer. Ya hear me now? :demand:

Very seriously... Randy Alcorn is one of my top 3 favorite authors, and your writing style reminds me a LOT of his. Excellent, excellent job! :) I realize I'm not an editor, but I DO have years and years of experience in the christian book markets, and I think you need to seriously consider going into this in a bigger way. You pull readers in emotionally - both crying and laughing, you have a wonderful way of wording things that is edgy and appealing, and... I'll guarantee you your books would sell if a full-length novel was ANYTHING like what we've just seen.

Think about it, please. :)

:beret:
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: MelodyB on March 14, 2011, 05:55:53 PM
I was thinking it sounded like Randys style too!!

Yes, Jeremy! Listen to Ruby! Do it!!
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: The Purple Fuzzy on March 14, 2011, 06:53:01 PM
:clap:
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: sunlight on March 14, 2011, 09:45:54 PM
dude, Ok. Ruby, you have got to bring the Alcorn books then, If they are like this, then I wanna read them too.

:like: x1000!
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: SippinTea on March 14, 2011, 09:49:27 PM
Uh, sorry, Chel. They're WAY too fat to read in a couple days - even for me. *lol*

:beret:
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: sunlight on March 14, 2011, 09:50:25 PM
rats.

Well, can I borrow them then? lol!
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: Babs on March 14, 2011, 09:57:33 PM
Quote from: SippinTea on March 14, 2011, 09:49:27 PM
Uh, sorry, Chel. They're WAY too fat to read in a couple days - even for me. *lol*

:beret:

not for me lol i read each one in about an hour each lol
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: SippinTea on March 14, 2011, 10:16:34 PM
Quote from: Babs on March 14, 2011, 09:57:33 PM
not for me lol i read each one in about an hour each lol

:eek!: Are you serious?? I've been told over and over again that I read super fast, but... yikes! How in the world!?!?.... :o *lol*

Quote from: sunlight on March 14, 2011, 09:50:25 PM
rats.

Well, can I borrow them then? lol!

I'm sure you can... when you move to Oregon and are close enough I can meet up with you for icecream on occasion. :hypocrite:

:beret:
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: sunlight on March 14, 2011, 10:18:15 PM
haha! I'm not the one you need to be talking to about that.. haha.

i think we :pwink: mini's thread... oops. :halo:
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: Babs on March 14, 2011, 11:20:47 PM
lol
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: Lynx on March 14, 2011, 11:26:26 PM
Minnesota have you done this before?  Or is this your first shot at this kind of thing?
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: mini on March 14, 2011, 11:37:49 PM
Quote from: Psalm_97 on March 14, 2011, 11:26:26 PM
Minnesota have you done this before?  Or is this your first shot at this kind of thing?

First shot.   :smirk2:
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: Babs on March 14, 2011, 11:39:02 PM
your very good mini   :thumbsup2:
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: SippinTea on March 14, 2011, 11:39:23 PM
 :o Dude. Think how good you'll be by the time you've written a couple dozen stories. You'll put Randy Alcorn out of business.  :lol:

:beret:
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: MelodyB on March 14, 2011, 11:44:05 PM
Barb...you are talking about Deadline, Dominion and Deception? Or Randy Alcorns other books? I could have read The Purity Principle in about an hour, but THAT one took about two weeks. *cough*

But the other three take at LEAST two weeks for me. And I've also been told I read pretty fast. 
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: Babs on March 14, 2011, 11:51:13 PM
i can read most books in less than two hours. rarely find a book that takes me longer than that except the bible lol
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: SippinTea on March 15, 2011, 12:08:18 AM
Quote from: Babs on March 14, 2011, 11:51:13 PM
i can read most books in less than two hours. rarely find a book that takes me longer than that except the bible lol

Yep. Me too. But not RA's trilogy. :cool:

:beret:
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: mini on June 07, 2011, 10:51:59 PM
Anyone interested in a new story?
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: mini on June 08, 2011, 01:44:54 AM
The phone call came at 2:36 am.  The President woke out of a troubled sleep and stared at the phone for a few seconds, dreading the news the call brought.

Tensions with China had been straining for weeks.  Informants had gathered information and sent it through channels that were routed into other channels and mixed into other channels before ultimately being fed into computers and databases for only the highest officials and select eyes to see.  News reports over the past few weeks had slowly gathered whispers of something happening between America and China.  War had been avoided at all costs, but conspiracy theorists had feverishly preached their doctrines of doom with ever increasing panic.

The possibility of a strike on US soil had been considered for decades.  In WWII bases were located up and down the coast lines to train enough pilots to meet the demands of a ever expanding war.  It was a good ruse, and the military powers explained they needed to train pilots to fly over open water. But in a quiet, underhanded move, they stocked the bases with enough firepower, ammo and manpower to ward off most any attack by air.  From there it was one country or another that became our enemy, with some threats more feasible than others.  Then in 2001 a group succeeded in striking us on our soil.

For the last few years, tensions with China had been growing.  When China announced they would no longer buy American debt, the following chain of events happened slowly, but each one set off louder alarms.  Finally, Chinese officials pressed the world bank to downgrade the value of the dollar by nearly half.  In one night, America was crippled.  Unfortunately, the sword was double edged.  Suddenly China had lost its biggest economic consumer.  Hundreds of thousands were laid off in both countries.  The common man cried for the blood of their newly sworn enemy.  Pressure rose on the Chinese government to put a final stake in the heart of America.

The informants had long whispered through their secret channels that China had nuclear missiles.  With feverish and sudden intensity, those channels swarmed with rumors and facts that China was positioning those missiles aiming toward the head of the US, Washington, DC.

The plans were made in chambers across Washington.  Each step was quiet, heart breaking.  Troops were moved into strategic locations.  Missiles were prepped. Ships readied.  It was a old fashioned but tried, tested, and true economic practice.  War meant work, and that work meant jobs and economic boom.  To rally the morale of the citizens, they needed a cause.  Lately the majority of the news had been about the economic situations.  Food was available for those few who still had jobs.  But with 31% unemployment nation wide, those few with jobs were quickly becoming a minority.

The President knew the citizens needed a cause to stand for.  His idea was simple.  Once proposed, it was seized with a devotion that is shown by only the most loyal of supporters.  A address to the nation was taped in a generic White House setting.  It explained that America was under attack, and gave a small but staggering call to arms.  It would be aired on every station within seconds a conformation the attack.  He had seen the video and was surprised by the tired face and voice that looked back at him.  A long talk with the Vice President, and he was quickly shipped off, to give various speeches or other such things, but never to come back to the Presidents side.  The vice president knew that he was supposed to step in and fill the shoes of the Commander in Chief when the Commander was killed in this unprecedented attack on the US. 

The little pieces were left, never to be recovered.  All of the artwork that graced the White House stayed.  To move it would cause a panic in the community, and just add fuel to the fire of conspiracy that was burning.  The unreplaceable treasures in the museums around the city would be destroyed.  It had to look like a surprise.  The only blessing would be it would wipe out anything above ground.  The deep vaults, reserved for the most precious treasures, would most likely be still intact.

It was the lives of the people that bothered the President the most.  How could he curse hundreds of thousands to death?  The babies that had a whole life in front of them.  The mommas who's arms will suddenly be emptied.  He was thankful his children lived in other states.  His girl was a Teacher.  His oldest boy was a Preacher.  He had three grandkids, all of them safe, and far away.  Would they ever understand?  Or would he become another mass murderer?  Or would their country ever realize the sacrifice that was to be made?  Or would he go down is history as the killer of the innocent?

How do you resolve the question of killing a few to save many?

He knew he would be killed by the blast.  In China's blinded war, he was the figurehead of power.  His death would mean America's defeat.  But he also understood his Vice President would become president, and retaliate against this enemy.  Win or lose, they would fight.  Senators and Congressmen were all on summer break.  The government would still be somewhat intact, but renewed in their focus and vigor.  The thing was only a handful of nameless people knew about a plan that would change the fate of history.

The President stared at the phone, ringing by his bedside.  Slowly he picked it up.  The conversation was brief.  It was headed his way.  In 24 minutes, America would be changed.  He walked to the door of his presidential bedroom, opened it, and looked at the two secret service agents.  It surprised him that no matter when he saw them, they always looked fresh.  The President had made it a point to know about these men, and their personal lives.  Now, strangely, he wished he had never found out.  Tears welled up in the Presidents eyes.  Both secret service man stared, startled.  A few brief words and the message became clear.  This was the end.

He closed the door to his room, and walked back in.  For a moment he looked at his bride of 44 years, sleeping peacefully.  They had never tried to keep secrets from each other.  But here at the end, he held the secret that would kill her.  The resolve in his mind strained under the realization that she would die too.  A bead of sweat trickled down his face, touching the corner of his lips.  Unconsciously, he licked his lips and was surprised at the saltiness of his sweat.  Slowly, he made his way back to his bedside, and picked up the bible that laid there.  Gently, he held it to his chest as if these precious pages would protect him from the doom that was to come.  With feet that seemed to be made of lead, he made his way back around the bed to his brides side.  He wondered if history would even remember them.

A light touch to her shoulder woke her up.  With quiet words that gave way to tremendous sobs he explained what was happening.  Together in the final minutes, they hugged each other tightly.  Then hand in hand, they knelt and began to pray.
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: mini on June 08, 2011, 03:10:08 AM



The Retarded Dog
Our dog is retarded.

I know that "retarded" is not the proper way to say "mentally handicapped," but the truth of the matter was he was closer to being a fool than handicapped. Simply put, the mutt was retarded.

My wife, being the Ellie May of our family, had rescued him from a box marked free and some old man (who I expect may have been the devil in overalls), outside the local grocery store 5 years ago. A bundle of tricolored fluff who was anything but cute turned quickly into a 75 pound toothless lap dog. Yes, you read that right. He was toothless. Which was a good thing.

My son named him Taco, much to my wife's chagrin. I had suggested Freddie Fitzgerald Fronzenburger the 13th, but apparently my son inherited a sense of humor from me, which will not help him much in awkward social situations. Unfortunately for the mutt, the name Taco stuck.

Its probably a good thing he lost his teeth. I remember once when he was a puppy and still had teeth, I caught him chasing his tail. He was giving it his best effort when suddenly, while denying every law of nature known to man, he caught his tail. And bit it. Hard. Dumb dog let out a yelp and ran across the yard like a snake had bit him. Since that day, he has never chased his tail, but always keeps a wary eye on it.

Taco had every cat and squirrel and hoodlum in the neighborhood buffaloed into believing he was the meanest thing on 4 feet, and he had the look, build and bark that backed it up. The problem was he was holding a empty gun in a ongoing turf war.

I have only seen one creature brave enough to call Taco's bluff. We have had a old striped tomcat who has taken up residence around our garage. Taco caught him half way between the garage and our back fence. The old cat eyed the huge dog that approached, did a quick mental calculation, realized or decided he didn't have much left to live for, and stopped. All of this didn't quite register in Taco's mind, so onward he barreled.  One thing to keep in mind about cats: On each end of their feet are claws. In their mouths are sharp teeth. Statistically, a cat is sharp on 5 of its 6 ends. Dogs on the other hand have one means of defense. Their mouths. And Taco had no teeth.

Buddy, that cat laid into Taco like ugly on a ape. That 8 pound tomcat whipped that 75 pound dog all over the yard. Taco was finished with that cat roughly .3 seconds after he got ahold of him, but that cat worked him over for a good 60 seconds/minutes/years.

Since then, all that cat has to do is sneeze anywhere within 2 miles of Taco, and that dog  is in the house, curled up in my recliner.  MY RECLINER!

Retarded dog.

Taco lost his teeth shortly after the last of his adult teeth came in. He had developed a bad habit of chasing things that moved. My son had decided to clean the car, somewhat on his own accord.  Actually, my son had his heart set on a dirtbike and thought the sure way to dads wallet was through good deeds...I wasnt buying it but was milking it for all it was worth.  He left a rag in the back wheel of our car. Later, I had to run a errand in town. As I started to leave, Taco saw the rag flopping around and grabbed ahold of it. Its a wonder it didn't kill him. I looked in the rear view mirror in time to see a big hairy tricolored thing go flop, brought the car to a screeching halt, and ran around to see what was going on. The dumb dog was sitting up by that point, looking at me cross eyed, and grinned as if to say "I whipped that rag!"

Of course he was a mess, and my own Ellie May said I had to take him to the vet. Taco cost us $451 dollars that day, and I still have some spots of blood in the car that I cant get out.

But today took the cake. I got a call from Mr. Finn, who lives a block over from us.

Now Mr. Finn is a crabby old vet who listed life's priorities as smoking, cussing, and spitting, none of which Ethel Finn, his wife, allowed in her house. He firmly belived that his divine calling in life was to teach every kid in the neighborhood how to spit, cuss, and smoke.  That, you can guess, earned him the ire of my wife, and every mom within 12 blocks. He enjoyed this status and mission in life throughly.

Next to Mr Finns big three things in life were his chickens and his garden, both which he took great pride in. Everyone in the neighborhood seemed to have a garden of sorts, but Mr. Finn was the only one in the area with chickens too. The city council had the stupidity to send him a letter about the chickens once, calling them barnyard animals and how they violated some code. It took 4 police officers to get the resulting ruckus settled down. I honestly thought the whole council was gonna get impeached, tarred and feathered in the resulting city council fight. Now, no one messed with his chickens. On the other hand, I had been worried Taco would take great intrest in the chickens, but after his teeth incident the dog was content in keeping only the animals in yard at bay, except, of course, that one tomcat.

Mr. Finn also had a outhouse. About 4 years ago, Johnny Smith, one of the neighborhood kids, rolled a cherry bomb under the door of the outhouse while Mr. Finn was inside. Ethel told my wife later in a phone call that she saw the whole thing from her kitchen window. Johnny lit the cherry bomb, rolled it under the door and took of back down the alley as fast as his legs would carry him. About that time Mr. Finn came bursting out of the outhouse in a dead run all the while wrestling with is pants. He made it about 4 steps across the lawn when the cherry bomb went off. Ethel said it shot a mushroom cloud of sewage out and around the yard. That afternoon, I saw Mr. Finn with a waterhose rinsing out the outhouse. He was also motivated enough to fix the gap at the bottom of the door.

Taco found the outhouse one day with Mr. Finn inside it, the latter of whom apparently had a flashback of another cherry bomb, the result which sent Mr. Finn into a fight and flight that resulted in a comotion that was laughed about around the neighborhood for weeks. That was also the day that I had to prove to Mr. Finn that Taco had no teeth. The humor of the situation made Taco a favorite of Ethel.  Since then, Taco has made the Finn's house a regular stop on his daily route.  Ethel's feeding Taco a sugar cookie everytime he came around didn't help keep Taco away.  Luckily, Mr. Finn hasn't taught Taco how to cuss, smoke, or spit.  Yet.

But lately, Mr. Finn has been having problems with rabbits eating his garden.  Another neighbor decided to go out of the rabbit business by letting all his rabbits loose.  And being rabbits, the 12 he let loose suddenly multiplied like rabbits.  The majority of them were captured, but a few proved it was their life long duty to break every "fact" known about rabbits.  These things were sneaky.  Various reports came in over the following weeks about flowers being eaten, small pets being mugged, and a rabbit stealing a car and egging a house.  The charge about the flowers were never proven to be rabbits.

Mr. Finn, in his battle against the rabbits vandalizing his garden, decided the best way to keep the rabbits out was a electric fence.  And this fence was hot.  I know this, because on the day he called me over, he absentmindedly touched it, and once properly shocked, gave that fence a cussing that would have made most electricity afraid to follow the path of least resistance.  But on this particular day, after the unintentional display of the poweress of his new electric fence, he invited me into his back yard to "sit a spell."  Curious, I followed him.

"Craziest thing I ever saw" he said, once we got seated.  I wondered for about a minute what he was talking about, when a 75 pound, tri colored ball of fluffy toothless lap dog walked into the yard.  He looked at us, grinned that toothless grin, and wandered over to Mr. Finns garden.  I started to holler at the dog, then realizing I would be wasting my voice, decided to watch and see what happened.  Besides that dog needed to learn to stay away from electric fences.

Taco wandered up to the fence, looked at it cross eyed for a split second...AND LICKED IT!  The jolt must have hurt.  Taco went stiff legged and fell over, his eyes glazed over in a cross-eyed, blank stare, his large toothless mouth fixed in a permanent grin.  I stared in the "I'm watching a train wreck" fashion.  "The dumb dog just killed himself" I exclaimed.  And I was gonna have to explain to Ellie May what happened.  Mr. Finn snickered.  "Wait a sec and watch this."  Sure enough the dog began to stir.  Slowly he got back on his feet, looked around in a dazed but content fashion, and walked unsteadily out of the yard.

"Dumb dog has been doing that every hour on the hour since this morning.  I think he shorted something out upstairs when he did it the first time."  I shook my head in unbelief.  Luckily, Mr. Finn turned the power down that night, and solved his rabbit problem.  And Taco, not quite getting the same jolt as before, decided to pursue other avenues of entertainment. I hope to high heaven that stupid dog never realizes he can gum through a electric cord, or takes up licking car batteries.  We might have to change his name to "Low Watt" case hes none to bright.
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: Lynx on June 08, 2011, 05:31:04 AM
Excellent stories, both of them.  The first one is just barely plausible, just enough to make one shiver.  The second one I laughed a lot at. 
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: mini on October 25, 2011, 08:41:03 PM
Another one of my "The Good Guy's Always Win" stories.  It was a quick write, and is probably full of errors.  I may edit it at some point.  Popped in my brain, and I thought I would share it with you guys.  Enjoy!  -mini

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My boss handed me the fax ten minutes before 11 am.  They were having a press conference at the county jail, and since he was the ranking official in the office, and seeing I was the only reporter at this small town newspaper, it befell my duty to attend any and all meetings he didn't feel like attending.  And today was my lucky day.  I glanced briefly at the time on the bottom of the paper.  It was just sent.

I had hoped for an early lunch at Kirby's.  An order of their fried pickles was enough to send my cholesterol and doctor into orbit, but they were good.  I usually tried to get there by 11, and miss the lunch crowd.  Its strange, as a reporter, I had gotten to the point where I hated being around people.  Usually, all they wanted to do was gripe about some story I wrote, how this or that fact wasn't accurate.  I felt like telling them if they didn't like it, to quit buying the paper.

Oklahoma is dry and windy right now, and especially our city.  I stepped out of the office, glared in the general direction of the wind, thought for a moment about driving the 4 blocks to the county jail, then thought better of it, and decided to walk.  The wind was howling, but the temperatures were nice.

The only person in the conference room was Thelma, the aging secretary.  She smoked, wore too much makeup, and could fight better than half the deputies.   Last year, at the Christmas party, Thelma sailed right through the beer and worked herself up to hard liquor by the time the main course was served.  Then Tom Brains' made an offhand comment about her being drunk, and the fight started.  It took 8 cops, 3 ambulances, and a police dog to settle the riot down.  2 deputies had stitches, 1 had a broken arm.  And it cost the county $3496 in repairs to the Best Westerns banquet room.  Thelma was back at work the next day, sweet and surly as ever, nary a scratch on her.  Rumors said that the Sheriff wanted to fire her, but was afraid of what she would do to him if he did fire her.  And every deputy signed a petition asking for her not to be fired.  Apparently they were afraid of her too.

Thelma glared at me for a moment, and then decided I meant no harm.  She went back to working on her fingernails.

At 11 sharp, the sheriff walked in, flanked by two government men.  They seemed to be FBI agents or something.  After working around this town for the last 10 years, I knew right away something was different.  Besides me and Thelma, no one else was here.  In the back of my head, something clicked.  They had sent the notice of the meeting out just moments before the meeting started to keep this open and quiet at the same time.  The fewer stories out, the smaller the case.   Strange...most of the time, these FBI guys were limelight junkies.

The meeting was brief and to the point.  1 guy was arrested last night on charges of hacking, and stealing money.  No big deal, I thought, the inner cynic.  I have at least 10 emails in my spam folder all calming that they are from royalty and I could have their share of millions, if I would just provide a small fee and a bank account.  Some pimple faced kid does this here in Oklahoma and the government comes unglued.

What they said next, stunned me.  This guy was charged with stealing nearly 40 million.  Here!?!  Being a car nut, the first thing I thought of was which kid was driving around town in a Lamborghini.  The banker's son didn't even have one.  For that matter, a Corvette was as rare as a Lamborghini in our town.

The FBI guy asked if anyone had any questions, while glaring at me.

Scrambling to make my mouth and brain work in holy matrimony, and not say something stupid, I said the best thing I came up with.  "If he had 40 million, what did he spend it on?"  The FBI guy looked at me hard for a moment, decided how to answer though a mind and mouth wrapped in red tape, and said simply, "Everyone else."

--------------------------------------------

I dug frantically that afternoon, writing the story.  The boss liked to have the paper ready for print by 5 pm.  I hated the schedule, arguing that we missed good news if we didn't get ready to print by midnight.  But, he owned the paper, and liked to be in bed by 9 pm.  When I came in this afternoon, he realized that this story may be bigger than the FFA club having record sausage sales this year, and agreed to let me put this on the front page, if, and only if I was ready.

It didn't take me long to find out everything I could about this guy.  2 tickets in his entire life, once in 1999, when he was doing 10 over on a county back road.  I had traveled that same road many times in those days.  It was a quicker route, to Tulsa.  And the speed limit was 45.  No one went below 55 on there.  So nothing big there.  The other was a seat belt violation, as a passenger, nearly 4 years later.  Other than that, this guy was clean.  He had graduated in a county school, went to the county college, and worked a normal 8 to 5 job.  As I wrapped up the story, I realized there was a huge question.  What did he do with the money?  His address was about a mile away from the office, so I drove over there quickly, camera in hand, and snapped a few pictures.  Simple car in the driveway, modest house, recently mowed lawn.  Nothing out of the ordinary.

The neighbor saw me looking at the house, and came over.  "You know where he went?' she asked.  "2 guys pulled up in a car this morning, and hauled him off.  Van showed up a few minutes later, and went through the house.  Carried off a couple computers and some junk, but they sure weren't here very long.  Expected to see them around for hours.  Seemed to be a good kid, always giving someone a hand with something."

As I drove back to the office, I reflected on what I knew.  Something didn't add up.

--------------------------------------------

The story ran in the paper the next day.  By the time I got to the office at 7:45, the place was in an uproar.  Tell the locals that one of their own is hiding 40 million, and you open up the Pandora's Box of nut cases.  One of the local cops was leaned against the hood of his car as I came walking up to the office.  The paper hit 3 of the all night stores at 3:15 last night.  By 4:45, the PD had 3 phone calls of prowlers around the house.  After the last call, they left someone there for the rest of the night.

"They take anything?" I asked.  "Not a thing, every one of them was looking for stacks of money.  Guy's house was clean as a whistle. Nothing there out of the ordinary."

The boss had a stack of messages for me.  Mostly people wanting to ask questions, or speculate on what he did with the money.  My first real tip came after the 12th message.  Joanne Robinson had lost her husband in an oil field accident 2 years ago.  No life insurance, small job, no health insurance.  The guy who ran the company where her husband had worked gave her a check for $10,000 and walked away.  Barely enough to cover the funeral, pay a couple small bills and then back to barely surviving.  Her salary wouldn't pay the car payment, house payment, and still keep the phone, gas, and electric on.  And no matter how much everyone pats you on the back in that time, when the going gets tough; it seems your friends sure dwindle down quick.

"I was about to lose the house and the car, when someone paid off both of them in one day.  They also deposited money in my account too, enough for several months.  Did it again at Christmas, both years since Justin has died.  I don't know, but I really think it was that guy who was arrested yesterday."

Speculation is a lousy source of reliability.  But something she said seemed to fit the questions I had yesterday.  I thanked her, and told her I would dig into the story more.

Three more times during the day, I heard similar stories.  All hardship.  All getting some gift from a unknown source.

At 3pm, I got a call from the AP.  They had picked up my story.  By 4pm, it was in over 100 places on the internet.  I knew the next story was going to be even bigger.

I called a friend at a local bank.  After a few pleasantries, she asked about the story.  "Oh, it's been the talk of the bank today."  "Why?" I asked.  "Well, he sure didn't have the money stashed here, if that's what you are asking."  I laughed.  Then I asked about strange deposits.  The line went quiet for a moment, and she said, "We ain't really supposed to talk about stuff like that.  But, don't quote me on this, but about 30 or so loans have all been paid off in the last few months.  And these were people that really needed the money.  You know, like death in the family, sick folks, stuff like that."

Another call to another bank got a pleasant but firm, we don't discuss things like that to the media.  A third call was made to directly to the president of another bank.  Again, off the record, and again, many outstanding loans paid off.  I asked how it was possible.  "I don't know,' he said, "everything checked out 100%.  We traced it back, dollar for dollar, and every penny was legit.  It was so common; we finally stopped questioning it, and just accepted it.  We figured it was a good Samaritan."

------------------------------------

Sitting back in my chair, I waited for the final page to print off the printer.  The story raised the obvious question in my mind.  I took it over to my boss, and watched slowly as he read it.  By the time he got to the end, his eyes were bulged and he let out a low whistle.

"Can you prove this?' he asked.  "Most of its unnamed sources,' I replied.  "But there is enough here to make a good read, and a good story." he said.

The FBI would never find all the money.  It was a modern day tale of Robin Hood, robbing the rich, giving to the poor.  Every penny he stole was from huge businesses, with bank accounts in the millions.  A simple keystroke here, and a keystroke there, and the billing department would send money to an account, where the money then disappeared down thousands of funnels.  Then when the time was right, a deposit would show up at a bank, destined for a certain account.

The FBI had finally found him, but was scared to death of announcing it to the public.  If John Q. Public found out that a hero was arrested, there would be mayhem and madness in the streets.

--------------------------------------

The story hit the newsstands and the result was like a bomb went off.  AP had it, every news station and television station within 100 miles had a crew in town.  Thelma was loving the attention and had banned everyone from the jail office at the same time.  It was a power play. 

Every deputy was on duty, but they were sympathetic to this Robin Hood.  The FBI agents had been joined by at least a dozen more, but the crowds outside swelled by the hundreds every passing moment.  It seemed the public had found their hero, and was not about to allow him to be hanged.

At some point in the afternoon, the sheriff abandoned ship (promptly securing his reelection for many years to come), along with every deputy, leaving only the FBI agents.  A hasty conference with a FBI computer nerd or two, and they realized that their whole scope of investigation had suddenly grown very small.

Elsewhere in town, a secret handshake and a pat on the back was made, and suddenly a senator (who just happened to be going through town), was involved.  A phone call to this person, and that person, and suddenly before the FBI, a case that had looked so promising just 48 hours before vanished like smoke.

A quick press conference was arranged, and one lone FBI agent told the crowd that this modern day Robin Hood was set free.  And set free he was.

Quick as it started, it was over, and the crowd had their hero.

---------------------------------------------

And tonight, when I get home and on the computer, I think I will give this hero a raise at work.  After all, I know who the real Robin Hood is.
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: SippinTea on October 25, 2011, 09:25:31 PM
Tee hee! You totally have enough stuff for a full-length novel on this one. Really. And I want to buy the first copy. :bigcheese: Autographed, please. :bigcheese: So I can say "I knew him when..." :bigcheese:

:beret:
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: The Purple Fuzzy on October 25, 2011, 09:30:22 PM
He really has a gift for keeping your attention.  Good job, Jeremy.
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: sunlight on October 26, 2011, 07:04:42 AM
:grin: I agree with Ruby... Please!
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: okieoliveoyl on October 27, 2011, 06:01:27 PM
I was 100% cornfused until i went and re-read the top and realized this whole thing was gibberish.  In the back of my mind I knew you ate mexican (love mexican?) and eat at that place in Tulsa quite frequently, but I didn't realize how well you knew the owners so well.  AND... I didn't know we had a cousin named Marty (the IT guy???). HA!

otherwise...keep on writing. 
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: MelodyB on November 02, 2011, 08:59:58 PM
Haha! This last one was great! I agree with Ruby and Chel!
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: mini on May 24, 2012, 01:56:46 PM
Based on true events.  :ugly:

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

As some of you know, Pa had back surgery a few weeks ago.  Major deal, 5 hours in surgery, and countless prayers from us and others.

And now, after three weeks of recovery, stuck at home with Ma and the heathens kids she babysits, including but not limited to my kids, he is ready to get out of the house.  For anything.  Need to see if the grass is green?  Check.  If air is still invisible?  Check.  If cars still drive down the road?  Check.

He has been walking, trying his best to keep from going stir crazy.

So this morning, I get a call, and he wants a ride to work, to go "visit."  Which is a Pa speak for "I cant stand it here any more!"

So, I take him.

As I pull up to his work, I get a flash back to my first summer after high school.  He came to me one day with a offer.  A job working with him all summer.  It was a big thing for employees kids or kids who knew someone to get to work at this shop.  And it was 40 hours a week, M-F, 7am to 3:30pm.  Pay was $6 a hour, which was great, considering I was making $5ish a hour, and only getting 25 hours a week.  A summer full of work, a pocket full of money...what more could I ask for?

Part of my daily job duties was being the shop gopher.  You know, "Go fer this, Go fer that."  It was a job that I loved, considering it got me out of the shop for a hour a day, and I got to drive the shop work truck.

Now understand, the shop work truck was a huge, 1 ton dually Chevy.  It was old even by my standards, and had seen to many days at the hands of various drivers who thought "Its not mine, I don't have to take care of it."  It had a flat bed, with huge steel bed posts and rails, and weighed in at nearly 14 tons.  Which is ironic, considering a engineer at Chevy got paid to call it a 1 ton.  It had some tired V8, stick shift, and one huge problem.

It backfired.

Badly.

Every time you shifted from 2nd to 3rd, it would let out something that could only be described as wartime cannon fodder.  The truck was not fast, and I had a certain route that I took every day, depending on what was needed.  A few blocks from work was a small crest, and at the top of the crest was a street.  If I had to get propane for our many forklifts, I went straight instead of turning.

Going straight lead me right by the local YMCA walking path.  And I quickly learned the art of motivation.  I would time it right, make this behemoth of a truck backfire right as I passed by the path, and giggle uncontrollably as I ran the rest of my errands.

I am personally responsible for helping 14 lap records get set on that path.  Imagine, you are walking along, minding your own business, when "KABLOOOOOOOOM!" sounds off.  You, thinking the world has started WWIII, take off running like your life depends on it, and never look back.  This was before iPhones, iPods, Smartphones, and all that stuff.  You just had to rely on your senses, and not check FB to see who posted about it, or see if the news was reporting a bombing run over our small town.

Needless to say, I took great pride in the art of making this truck backfire on command.

However, this fateful day I had to turn at the top of that small crest.  Having turned there many times before, I knew precisely where my shift points were geographically. 

And right at that point, I saw a little old man walking to his mailbox.  In his baby blue boxers.  And in a white tank top.  He proudly shuffled along in his slippers and white crew socks.  Oh, did I mention he was leaning on a walker?

It was at that exact moment I decided that backfiring vehicles were not as fun as they were 5 seconds ago.

I knew I would have to shift right beside him.  I knew the truck would backfire.  I knew the results would be terrible.  In the moment where I saw him, and processed the thought about the backfire that was coming, I made a tragic mistake.

I hesitated on my shift patterns.  Somewhere in the dark place of my mind is a little man who is none too bright.  And he yelled, "Why dont you coast by the guy, then shift, that way the back fire wont bother him."  This sounded good, and thats what I decided to do.

To anyone that has driven a backfire prone vehicle, you understand my mistake.  I had allowed the gas vapors to build.

I coasted by him. 

He was not looking at me.

Then....I shifted.

KABLOOOOOMMMMEEEYYYYYYYY!!!!!!

Living in a small town, anything out of the ordinary quickly becomes coffee break news.  And the story of a war vet that went nuts (while wearing his boxers and a white tank top no less), thought his walker was a 4 barreled gun, and the embellishment of the fact that it took 3 police officers, a nurse,  a fire truck (I still dont understand why they were called), a division of the National Guard, and a WWII actor to get this war vet settled down was simply to much.  Folks laughed about it for days.

Mr Johnson has went on to meet his maker now, but I will never forget him.  Or the day that I made him local news while he was wearing baby blue boxers and a white tank top.
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: The Purple Fuzzy on May 24, 2012, 02:37:29 PM
:rofl:
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: Lynx on May 24, 2012, 03:48:17 PM
In the words of a certain late computer company CEO...  Boom.
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: MelodyB on May 24, 2012, 04:11:12 PM
Oh. My. :o
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: Melody on May 25, 2012, 02:00:41 AM
That is priceless.  Love it!
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: The Purple Fuzzy on November 30, 2012, 01:38:41 AM
We need a new story :hypocrite:
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: mini on November 30, 2012, 06:21:44 PM
Ok...  :P
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: mini on February 05, 2013, 07:43:46 PM
 :flush:

THE GLORY HALLELUJAH PLUNGER

This is one of those stories that you look back on and laugh, but at the time, you are embarrassed to speak of it.  Like the time you fell in love with your first crush just to find out that they were really your cousin.  Unless you are in Arkansas, in which case, its perfectly normal.

We had been having intermittent sewer problems for a few weeks.  You might do a load of laundry, and the sink would gurgle.  Or if you took a shower, it was slow to drain.  Or if you flushed the stool, the sink would let out a low moan and gurgle that made you think seriously about calling in a priest for a exorcism.

As alpha male, husband, father, and general flunky of the house, it fell on me to fix this problem.  After a week of no laundry being washed, my wife was headed towards anxiety meds.  I was headed for a encounter with being shot, so I decided to get motivated and fix this problem.

My first step was to buy a plunger.  We had a perfectly good plunger, but alas, my son decided the dog needed to be a unicorn, and chased the dog around the house one afternoon.  The dog developed a unhealthy hatred toward plungers, and one night attacked and destroyed our faithful plunger.
The store had replacement plungers for $4.99.  But as any good store will do, they had a display, surrounded by lights, bright colors, and a church choir singing the Hallelujah Chorus of this plunger contraption that was "guaranteed to unclog any toilet." 

I had to have it. 

And it was only $39.99. 

My wife looked at me, the plunger, the price, and repeated the process about 14 times.  I told her that 1) we needed one, and 2) it was guaranteed to unclog the drain.  She rolled her eyes, looked at her phone where she had stored the local plumbers phone number, and looked back at me. 

I assured her I could do it.

When we got home that afternoon, I took my super plunger out for a test run.  Immediately, I realized one plunge from that thing sent enough air out to knock a elephant flat at 900 yards.  If you accidentally had that thing down and it got a hold of your skin, it would leave a hickey that would make a pirate blush.   This was no amateur attempt at making a plunger.  A seriously demented plumber must have designed this thing.

One quarter of a plunge later, I had managed to shoot a four foot stream of water back out the shower drain.   

I decided right then, I needed to call in the big guns.  Namely, my dad.

My wife, in the bedroom at the moment, didn't see a thing.  If she had, she would have called the plumber.  But I knew my dad and I could handle it.

Dad is one of these jack of all trades who can fix anything.    I know, I should have called him first, but I was confident in my own abilities.  Now I knew I was out of my league.

In a few minutes he was at our house, and after walking him through the customary "this is what its doing when we do that", he asked if I had checked at the clean-out.  Of course, I hadn't.  That's why I called him.

Most modern sewers have a clean-out so that you can clean your pipes.  Clog under the house?  Roots in the pipe?  Open the clean-out, run a sewer sake, and clean it out.

We walked outside, next to the house, and started to unscrew the cap on the clean-out.

At that moment, unbeknownst to us, my wife walked into the bathroom, saw my new glory hallelujah plunger, and decided to give it a go.  So, with everything in her, and all 120 pounds of her 5' 4" frame, she gave it a plunge.

And at that exact moment, the sewer clean-out cap blew off.  It sent a gusher of sewer 40 feet up in the air, covering dad and me.  At least I think it was 40 foot high.  We were both knocked flat on our backs.  My first thought was old faithful, followed quickly by "Dear Lord, this is where I meet you."

I looked at dad, he looked at me, and we both stood staring at each other slack jawed, stunned, dripping wet, and smelling like you know what.

I humbly went to the front door and asked my wife to call the plumber.

Later that night, my wife mentioned trying the plunger out, and I realized what had happened.  I still haven't told dad.  Hes been telling his buddies about our sewer pressure, and they have been amazed. 

No use in ruining a good story with facts if you ask me.
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: okieoliveoyl on February 05, 2013, 07:52:55 PM
you know..it isn't wise to read this post if you are at work.  About halfway through this you WILL get a call from a customer and it will take ALL of your power to not laugh at them on the phone.....

*leaves..and prints this out to pass around said work..*
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: The Purple Fuzzy on February 05, 2013, 08:38:22 PM
:rofl:
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: MelodyB on February 06, 2013, 03:01:59 AM
BOL!! That is amazing! Especially since I know EXACTLY what problems you had cause we have the same things happening lately. And now I know what that outside pipe thing is called. Clean-out. Nice.
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: Roscoe on February 06, 2013, 12:32:44 PM
 :laughhard:
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: mini on August 22, 2014, 11:14:38 PM
*bump in preparation (h)*
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: mini on August 22, 2014, 11:49:35 PM
Rough draft...

To fully understand the implications of this story, I need to take you back several years to a Tuesday morning in spring. 

The previous evening had been one of those wonderful days where you feel alive, free, and ready to tackle the list of "honey-do's" that only a decently warm spring day after a long winter can bring.  And I had over done myself.  Yard work, branches hauled off, flowerbeds spruced up.  And this was after a full day of work.

So that Tuesday morning, I found myself looking at someone in the mirror who needed coffee, more sleep, and a few aspirin to quench the various aches and pains that had showed up during the night to remind me that I was not as young as I had once dreamed.

In that stupor, I accidentally knocked something off the shelf.

In a fully awake mode, the little guy who mans the reaction room inside my head monitors all activity.  If he had been fully awake, he would have hit a switch that turned on a reaction that sent a signal to my hand to attempt to grab it.

To both of our surprise, he didn't.  And before I could react, my hand snaked out, and caught the falling object in mid air.

That little man was given a award, patted on the back.

But I knew the truth.  And so did he.

Several times, in complete secrecy, we tested this.  I would knock something off, he would sit there, never flipping the switch to cause a reaction, and I would catch the object before it hit the counter.
In this, we developed a mutual agreement that he would let me be, and I reveled in my new found ability.

All went well for several years until this past week.

Working in a hospital, and un-medical as I am, I am as nervous as a yeller tomcat at a German shepherd convention.  And as you learn quickly at a hospital, not everyone who goes to a hospital comes out alive.  Working on the 6th floor, one wing had been developed into a hospice wing.

Tom O'Donnell and Mike Quinn were our two guys staffed in the mortuary.  Both are pretty nice guys, and both keep the business of death a quiet, somber and respectful time.

Until last week.

After a long, mentally exhausting day, I went to the elevator to ride down to the parking garage.  And at that exact moment, Mike Quinn came out of hospice pushing a bed.

With a figure under a sheet.

I froze.

The elevator opened.

He asked if I would help with the elevator buttons.

I fumbled a bit over my words, and something from the linguistics room jumbled together as a "Yes."

And so, I stepped into a elevator with a dead guy and a mortician.  Mike stood quietly at the foot of the bed, not saying much.  I stood near the head of the bed, next to the elevator buttons, trying not to think of the dead person just inches away.

The first two floors slipped silently away, when suddenly the sheet moved, and whoever was sitting there sat up and started to swing their feet over the side.

This was accompanied by a perfect horror movie zombie type groan.

As the sheet started to slip down off the head of this individual, somewhere in the halls of my mind, some little man in a reaction room hit the door running.

I believe he was yelling words that I normally don't associate with, but that fact is yet to be proven.

In a perfect slow motion picture, I watched my hand snake out, and realized the tension from the elevator ride had left me clenching my fist.

About the time the sheet slipped off the dead (or not so dead) guys head I realized that it was Tom O'Donnell, they were playing a joke on me, and unfortunately my hand was on the way to punch clean through whatever object stood in its way.

Somewhere between the 3rd and 2nd floor, I gave Tom O'Donnell a shiner that made him the stuff of legends around work for a few days.

And I have heard that when the mortuary transfers bodies, they block off the elevator now.
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: MelodyB on August 23, 2014, 03:35:30 AM
Hahaha!!! Nice!


I can see how you were scared, but I have been in many elevators and many long car trips with dead bodies. Once you get used to it, it's not so creepy.
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: Lynx on August 23, 2014, 12:58:16 PM
I hear when they transport dead bodies by air they take them to the jet in an unmarked van.  Which is considerate I think... imagine looking out the plane window and seeing a hearse pull up.  "Uh... stewardess I've changed my mind.  I think I'll take the bus."
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: MelodyB on August 27, 2014, 02:14:57 AM
Our van was just a regular van with the seats removed. A Ford Areostar.
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: MelodyB on August 27, 2014, 02:19:51 AM
Although...come to think of it, dad had landar bars on the side, so people did reconize it as a funeral transport. But I have seen some (just today actually) that look just like regular vans or SUVs. Tint the windows, take out the seats, put a piece of plywood on the floor and there ya go.
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: mini on December 24, 2016, 12:51:19 PM
I shouldn't have read these at 6 am.  I was laughing and woke Chelleebelle up.
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: Roscoe on December 24, 2016, 01:55:31 PM
Ain't it time for a new installment??
Title: Re: The Good Guys Always Win
Post by: Lynx on December 24, 2016, 02:44:13 PM
Those accordion plungers are great while they last. Mark Lowry was talking about picking one up and trying it out on a clog. He got a call from a neighbor three doors down, "Hey thanks! What kind of plunger was that?"

They don't hold up well over time though. After a year or so the plastic bends start cracking.