tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12747323080274491292024-03-12T23:15:36.268-07:00DeistBrawler: Mindless Rants of a Mindless PersonDeistBrawlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208558981915537789noreply@blogger.comBlogger133125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1274732308027449129.post-91350290990159121142011-11-11T15:26:00.000-08:002011-11-11T15:34:51.250-08:00CBR-III: Bonus Book: Inheritance<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ4DDhNDTCqCW_Fgg6i5RNA38qXtiBMKj0i8X1mCU4TljGgiJqlbP56iMvzXNq86yYAJGpU4X3JdSVT75J9xrhF_axO1g4lgUluIrue2kusiJsYt_0tnjYhXzRpLj4jrTgUWLocJ6fP95L/s1600/pajibacard.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 314px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ4DDhNDTCqCW_Fgg6i5RNA38qXtiBMKj0i8X1mCU4TljGgiJqlbP56iMvzXNq86yYAJGpU4X3JdSVT75J9xrhF_axO1g4lgUluIrue2kusiJsYt_0tnjYhXzRpLj4jrTgUWLocJ6fP95L/s400/pajibacard.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5673885486266036786" /></a><br />I can't really write much of a review in this review seeing as how it's the last book in a four part series. To give away any of the plot would be too revealing for anyone considering on actually picking the series up. So I'm going to tackle this another way. Hopefully you can bear with me.<br /><br />I picked up the <span style="font-style:italic;">Inheritance Cycle</span> shortly after Eldest came out from a friend of mine. Actually, I think it was an ex girlfriend but that doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. It's not a well written series. I have to admit that. It's certainly not on par with<i> Lord of the Rings</i> even though the author attempts to create a Tolkien like setting and languages.<br /><br /><div>Christopher Paolini was around 15 when he started doing the initial writing for <i>Eragon</i> and the second edition was published in 2003 when he was 19. Is it awesome that he managed to get a book published so young? Fuck yeah. I still haven't had one published. Of course, that would require me to get past my slump and actually write one. What does that mean for Paolini though? He wasn't very mature when he wrote the first book. I would even dare to say that due to home schooling that maturity was probably even more lacking. So the book isn't very polished or refined. It's childlike in its approach and is generally considered to be even less of a young adult book than <i>Harry Potter</i> is. However, that being said, he has managed to grow in his books. I wouldn't say his writing is phenomenal now, after reading<i> Inheritance</i>, but he's getting there. He still keeps the playfulness of the other books, that lack of maturity, but he now manages to imbue more adult themes and situations into the work.<br /><br /></div><div>What Paolini manages though is to bring emotion into reading about his <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_zMBI9wwOfmSnwJJqkyuUdirlLyRKuT_xkL_rsazRekNwK-lp3hJ8FVlecWEf0enN3SznR_8SC_J3Wok2QN4DZFaxrCLVeiEOCFy_CDzk7jKOhy9zvZIRd2zbNK_8eeEAM2m0xnj4zcCu/s1600/inheritance.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 270px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_zMBI9wwOfmSnwJJqkyuUdirlLyRKuT_xkL_rsazRekNwK-lp3hJ8FVlecWEf0enN3SznR_8SC_J3Wok2QN4DZFaxrCLVeiEOCFy_CDzk7jKOhy9zvZIRd2zbNK_8eeEAM2m0xnj4zcCu/s400/inheritance.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5673885704171407810" /></a>characters. After reading <i>Inheritance</i> I was left with a similar feeling to reading<i> The Deathly Hallows</i>. I was sad. I cried several times. I felt depressed after having a series disappear on me. I've spent six years involved in a series that has just come to a conclusion. In fact the spacing of the books is close to that of <i>Harry Potter</i>. I feel terrible for fans of the <i>A Song of Ice and Fire</i> series. </div><div><br /></div><div>Literature also makes you more invested in the characters than a film does. At least in my opinion. I didn't cry when (<b><i>Harry Potter</i> Spoiler</b>: for those rare people who haven't read the series or seen the movies) Hedwig died in the movie, but you can bet your fucking ass I cried when I read that part in the book (<b>End Spoiler</b>). It's a trying thing for a fan of a series. To read the characters of Eragon, Saphira, Arya, Roran, Murtagh, and the world of Alagaësia as their story ends. It's almost like letting go of an old friend. To see how your dreams of what would happen with the characters disintegrate...it's hard.<br /><br /></div><div>Now that I've expressed my mental anguish, let me discuss the book. The series was supposed to end with <i>Brisingr</i>. It was only supposed to be a trilogy. So I remember when a friend let me borrow it that they said to me, "Be prepared. You're going to be pissed." </div><div><br /></div><div>Of course I didn't understand until I got to the end. Not only was I pissed because I was expecting it to be the last, but because I knew I was likely going to have to wait another three years to be able to finish it. At 849 pages I still don't think Paolini was ready to finish it. </div><div><br /></div><div>The end result was that I feel a bit cheated. I found the ending to <i>The Deathly Hallows</i> to be a bit idiotic. I even laughed when I read it. The ending to<i> The Lord of the Rings</i> trilogy, appropriate. I think Paolini wanted a <i>Lord of the Rings</i> ending, but he's no Tolkien. </div><div><br /></div><div>He dragged out the ending unnecessarily. Continually adding more and more when I just wanted to find out what the fuck happened to the characters. In doing so he aggravated me. Which is not something you really want to do to a fan of a series that is ending. I found several moments where I felt he could have stopped...and he didn't. I kept turning the page for him to reveal new things to me. If he had managed to quit writing, and put his thoughts to the side, I think he could have come up with a much better ending.<br /><br /></div><div>If you're a <i>Harry Potter</i> fan I think you can find yourself interested in the characters. If you liked <i>Lord of the Rings</i> you will see plenty of similarities. If you loved <i>Lord of the Rings</i> you might hate the <i>Inheritance Cycle</i>. I don't know if I should give an age disclaimer here. I read <i>Eragon</i> when I was around 22, and I was able to enjoy it. Granted, I think my IQ might have dropped a few points, but I liked it. The series does get better though. </div><div><br /></div><div>I kind of wonder what it would have been like it Paolini started it at 25 rather than 15. </div>DeistBrawlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208558981915537789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1274732308027449129.post-86320548327064743352011-10-13T08:45:00.000-07:002011-10-13T08:51:04.998-07:00CBR-III: Book #52: The Strong Shall Live<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaCqOamnMCI81SiYa5YH2O1exrUvmcRMjx521aCvgocB3D4daw14QJh4woxJpdbRQvhDd1J5f_Z2ZwFBktC354iQ_4NHI0B37WG2f6KB7uvVdnmJF1I9gQyFBByHzvSoXUArtgBytOyw3r/s1600/pajibacard.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 314px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaCqOamnMCI81SiYa5YH2O1exrUvmcRMjx521aCvgocB3D4daw14QJh4woxJpdbRQvhDd1J5f_Z2ZwFBktC354iQ_4NHI0B37WG2f6KB7uvVdnmJF1I9gQyFBByHzvSoXUArtgBytOyw3r/s320/pajibacard.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663004569400423218" /></a><br />Technically I finished the Cannonball Read a while back. I’d read another of the <i>Women’s Murder Club</i>, another <i>Jason Bourne</i> book, and another <i>Jack Reacher</i> book, but since I’d done a mass review of those I felt a solo review would be kind of cheap. Then I read <i>Cowboys and Aliens</i> by Joan D. Vinge thinking it was what the film was based on and finding out it is a novelization of the screenplay (its almost identical, but provides a little more character development and a different ending). The original is actually a graphic novel by Scott Mitchell Rosenberg. Basically I wanted to end on a high note and not sell myself short. I wanted to look good.<br /><br /><blockquote><i>“They came west to stay, risking their blood to dig the gold, ride the range, conquer the greedy, and carve out a legacy of freedom. Men honed by desert fires and edged by combat with fist and gun. Women tested to the limit of endurance by an unrelenting land. Now, in a long-awaited collection of his stories, Louis L'Amour tells of the real heroes of the frontier, the survivors for whom hanging tough was as natural as drawing breath.”</i></blockquote><br />-That’s the description for Louis L’Amour’s <i>The Strong Shall Live</i>.<br /><br />I’ll be honest in admitting that the son of a man who owns damn near every one of L’Amour’s books just read one of his for the first time. My dad even has the whole leather bound collection. I’ve never been a big fan of western writing though. I love western movies, but the writing always seems to bore me with vast descriptions of landscape…like <i>Blood Meridian</i> by Cormac McCarthy. That book took me three weeks to read.<br /><br /><i>The Strong Shall Live</i> is exactly what its description said; a collection of <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioxwyGHVi9SA_kgIHQJ-TstfAk7t7-ER3EIN0MiihrBQdYLHkM0QBqTmjVdLhg0doQliyLzzbyiyogZyKYEVjvZCFpBr6zKyEIgV4Z8I61Ir4dJxfamlOrGIWqQqoY_J_ukxVyRwtzlhqc/s1600/strongshalllive.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 245px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioxwyGHVi9SA_kgIHQJ-TstfAk7t7-ER3EIN0MiihrBQdYLHkM0QBqTmjVdLhg0doQliyLzzbyiyogZyKYEVjvZCFpBr6zKyEIgV4Z8I61Ir4dJxfamlOrGIWqQqoY_J_ukxVyRwtzlhqc/s400/strongshalllive.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663004645914996002" /></a>short stories about really tough people. It opens up with the story of Cavagan, a solitary man cut from combat and natural hardship he’s the thorn in the side of a group of outlaws. After extensive tries to make the man leave, including attempts to kill him, the leader of the outlaws takes him out in the middle of nowhere (without food, water, or ammunition) and dumps him, leaving him for dead. Only Cavagan knows the land, and he’s stubborn.<br /><br />That very first short story is the namesake of the series, “The Strong Shall Live.” The rest of the book follows a similar pattern. My favorite was “Hattan’s Castle.” The story follows Bon Caddo, a giant of a man, also solitary, who takes to mining a piece of land in peace. The town, however, is led by John Daniel. He’s a ruthless cutthroat that likes his hands in everything. Originally he tries to get one of his men to bring Caddo in to “talk.” When that doesn’t work he sends his private, prettiest girl, Cherry Creslin to go talk him in. Only Cherry falls in love with Caddo. Daniels sends someone to kill him, that doesn’t work, so Caddo brings the fight to him. I don’t know why I loved that particular story more than the others. I just did.<br /><br />The great thing about Louis L’Amour is that everything he writes about is real. Maybe not the actual characters or the story themselves, but the environment. As my father told me…”If L’Amour writes about a creek or a cave. They exist. They are right where he says they are.” It’s an admirable trait and one that grew on me. I like that he’s traveled over the areas he writes about, that he has actually led an interesting life himself, and I loved that these short stories dealt with quiet, tough people. The characters aren’t glorified outlaws. They’re not gunslingers or gamblers. They are normal, hardworking people. One of the stories, “One Night Stand,” involves an actor who is hired to drive a young gunnman out of town. He pretends to be Wild Bill Hickock and frightens him away.<br /><br />As a person who is not a fan of western literature I cannot recommend the book more. It’s wonderful. A fantastic little glimpse at the opposite side of frontier life. Away from the known famous ones like Wyatt Earp and Billy the Kid. A derailment from tales of prostitutes and alcoholics.DeistBrawlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208558981915537789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1274732308027449129.post-11898126405881170382011-10-05T10:01:00.000-07:002011-10-05T10:17:55.924-07:00NaitoFor those of you who endeavour to read this, I salute you. This was an eight part series that I wrote in early 2008 for a friend of mine named Michael Sherman. Be forewarned that it is kind of long, so this isn't a quick blog read. It's more of a long short story (close to 50 pages). You can tell how some of my style changes as I go through it, and even my "voice." Anyway. Thanks for reading, and enjoy. <br /><br /><br /><B>Naito</B><br /><br />Jack stood in a small clearing of the dense woods, bare chested to nature his nipples were erect in the chill air and the small silver pendant, a tiny cross hanging around his neck, almost seemed to command the moonlight as it glimmered eerily.<br /><br />He put his blood drenched hands, that were quickly drying, up to his face and rubbed vigorously, finishing by sliding them through his thick close cut black hair. He then ran them down his chest, lingering over his heart, and down to his sides where he clenched them into fists hard enough to turn his knuckles white. He screamed. It wasn't a simple scream, or a scream of sorrow, but a scream of hate. He screamed so long, and so hard, that the back of his throat sent tingles of pain into him even welling his eyes with tears. He beat his fists into his chest, like a large male guerilla, and let out a guttural roar. Then quickly, in what would look like a moment of Zen, he took in several deep breaths, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, and the hands at his sides opened loosely. His posture, which before had been very stoic and stiff slowly began to relax, the shoulders no longer tense, muscles no longer taunt and rigid.<br /><br />Apparently he felt the cold now because he let out a violent shiver and wrapped his arms around himself. He looked around, disoriented and confused and reached down to grab his shirt off of the ground, seeing his hands covered in blood he dropped the shirt again and began to scrub at them. Realizing the futility in this notion he looked around, found the path he had taken into the woods, and headed back down it at a full on run.<br /><br />He was in excellent physical condition; having been a track star in both high school and college his form was perfect even as he dodged around low hanging branches and small bushes. After college he had started working out more, often going to the gym at least four days a week, and taking classes in both yoga and muah Thai, if you were to look at him, you would say he was in the best shape of his life, which many people did. His muscles almost flowed into each other, lean and graceful, and if you watched closely enough you could see each one perform their necessary tasks. His continued to run in a full sprint until he came to a man made clearing.<br /><br />In this center of this clearing stood a small cabin, old, run down, the wood was rotted and splintering, faded and dull, a small trickle of smoke rose out of a tiny chimney and into the night, and a small window emitted a thin amount of light onto bare ground. He ran for the cabin and then slowed his pace as he neared it. Jack walked around to the front, slowly, feeling the cold slightly damp ground under his bare feet, the crunch of dried leaves.<br /><br />The entrance to the cabin, like the rest of it, was plain, a small porch with a rocking chair and a rack of wood for the fire were the only ornaments. The door was ajar, light spilled out onto the porch and out of two windows on either side of it. He approached slowly, and walked inside. The inside of the cabin looked much like the outside, small pieces of old tattered furniture, a bed, and a small kitchen, fit the one large square room.<br /><br />On the far wall right in front of him the body was still slumped, the axe blade still buried in its chest, gore on the wall and floor around it. The dead man's hand sat in his lap cupping a generous amount of blood like a crimson pool. The man was large, easily over six foot six, which only made him a few inches taller then Jack, but the bulk of his three hundred pound frame easily made Jack look much smaller. He spit on him, and then turned his attention to the man lying in the center of the room. This man was much smaller then he was, only about five-ten, cuts all over his body, penetrating through the black fatigues that he was wearing, showed that he had gone down in a hard fight. Jack spit on this man too, then gingerly touched his own wound on his forearm, and his right eye, which had already stopped swelling. He regarded the two other bodies as well, one draped over a wooden chair that looked like it was ready to crumble, the other by the kitchen sink, the head disappearing in the murky water where it had been left when he died, the body was crumpled like an accordion, Jack figured his chin must be stuck on the inside of the sink. All of the men were dressed in identical black fatigues; all of them had the same buzz cut hair. He looked around at the carnage, 9mm pistols lay discarded on the floor, and a knife was against one wall, what looked like a police baton lay on the bed.<br /><br />Jack moved around the bodies quickly to a suitcase that was under the bed. He pulled it out, it was one of those steel suitcases like you see in bad cop movies that the criminals always carry their drugs or cash in. Removed a change of clothes, black pants, black shirt, black hoodie and toboggan, black socks…he almost laughed at the pattern. It seemed all of his life he had always worn black, just like all of his life he had been fighting, just like all of his life he had been running. He put the clothes on, capped it off with a pair of black steel-toed boots, the kind that loggers wear, and headed back out the door. Without realizing it he was running again, all the way to the black explorer with tinted windows.<br /><br />He opened it up and climbed into the passenger seat, he could have riffled through the bodies to find the keys to this vehicle, but that would have taken to long. Instead he reached underneath the console, pulled out several wires, and started it. He threw it into drive and headed straight for the cabin that was about a mile back. Without stopping he punched through the center of the cabin, rolling the massive vehicle over the body in the center of the floor, and stopping when it ran into the big man against the wall. He hopped out, grabbed the knife off of the floor, rolled under the SUV and punched a hole in the gas tank with the blade. Instantly the smell of gasoline permeated the entire room and he walked back outside through the large hole he just made and began tossing would back in from the pile, a trail, leading from the small fireplace to the SUV. It didn't take as long as he thought for the fire to get going and he had to back up to escape the heat as the cabin went up like a match.<br /><br />He shielded his eyes and smiled.<br /><br />The smile quickly faded from his face however when he heard the sounds of more approaching vehicles. He silently cursed himself, he should have known they would have sent backups; no single squad had ever taken out the Night. He ran to the edge of the tree line, found the tree he had marked with a large slash from a katana, and began to push leaves to the side until he found the box he was looking for, half-buried in the ground.<br /><br />He opened it quickly, he never put a lock on it, he had no reason to put a lock on it, no one would have ever found it and to find it someone would have to be incredibly lucky, and Jack didn't believe in luck. Inside the box his hands hovered over an array of weapons, from automatic weapons, explosives and knives, to pistols and swords. He removed a katana with a design like that of the early Muromachi period and its shorter counterpart, a tanto, and ran into the tree line.<br /><br />He could have handled this from a distance, but the bastards had pissed him off this time, they should have known better then to come to his retreat. That cabin had been his only escape from the world around him. He bit his tongue until he tasted blood. Two explorers slid to a halt in front of the cabin and four men spilled out of each one, they were layered with automatic weapons, pistols, knives, and even hand grenades. One group of four spread out to surround the cabin while the others seemed to be holding their ground.<br />Jack bid his time, watching their movement, figuring out which ones were slower, the weaker prey, not as quick and more jumpy then the guy standing next to him. He quickly ascertained that the group that stayed behind were the "hunters," the best of them. They stood in a tight circle, backs to each other, in between a crouch and standing, a "ready" position, bull-pup rifles at the ready. He smiled; they were getting better-trained men. The men who had surrounded the cabin began walking towards the woods, following Jack's tracks. The burning cabin gave them ample light to see by, but it also limited their night vision. Almost as Jack thought this the group of "hunters" pulled out night vision goggles, the ones who were facing the fire turned to look out into woods.<br /><br />Jack felt his pulse rise.<br /><br />He moved quickly through the woods, whisper quiet, stealth training he had had quickly took over and he even began counting his steps silently in his head. When he chose his time to move he did so at an efficient sprint to the other side of the "hunters" explorer. He could see them through the window; none of them were looking in his direction, their mistake. He marked where the other squad was at and saw that they were still heading to the tree line a good hundred yards away. He smiled and with minimal effort and almost no noise he climbed onto the roof of the explorer. None of the men below him had any idea that he was there, they were good, but not good enough. Keeping the katana in his left hand, and the shorter cousin in his left he jumped and swiped at the same time.<br /><br />His swipe took the head off of the man to his right, the head didn't going flying, it seemed to linger in place then slowly slide off, blood flew out of the stump like a tiny spurting geyser, and before the body even had time to fall he buried the blade of the smaller weapon straight into the throat of another man. At the extreme angle, it looked like the man had sprouted a handle out of the hole between his collarbones at the base of the throat. By this time the other two men were turning to react but they were moving too slow. Jack delivered a kick with his steel toe boots straight to one of the men's temples resulting in a thick and satisfying thud and crack. The last man got the katana in full force splitting him from shoulder to belly button. The body opened up from the weight and blood came out in a flood mixed with spilling organs. A slight scent of urine, a whiff of shit as the bowels were penetrated.<br /><br />Not one of them had screamed out, not one of them had fired a shot. And these were their best? Jack gave a maniacal laugh as he ran back into the woods, and turned his attention to the other group, who, startled from the laugh, had turned to find its source, and instead saw the mass massacre that lay behind them. Several of them started backing up, closer to the woods, and Jack smiled as he allowed the darkness to devour him.<br />"Come into the dark," he whispered, "meet the terror of Night."<br /> <br /><B>Part II</B><br /><br />Jack moved through the throng of people on the sidewalk with an elegant yet vicious grace. He moved smoothly, gliding around the people as if they weren't even there. Of course they were though, and by the time he had made it a block he already had seven wallets, two watches, five cell phones, three necklaces, and an engagement ring. As he rounded the corner the dropped them into a trash can. He didn't want any of them; he just wanted to make sure his skills were still sharp. Before the attack on his cabin, he had been out of the business for about three years, now he was preparing to make a comeback, in a not so pleasant way. As he continued to weave through the crowd he was making a mental prep list. A plan of execution. When he thought he had a good one that would work he headed in the direction of the shiny, gaudy, thirty story building. When he walked through the main entrance he didn't even have to blink, his shades had shielded him from the harsh light outside, and they made him prepared for the dull light inside.<br /><br />Security hadn't even paid any attention to him yet. And they would in a moment. The suits around him, men walking about their dull lives, would probably never exceed five hundred dollars…the one he was wearing was worth five thousand. Hell, even his shades were worth five hundred dollars. He could feel the scabbard of his katana against the spine of his back and it calmed him a bit. Of course, the four Glock 26 nine millimeter pistols along the back of his pants should have comforted him too, but it was his watch, a Breguet Type XX, that if anyone could recognize would know was worth eight thousand dollars, that made him the most comfortable. He looked down at it, noting the time, then moved straight to the security desk.<br /><br />See, most people, most assassins, hit men, muscle, contract killers, mercenaries, etc. would never, ever, make a scene. They would find the quietest path, so alarms don't get raised, shooting doesn't start, and general mayhem and chaos won't rule. Jack, however, liked chaos.<br /><br />As he walked up to the desk he noticed the guards begin to pay attention to him. There were seven in all. The main lobby looked almost like a typical security enforced lobby you would see in any cheap film. The desk was a half moon filled with television monitors that sat in the center of the room, to get to the elevators you had to either go to the left or the right of the desk. Floors 1-15 on the right, 15-30 on the left. To the left and right of the giant room were couches, love seats, and mahogany coffee tables. Small rest areas that no one ever used, only those that were lost, or waiting to take someone to lunch. The seats were all the tacky old leather looking chairs, meant to show class and elegance. While Jack was a killer, he still had taste, and he thought if they really wanted class and elegance they should have gone for some Trados chairs. But that thought was a sliver. Of the seven guards around the room, three were behind the main desk, then there was one guard per hall monitoring the elevators, the other two were at the main entrance, therefore to his back. There were wearing the typical gray security guard uniform but as Jack also noticed, there were all carrying 40 S&W's, most security guards bought their own gun and therefore carried different types. He smirked and raised an eyebrow. Not normal security.<br /><br />"Hello there sir, welcome to Capital Universal Exports, how can I direct your inquiry?"<br /><br />The guard that spoke was young, probably early twenties, fresh out of some branch of the service.<br /><br />"Yes," this time he let the Irish accent shine through in his voice, most of the time he hid it, but he had no reason to now, just like he no longer had his hair died black, it was back to his natural fiery red, "I notice your elevators there only go to the thirtieth floor, I would like to get to the thirty-first, now how would I do that?"<br /><br />The guard to the left of the one speaking turned his head and touched a finger to his ear.<br /><br />"I'm sorry sir, we only have thirty floors?"<br /><br />"Oh but Shirley ya must be mistaken, I'm looking for Mr. Tamaguchi."<br /><br />The guard to the left turned his head back and gave Jack a foreboding look, if Jack was a betting man he would guess that the guards at the door behind him were moving up. The young man in front of him however, continued his cool gaze.<br /><br />"I'm sorry mister…?"<br /><br />"O'Carroll."<br /><br />"I'm sorry Mister O'Carroll, but we don't seem to have a Mister Tamaguchi working here, perhaps he works at another one of our branches."<br /><br />"Ya never even looked at that computer lad."<br /><br />"My apologies Mister O'Carroll but I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave…if you would please accompany the two gentleman behind you they will direct you to the door."<br /><br />Jack sighed, hung his shoulders down a little like he looked like he was accepting defeat; instead, he was getting ready. He looked at the young man in front of him and frowned,<br /><br />"What's ya name boy?"<br /><br />"Casey sir."<br /><br />The young guard gave him a smile as Jack swiftly removed one of the pistols from its holster. Ten seconds, seven bullets, and all seven guards were dead. It happened so quickly none of the people moving around the busy office building did anything, and then they ran screaming. Jack thought it was amazing how weak people become, if all the men in the room had rushed him in that moment Jack would have been a goner, instead, he calmly made his way to the stairs, after grabbing Casey's security card. A woman ran into him, screamed, and fainted. As Jack began to hear heavier footsteps coming, a determined pattern of more security guards he used the card and gained access to the stairs.<br /><br />He quickly took off his jacket, tie, and shoes revealing tabi boots and looked up, thirty-one flights of stairs. He laughed, and ran up to first floor, down the hallway he came to the elevators, forced the doors open, and jumped a car going up. Inside of the car he could hear security guards discussing going up to the floor he was headed for. Like taking candy from a baby he thought to himself. Near the desired floor he removed the tanto blade from inside his pants leg, and dropped in through the emergency exit, making sure to slip a piece of metal on the contact plate to keep the elevator from shutting down. Before the guards moved they were all dead, and Jack jumped up onto the railing to avoid tracking blood. When the doors opened he pause for five seconds, the dove out like he was diving into a pool, angling his body to the right he popped up alongside a wall as gunfire erupted the place he once occupied.<br /><br />"Who the fuck is this guy." Someone yelled.<br /><br />Panic. The Nyudaki no jutsu flowed through his head. Finding the psychological weakness. It was why he was called Naito-Night.<br /><br />"Joe says this dude is some sort of assassin."<br /><br />"An assassin?"<br /><br />"Why would an assassin be here?"<br /><br />"Shut the fuck up will ya?"<br /><br />Five different vocies was all Jack heard, and he strained to pick out more.<br /><br />"Go check will ya?" Six.<br /><br />"You go check." Seven.<br /><br />"Someone go check." Eight.<br /><br />"I'll do it." Nine.<br /><br />Jack looked around trying to get his bearings and figure out a way to conquer his environment. He saw an office door directly across the gap in front of him. He paused, reloaded the pistol he had fired earlier, and stood up. He walked casually, not fast, not swift, like he was taking a stroll in the park. When the guard with the balls peaked around the corner he put the barrell of the gun to his head and pulled the trigger, spraying a fine mist into the air, then continued his stroll halfway through the gap, looking at the guards, then he sprinted to, and through, the office door.<br /><br />Fifteen…fifteen guards all stationed in different points around the room. Some were behind desks, others around walls, some even stood directly in the center of the hall. The room Jack found himself in wasn't an office at all but rather the electrical boxes. He severed the lines, and suddenly the world was in blackness, he removed his shades, withdrew his tanto and his katana, and crept back to the gap. Joei-on jutsu. He could hear them breathing, he could hear them swallowing, he knew where all of them were.<br /><br />"Thirty seconds guys and emergency lighting kicks in."<br /><br />He would save him for last. Jack burst in the room, but no one saw him, no one even heard him.<br /><br />The slight hum of the back up generators kicked in and the security guard who made the statement looked out into the room with a smile on his face that quickly faded. Everyone was dead, and he hadn't heard a single noise. His gun, shaking in his right hand, began to rise when a sharp blade came around the back of his head and rested on his throat, he could feel that the blade was warm and sticky, and knew the reason why. Jack saw the elevator doors open, more guards spilled out, and he disposed of them with the 40 in the guards hand. He knew the guard wasn't dead, but he had stopped breathing.<br /><br />"How many are in da room with em?"<br /><br />The guard heard the voice and flinched. Jack expected him to piss himself but he didn't.<br /><br />"You don't want to go in there man." The guard said, he sounded northen, but Jack couldn't place it.<br /><br />"I think I do." Jack said.<br /><br />He dug the blade in deeper and the guard sagged a little.<br /><br />"Theres ten of them man, former Recces."<br /><br />Jack sighed as he slit the guards throat, he hated Recces, they had a tendency to be hard to kill. As Jack made his way to the door he could only assume was the main office because it had to have weighed over three thousand pounds, he thought about the Recces, South African Special Forces, considered to be the toughest in the world, some years no one ever gets past the selection process, they use the Galil assault rifle, 700 rounds a minute. These guys were the best of the best in the armed forces. But of couse…as he was thinking this Jack noted the ends of two Galil assualt rifles emerging from holes on either side of the door, these rifles opened fire as he scurried back around a wall. But of course…he thought to himself, I'm not in the armed forces. He thought of his options and smiled, he could try for the door but that could take too long, he could try for the ceiling but could get shot before he had a chance, or…<br /><br />Jack was on the roof and looking down, he could see the windows to the office he was aiming for and his smile faltered a bit. Who would put bulletproof glass on a thirty-one story bulding? He didn't think anyone would, and his smile returned. He stood there, rope around his left arm, pistol in his right, and let the wind rip at his body. He breathed, soothing, refocusing, eliminating fear. He didn't so much as jump off the roof of the building but rather ran, when he got to the office window he expected them to be paying attention to the door. Instead, these Reeces were looking right at him. He went from running to a straight dive, and the window ripped apart around him, sending glass showering to the pavement. He landed back on the roof and laughed, then he heard the slight whoomp as someone attempted to leave the office and triggered his small claymore. He had placed twenty of those behind him, each no bigger then a piece of gum, he had simply been carrying them in his pants pocket. He could hear them shouting and he knew that was a good thing, so he jumped back over the railing of the roof. Without the window to impede him he was able to go straight into the room and behind the large ornate Oak desk before him. The Galils tore the desk to pieces spitting out ragged holes, he knew it would be only seconds before they spread around the table and tore him to ribbons so he began a serious of jumps and dives going from one piece of heavy furniture to another. Jack realized quickly that they were wearing body armor, and dropped his pistols to once again retrieve his katana and tanto, no longer then a second later the shooting stopped.<br /><br />"Naito, my old friend, why do you come to my house unannounced?"<br /><br />Jack didn't reveal himself, he knew better, he would have been shot in heartbeat.<br /><br />"You came to mine, I come to yours." The irish accent had disappeared, it was replaced with an west coast one.<br /><br />"You know that wasn't my decision Naito, that was the entire councils."<br /><br />"Well, you're a member of the council."<br /><br />"Naito, you will not leave this room alive."<br /><br />"Every one of you on the council is dead."<br /><br />"My young friend, you cannot possibly believe you can kill us."<br /><br />"Oh, I can."<br /><br />While he was running Jack had noticed he had killed two of the men with his claymore, that had brought the number down to eight.<br /><br />"Hey guys," Jacks accent was now South African, "if you leave now I will let you live."<br /><br />He heard nothing, not even laughter. Most of the time he liked silence, not this time, this time it was almost unbearable. Fine, he thought to himself, if there was going to be silence, he flicked his IPOD on and Pantera, Five Minutes Alone, pumped into his ears, then let there be silence, and then he moved.<br /><br />Five mintues later Jack stood in the center of the room, a bullet hole through his right shoulder and a bloody gash on his left cheek. In the far distance he heard police sirens, they were probably on the street below him. Tamaguchi stood in front of him, a katana of his own in his hand. Jack stood stock still, if any of his wounds hurt, he wasn't showing it.<br /><br />"Why me Naito? Why me first?"<br /><br />"Why not?"<br /><br />Tamaguchi attacked, even for an old man he was remarkably quick, and Jack had a hard time in the skirmish because of his bad shoulder, but Tamaguchi himself never saw any of this.<br /><br />"You should be dead young one."<br /><br />"And you will be."<br /><br />Jack sliced him across the stomach, his form had his blade out in his left hand, his right arm out for balance, his legs in a half split, back straight. Tamaguchi's intestines began to seep out. The older man dropped to his knees and tried to catch his spilling guts.<br /><br />"Give me, honorable death." He grunted.<br /><br />"Give me one location." Jack retorted.<br /><br />Tamaguchi managed a short laugh. "Like it matters…Inishtearaght Lighthouse."<br /><br />He decapitated the man in one swift motion.<br /><br />Jack smiled, he was going to go home.<br /><br /><B>Part III</B><br />David Brenner, or at least that what people here thought his name was, stepped into the office with a coffee cup in hand. It was a typical office with typical employees and typical furniture to go with the typical paintings. The receptionist handed him a note as he walked by and he entered his office, shut the door and locked it. He opened the note and all it said was red. After removing his jacket he sat down at the desk and opened his laptop. He activated the alternate secure network, punched in his twenty-two character access code and the twenty-two character password and sighed. He pulled the sleeves of his long sleeve red shirt back, revealing corded muscles and a spider web that covered his entire left forearm and typed in the word: red. Instantly the message appeared on his screen.<br /><br />Target: Naito (Night), a.k.a. Jack Dower, Philip Stringer, James Macey, Donovan Cross, Victor Tridant, Thomas Sans.<br /><br />Current Location: Unknown.<br /><br />Current Probable Locations: New York, London, Paris, Rome, or Frankfurt.<br /><br />Note:<br /><br /> <I>How's it going Doc? That target you never wanted to have to go after is your current target. He killed Tamaguchi three hours ago. Good Luck. Passports and Money will be in their usual place. Contact Gregory when you get overseas, he will give you anything you will need. Good Luck.<br /><br /> -Dad</I><br /><br />The rest of the message was a dossier on Night but David didn't have to look at it, he already had it memorized. He deleted the message then triggered the explosive inside of his computer, he grabbed his jacket and headed out of the office as the computer sizzled and emitted a small amount of smoke. The receptionist made a move to say something to him but he headed out of the office anyway. Three hours later he was on a plane to London.<br /><br />Jack made his way to the top of the lighthouse, security wasn't as tight as Tamaguchi's had been, nor were they as trained, and he managed to dispose of them easily even with the bullet hole in his shoulder, it as a small wound though, basically a graze. Then again, Donovan wasn't a high ranking member of the council like Tamaguchi had been, he didn't rate top security. When he entered the top of the lighthouse he expected to find a room full of guards waiting for him but instead only Donovan was in the room. Sitting behind a massive desk as the light of the tower whirled around over his head.<br /><br />"Jack."<br /><br />"Donovan."<br /><br />"Welcome home boy."<br /><br />"You won't be saying that for long. Give me the location of the rest of the council members and I will let you die quickly, don't and you die slowly."<br /><br />Donovan was looking at a double barreled shotgun sitting on the desk in front of him but Jack wasn't worried, if he tried for it he could kill him before he even lifted the gun. Of course, he didn't want to kill him yet, so he would just hurt him.<br /><br />"Frankfurt…Rome…London…Paris…New York."<br /><br />"Where."<br /><br />"Fuck you."<br /><br />Jack raised the pistol in his hand, fired one round that exploded the back of the mans head into a shower of blood that stuck to the outside surface of the light of the lighthouse, giving it an eerie look that would circulate around the room. He made his way to the bottom of the lighthouse and out, back to his rented jeep. As soon as he got to the drivers side door he stopped, something seemed wrong, like it was almost too silent. There was a little light being given off by the security lights that were around the lighthouse and Jack quickly stepped back into the shadows.<br /><br />"If I wanted you dead Naito you would be."<br /><br />Jack scanned around looking for the source of the sound but couldn't place it, he had a general idea but he wanted to be certain.<br /><br />"Tamaguchi and Donovan huh? You plan on killing them all old buddy?"<br /><br />The source of the sound had moved and he tried to find it again. There was something else, something familiar about the voice, but he couldn't place it, what did he mean by old buddy?<br /><br />"The next time I see you, you will be dead. Don't make me kill you Daniel."<br /><br />Then he heard the sound of a motorcycle starting and saw a sliver of light disappear in the distance. He climbed into the jeep and started it, then sat there. Who knew his real name? Who? Who knew him that was still alive? Almost instantly the name came into his head. David. Like he was Naito, they called him Doc, he was especially good at torture. Jack smiled and remembered and he slunk down in his seat.<br /><br />At The School they were the top two in the class, and they were best friends even before they had been selected. They had started working with the IRA when they were thirteen years old, no major jobs, simple bombings, maybe an assassination every now and then. A man had simply walked up to them one day without making a sound and asked them if they wanted to join an exclusive club. Jack had tried to pull his gun on him but the man took it from him just as easily. The man had told them if they were interested to meet him at a coffee shop. He said if they chose to follow him they would never speak to anyone they knew in their life again. They were at the coffee shop earlier then planned the next day. What followed was seven years of intense training. Marital arts, stealth, MMA, gun training, knife fighting, evasive driving, anything you could think of that would be useful to a spy or an assassin even an education: foreign languages, history, art, math, science, English. They were not only made to be the perfect killing machine, but also an intelligent weapon. Always, no matter what subject or what training, Jack would beat out David. Except for one: knife fighting. While they were at the school they were given their codenames, Jack became Naito because of his superb use of stealth and quick lethal strikes, David became The Doctor, because of his supreme use of a blade.<br /><br />By the time Jack got back to his hotel it was nearly seven in the morning, he opened the door to his room and dove into the bathroom as the sound of suppressed gun fire filled the tiny area. He could hear a shuffling in the next room and the wall over his head erupted in dust and splinters as a fully automatic weapon tore the wall to shreds. He waited until the person in the next room would have to reload and got ready to strike. Instead of reloading though, the fire continued. His mind raced. This wasn't hired muscle; it was too coordinated, hired muscle would have run into the bathroom firing. It wasn't that though, he also knew it wasn't David, he would have been waiting above the door and would have slit his throat before he knew what happened. Jack actually kicked himself for that, his guard had been down. He also knew it wasn't muscle because the shooter had waited until he had seen Jack, until he had acquired his target. Jack also had the sneaky suspicion that it wasn't one well trained assassin but two because the fire still wasn't letting up and as soon as this thought entered his head he also knew who they were, Jekyll and Hyde. They had been brothers in the school. Jack started laughing, because he thought it was funny if the council had activated all of them. When they heard him laughing the brothers stopped shooting.<br /><br />"Come on guys." Jack yelled. "You were too slow."<br /><br />There was no response, only silence.<br /><br />"Ya'll know your dead right? Why don't you answer a few questions first and I may let you live."<br /><br />The response was instantaneous as the wall only inches above his head erupted in a shower of wooden shards. Jack waited. The door started to open, housekeeping, he had seen them down the hall when he had entered the room, and the shooting abruptly stopped. They were weak; the brothers never could stomach civilian casualties. Jack ran, he kicked the door shut as he vaulted up the wall, literally running down it. The room was dark, the curtains were closed so that Jack wouldn't have been able to see them when he had entered the room, but there was also light coming around the edges of the curtains and he could see them trying to track him. He kicked off the wall, bounced off the bed, and speared them both center mass, they had been standing side by side. They got up quickly, discarding their Uzi's, and went to grab the straight razors they kept in their back pockets. The brothers weren't anywhere near as good as Jack or David, and they knew that, they had hoped to kill him quickly. They weren't ready to have to fight him. Jack brought a knee to the ribs of Jekyll and heard the satisfying snap as he brought his elbow down to the back of his head, but it didn't connect. Hyde had forgotten about the blade in his hand and had decided to punch Jack in the side of the head. Jack spun. He was moving too slowly, he should be quicker, but he was tired. He delivered a viscous roundhouse to Hyde but Jekyll moved under his leg and lifted him up. The brothers were small. They were identical twins, five foot five, Chinese, long hair that was kept up in high ponytails. They stopped, and paced each other. The brothers moved in opposite directions and came at him in unison. He killed Hyde with a hammer strike to his throat and was tackled to the ground by Jekyll. They wrestled and Jack knew he would win. He rolled Jekyll over, dug his thumbs into his eyes until they oozed around the nails then delivered three horrendous elbow strikes to his throat. Jack stood up, and collapsed onto the bed.<br /><br />"Sorry sir, I'll come back later."<br /><br />Jack heard the sweet Irish woman's voice through the door and he laughed.<br /><br />"Okay!"<br /><br />The whole fight had lasted only a few seconds. It had been silent, swift. Even when Jack had dug his thumbs into Jekylls eyes he never made a sound, the other man hadn't even screamed. He imagined the mess housekeeping was going to find as he packed his things and went out the window.<br /><br /><B>PartIV</B><br />Jack continued to lie on the roof and wait. His targets position was said to be sniper proof and it was, if he hadn't done a little reconnaissance the night before and made it to where it wasn't. He had been laying prone in his active camouflage for the last two hours without moving but that didn't bother him. He had already checked his Barrett 82A1 and Leupold Long Range vx-7l ten times, knowing there was nothing wrong with them but checking anyway. The target would be close to a mile away from him. This was the only part he hated…waiting.<br /><br />--------------<br /><br />David paced the exterior of the compound attempting to blend in to his surroundings so he would go unnoticed. The guards here didn't particularly like people roaming around but so far he hadn't raised any suspicion. He was looking for a place he thought Jack would attack and other then the main entrance there proved to be very little alternate options. He couldn't imagine Jack being that stupid though, he couldn't see how he would possibly hope to attack the compound without dying quickly. Even he had found little hope placing himself in Jack's shoes. Victory, Terror, and Pain had discussed other possibilities with him but he hadn't taken any of them into account. Pain had suggested a diversion of a car bomb, but even with a diversion David hadn't seen any plan of attack. Victory said Jack would wait for the target to leave the compound but David, after checking the schedule, had seen that there wouldn't be any leaves for nearly three weeks. The target was however planning to speak that day but Terror and the others had all quickly pointed out that sniping would be impossible, and David had to agree. Even then though, they had agreed to spread out, other then David the other three were patrolling outside of the perimeter, creating a search range of a mile radius around the compound. He didn't know why he knew Jack would come to Rome next, he just had an idea, and the other three had agreed with him, there were four more members in Germany, and the other four were in New York. His superiors had questioned why he hadn't killed him in Ireland and after a few minutes in which David didn't speak a word they didn't press the subject. The question became, where was Jack?<br /><br />----------------<br /><br />Terror moved his massive frame through the throne of people around him, at six foot ten and two hundred and eighty pounds most people moved out of his way. When it came to the school he was by far the largest and most intimidating, it was without a doubt that his best advantage was in hand to hand combat. He wasn't tested much however, because the organization didn't think he blended in well to his surroundings. He wore blue-jeans, a black silk shirt, a leather jacket, and a black toboggan. He felt the two Desert Eagle .50 Mark XIX at his back, at nearly five pounds a piece along with their ten inch barrels, anyone would feel them. He fingered the end of one of the barrels as he scratched his back and continued to look around for any sign of Jack. Doc had tried to convince him not to go on the hunt, he told him Jack would spot him a mile away, but it was the first time in a long time that the organization had allowed him on a hunt and he wasn't going to just go away. He stopped in front of a rather tall building and looked up, it was, he noticed, in a direct path with the ledge that the Pope would be on later and he walked inside.<br /><br />----------------<br /><br />Pain sat in the outdoor coffee shop and watched the people going by; he gently ran his hands along his ten thousand dollar suit and nudged down his Moss Lipow ostrich and alligator sunglasses that went for nearly four thousand dollars down his nose. In one swift move he showed off his two thousand dollar Berluti shoes, his nearly three hundred thousand dollar Blancpain 1735 Grande Complication Le Brassus watch, his three hundred dollar Meisterstuck pen, and his four hundred dollar Stetson pinnacle fedora. The others looked at him as vain, he saw himself as classy, right down to the two SIG P210 pistols with ivory handles he had in custom made alligator holsters. The others considered his frivolous spending as a sign of someone who was too narcissistic to be a good member of the organization; he let his flawless and impeccable record speak for itself. He knew he would be the one to kill the illustrious Naito; he had no doubt, while the others looked around for him he would simple wait, preserve his energy, and buy his time. Instead, he would sip his tea and see who was driving the impeccable and flawless black two hundred thousand dollar Porsche 911 GT2 that was across the street and in other words overshadowing his Audi R8, he was hoping for a woman, but had a feeling it was going to be a man.<br /><br />----------------<br /><br />Victory sat on the rooftop and looked around. She had a feeling Jack was going to try to snipe the target despite the fact that there was no way to do it. As the only female of the school she had felt that her entire life had been to prove herself in a man's world, and in many ways it had been. She was one of the best however, no where near the caliber of Doc or Naito, but she could always hope to get lucky if they ever had to go toe to toe, the only thing she really had going for her was grace and elegance, of course, her amazing good looks played a part to. A part that she used to great advantages and in most cases allowed her to easily complete assignments that the men would have a tough time doing. Show enough skin and most arrogant men would allow you right into their private lives, promise sex, and you would find yourself alone in their bedroom without having to kill anyone to get there. She was tall for a woman at five foot ten and her long auburn hair trailed to her ass. She had perfect legs and was most of the time mistaken for a ballerina. Pain one time had said she looked like a deadly Charlize Theron, but she didn't think so. She carried a Spectre M4 submachine gun at her back and two Glock 26's at her side on a suit that seemed to mold to her body showing of the rather painstaking time she put into getting in the shape she was in, she had a jacket to go over it when she was on the street, but she wasn't on the street. She wondered if they would get to see Naito, she hadn't seen him in almost four years, it would be nice to speak with him, it would be even better if she was the one to kill him. She had a sneaky suspicion that the honor would go to Doc though. She spotted Pain in a café a few blocks away, staring at a Porsche sipping tea, she thought he was arrogant, but he was good. She was about to get off the roof and out of the hot sun when she saw Terror emerge on a rooftop a few buildings away, they had chosen this area because it was one of the most heavily populated, and one that provided the best vantage point for the impossible sniping situation. She followed Terror with her eyes as he moved to the edge of the building and seemed to be looking at something on the roof.<br /><br />----------------<br /><br />Jack had heard someone emerge on the roof behind him but he didn't want to turn around to look. The active camouflage gave him almost perfect cover and only someone looking for it would be able to see it. He hoped it was just some businessman coming outside to get a breath of fresh air. He realized it wasn't when he heard the sound of a gun being loaded, the time delay from the action said it was a big gun, the sound of the persons footfalls said it was a big man.<br /><br />----------------<br /><br />Victory watched as Terror put a round into the chamber of his massive gun and began to make her way over to him jumping from rooftop to rooftop. She couldn't figure out what the fuck he was doing.<br /><br />----------------<br /><br />Terror thought he had seen a shimmer on the ground but he wasn't sure, better safe then sorry, he didn't know why he had come up here, maybe intuition, but now he was sure that he could see that shimmer, maybe it was the heat playing off of the rooftop, maybe not.<br /><br />----------------<br /><br />Jack held the little mirror in his hand and positioned it slowly to where he could see behind him but not give off a reflection or any sign of movement. His breath caught in his throat almost immediately. Terror? But how would he have known he was up there, and can he see the active camo working? He was betting he could because he had a weird expression on his face like he was seeing a mirage. Jack frowned. It was three minutes till show time and he wasn't prepared for this. He could try and go for his pistol tucked into his pants, but he had an idea that he would be dead before then, it looked like he would have to fight Terror and that wasn't an easy task.<br /><br />----------------<br /><br />Terror was almost on top of the shimmer now and he was absolutely positive that it wasn't a mirage, his guess was active camo and active camo wasn't cheap, nor was it easy to come by, if he was a betting man he would say it was Jack, he raised his pistol, and sighted it into what he thought was center mast of the shimmer.<br /><br />----------------<br /><br />Jack did a half push-up half jump and kicked back with all of his strength straight back into the kneecap of terror. Had he had a better angle he would have either broken it or dislocated it but instead he merely staggered the big man, which was good enough for him. By the time Terror realized what was happening Jack was flying through the air at him.<br /><br />----------------<br /><br />Terror felt a white hot pain in his knee and dropped his pistol, he knew it wasn't bad, but it most assuredly hurt. He almost dropped when he saw Night flying through the air, he grabbed him, one meaty paw at the throat, the other at the waist and brought him high over his head, he kept him like that only a moment before he slammed him into the ground.<br /><br />----------------<br /><br />Jack felt the wind go out of him and his vision faded a bit when he was violently slammed into the ground. Had he not rolled next, he would have gotten a large knee to his face. He looked up at the larger man as they both regained their ground.<br /><br />"Long time Terror."<br /><br />"Not long enough for you Naito."<br /><br />"Aww come on," Jack said, a smile appearing on his face, "this is going to be fun."<br /><br />"Not for you."<br /><br />Jack saw Terror go for his other massive hand cannon and kicked him in the balls. A cheap shot, yes, but also effective. The big man howled and dropped his second pistol. Jack went for another kick when a large fist collided with his chest; he went staggering backwards and regained his footing just in time to see a foot slice the air in front of his face. The only thing about big men, they telegraphed most of their moves, he knew this, but he also knew that Terror knew this, that's why prepared, the big man began to go into a form of Capoeira. Jack sighed, as much as he wanted to fight the big man, who was now doing pretty masterful techniques of the style, he also knew it would take too much time. Therefore, reluctantly, he pulled out his sidearm and shot him three times in the chest. The big man dropped gasping for breath, Jack knew he would be wearing a vest so he walked up to him and pointed the gun at his face.<br /><br />"Chicken shit." The big man hissed through clenched teeth.<br /><br />Jack shot him twice in the head. He made to go back to his rifle when the ground in front of him erupted in sprays of gravel. He turned to see a rather beautiful woman running at him with a submachine gun in hand. He sprinted, slid, grabbed the rifle and turned it on the woman as she was coming over the last rooftop; she ducked, lost her footing, and fell. He turned the rifle back around, sighted, and fired through the hole he had made in the perimeter wall. The target, a high ranking official in the organization who happened to be the Pope, fell without knowing what hit him. Even a mile away Jack heard the crowd that had been watching go insane just as he also heard the guards go nuts and alarms go off. When he turned back around Victory was righting herself. She raised her gun and Jack jumped over the edge of the building. It was a good fall, but not too bad, and he rolled as he landed. Almost directly in front of his car, a pretty Porsche with a 0-60 of less than four seconds, and a top speed of 204mph he opened the door, threw his rifle in, and climbed in.<br /><br />---------------<br /><br />David watched the Pope die in front of his face. He felt no emotion, made no outside reaction, just watched it happen. He heard the report from the rifle, what he already knew to be a .50 cal of some sort, and turned his head in that direction. He picked up his phone and punched one of the page buttons, a woman sounding out of breath replied.<br /><br />"Terror is gone, Naito is fleeing in a vehicle, Pain in pursuit, and I'm trying to get back to my car."<br /><br />David put his phone back away and began walking threw the throng of people that had gathered around. All around him people were crying and wailing a few people were speaking in tongues or babbling, if only they had known who that guy really was. He wasn't anyone they would cry for. David stepped past a few more onlookers and then kept walking as people ran the direction he had just come. He pulled his cell phone out and hit another page button. Instead of a woman breathing heavy all he heard was the sound of an engine and squealing tires.<br /><br />"Strav_stveetia."<br /><br />"Where?"<br /><br />"Kein Ahnung."<br /><br />"Guess."<br /><br />"Aguante"<br /><br />The connection was disconnected and David looked at the phone again and pushed another button.<br /><br />"Get a helicopter, grab Victory and then myself."<br /><br />"That will be difficult."<br /><br />"It shouldn't be easy."<br /><br />----------------<br /><br />Pain watched as Jack jumped from the rooftop and into the Porsche he had been staring at. He had heard the gunfight and seen Victory almost fall off jumping to that roof, just as he had also heard the report of the .50cal. He finished his tea, checked the time, folded his newspaper that was in his lap and set it on the table. Then calmly walked over to his Audi and started it almost in time with Jack starting his car. When the Porsche peeled out, tires squealing, into a standing still u-turn, Pain peeled out after it. He should have known Jack would drive a car like that, he had good taste, something Pain had always liked about him, now he was about to find out not only who was the better driver, but who had the better car.<br /><br />----------------<br /><br />Jack rounded a curve and admired how the Porsche seemed to literally hug the corner. He was smoothly and deftly switching through gears when he looked up in the rearview to see the Audi on his tail. He wondered who it was until he saw the custom Asanti rims, at four thousand dollars a wheel he knew it was Pain, who was always the one to live in luxury. He rounded another corner only to find the Audi closer on his six. Jack smiled, slapped the shifter into another gear, and stomped the gas down. He rounded another corner, then another, then another, sliding between gears with ease and never losing the smile. He started other maneuvers, high speed u-turns, traveling into head on traffic, power slides, and all the while the Audi stayed close to him.<br /><br />----------------<br /><br />Pain watched Jack do another seventy mile an hour u-turn and sighed, the chase was getting boring, he was deciding whether or not he wanted to go ahead and spin the Porsche out, possibly damaging both of the vehicles. When he noticed the police. They were closing in, and when Jack went left Pain went right. The police split their forces in two, one side following each vehicle. Now it would be fun because he wasn't hunting anymore, he was eluding, and he could see what the car was really capable of doing. He power slid the car around a corner, barely missing some pedestrians and a statue and laughed when the cops in pursuit did neither. Then he reached and found the radio scanner, clicked it on, and waited for it to find the police network, it did, and then began breaking down the coding so he could listen to it. He was going to find Jack, and hopefully find a way to cut him off.<br /><br />----------------<br /><br />The Audi had quit following several minutes ago and now all he had was multiple cops in pursuit. Jack continued to hug turns until he hit a straight patch of road and floored it, the Porsche climbed from sixty to a hundred and twenty in only seconds leaving the officers in his dust and by the time he had made a few more turns they weren't even in range of catching him, he turned another corner and looked to his left just in time to duck as Pain unleashed a barrage of automatic weapon fire into the car. His opponent was parallel to him on another road and every few blocks he would open fire again. Jack once again accelerated and every time he glanced to his left again he saw that the Audi was losing ground.<br /><br />----------------<br /><br />Pain began punching the steering wheel, he had him, he had been so close and now the other car was gaining with superior speed, once more they were almost out of the city and when that happened it would become even more difficult to catch his enemy. He turned the wheel right, raced down the road and then took a left coming about a block behind Jack. He stomped on the gas and flipped through the gears again straining to keep up. He was slowly doing just that when he saw the helicopter fly overhead. He cursed under his breath and took his next right.<br /><br />----------------<br /><br />David stood on top of the building as the police helicopter came down low. He didn't know how his contact managed to acquire a police helicopter, but then again he didn't care. He grabbed onto the lower bar and easily flipped into it and found himself sitting next to Victory who looked slightly disheveled.<br /><br />"I take it you've been having fun?"<br /><br />She reloaded the submachine gun in her lap and strapped herself onto a long length of nylon rope that was attached to the inside of the helicopter.<br /><br />"Fuck you."<br /><br />----------------<br /><br />Jack came around another slight curve and found himself looking at Victory hanging from a rope in the middle of the street; he ducked again, and turned right as the gun spit out a little over eight hundred rounds a second, tearing up the car and devouring the front windshield. He came out on the next road, leaving Victory behind him, to find himself racing right alongside Pain. He could even see the glint of his diamond earring in his left ear. Pain lifted his weapon and fired three times. The first round fractured the passenger side window while the other two ripped through it. Jack was covered in auto glass and he cursed under his breath. This was quickly becoming a lose, lose situation. He reached over and grabbed the .50cal laying in the passenger seat/floorboard.<br /><br />-----------------<br /><br />Pain was almost laughing; he had just sent a volley at Jack and could see that the other man was getting aggravated. He thought Naito was supposed to be a good driver, he wasn't impressed. He continued to pace him around curves and corners and looked over just in time to see the end of the massive .50cal pointed at him. Jack was driving with one hand and attempting to aim the large rifle with the other. Pain slammed on the breaks and the bullet tore through the front of his Audi sending up a cloud of smoke, he feathered the gas and found that it would still go fine, and went back into the pursuit.<br /><br />----------------<br /><br />Victory climbed back up into the helicopter to find David frowning at her. She waited until the helicopter pilot signaled again, and jumped back out.<br /><br />----------------<br /><br />Jack turned another corner to find Victory once again in the middle of the road, he didn't pause or turn this time, he charged her. She opened up another barrage and he could feel that the car wasn't going to be able to take much more. When he was passing underneath her he heard an all familiar tink land on the roof of the car and slammed the wheel to the right as the grenade went off. The car flipped end over end in a ball of flame and were it not for the roll cage he had installed he more than likely would of died, instead, he slipped out of consciousness.<br /><br />----------------<br /><br />Pain saw the grenade Victory had dropped ping off of Jacks Porsche and explode right in front of him, he put his car into a slide and felt it go out of his control as it began to roll.<br /><br />----------------<br /><br />David watched as the helicopter pilot pulled back up and the grenade exploded. He thought the gorgeous Victory a fool for dropping a grenade that close to herself, but apparently the pilot had pulled up in time because she was looking at the wreckage of the Porsche through the hindsight of her weapon.<br /><br />"Land." David yelled into his helmet.<br /><br />----------------<br /><br />Pain pulled himself out of the wreckage and dusted himself off. He would kill that bitch the next chance he got. As the police pulled up he had his gun in hand, when they stepped out of their cars he dropped them where they stood then made his way to the wreckage of the Porsche, when he got there he saw no sign of Naito and frowned then looked up at Victory hanging from the rope and gave her the finger. David saw all of this and growled.<br /><br />----------------<br /><br />Jack was looking at David through the scope of his rifle and he smiled. One for one. He pulled the trigger and hit the tail rotor of the helicopter. Immediately it began to spin out of control. Several things happened at once. He watched David jump from the helicopter onto a nearby roof. He watched the beautiful Victory slam into the side of a building and her body basically explode, and he watched Pain run for his life before the shard of a propeller dissected him in half. Jack dusted himself off, checked the gash on his forearm, and headed down the narrow alleyway away from the chaos behind him.<br /><br /><B>Part V</B><br /><br />Jack sat in his first class seat aboard the luxury aircraft, an aisle seat, and was silently in his head memorizing the other passengers around him, their location, and the layout of the aircraft. He was impeccably dressed but not so much as to draw too much attention to himself, and the outfit, silk sweater, suit jacket, slacks, allowed him comfort and maneuverability. He was done with his memorizing and had begun to play chess against himself in his head when the man next to him elbowed him in the side, he slowly turned and acknowledged the man who was wearing a cheap but expensive looking suit, a Rolex at his wrist, and a plastic smile. The man was middle aged, overweight, and balding. In a few seconds Jack had deemed the man as no threat and had turned back forward.<br /><br />"So buddy, what do you do for a living?" the man asked.<br /><br />"I kill people, lots of people, in foreign countries." Jack replied.<br /><br />"Ah, international lawyer?"<br /><br />"Something like that."<br /><br />"I myself am a business man, started my own company, trying to build it up ya know. I sell plastics. Not a very lucrative enterprise I know, but it's served me well so far."<br /><br />Jack eyed the man and then turned back forward.<br /><br />"So," the man continued, "what were ya doing in Italy? Business, pleasure?"<br /><br />Jack sighed, he hated small talk.<br /><br />"I was trying to eliminate the enemy and sort of create a coup in the organization I used to work for."<br /><br />"Ah, a hostile takeover?" the man inquired, "How'd it go?"<br /><br />"Pretty good I guess."<br /><br />"Say, did you see the Pope get popped? Can you believe that? There are some lunatics in this world."<br /><br />Jack smiled.<br /><br />"Who's to say the guy was a lunatic? Maybe he was a genius who didn't agree with the current social standings of society who put too much faith in an old figurehead."<br /><br />The man blinked, and then got a glassy eyed look as if he was thinking really hard.<br /><br />"You a religious man Mister…"<br /><br />"Ardheim."<br /><br />"You a religious man Mr. Ardheim?"<br /><br />"No, I can't say that I am Mister…"<br /><br />"Dole, Alexander Dole." The bald man replied.<br /><br />"Nice to meet you."<br /><br />"Likewise." The fat man continued."It's a shame you're not religious Mr. Ardheim. Faith goes a long way these days and its good for business, people see men without religion as a sign of weakness. Its good to have faith, builds a good moral value. Not to mention any of the important aspect such as marriage. You a married man Mr. Ardheim?"<br /><br />"Can't say that I am Alex."<br /><br />"A shame, shame. A young guy like you that would go a good way in a business atmosphere. People see a married man and it extends a measure of respect."<br /><br />"My type of business Alex, marriage doesn't really seem an option." Jack replied.<br /><br />"Nonsense, nonsense. All you gotta do is find some nice young philly that doesn't mind you being away from home. See, me and my missus, been married for five years, I'm home for maybe two months out of the year."<br /><br />"So how many other guys is she fucking?" Jack retorted.<br /><br />"None!"<br /><br />"Really? Just like you're telling me a guy who is home only two months out of a year isn't getting other pussy from somewhere else?"<br /><br />"My wife is a wonderful woman, and I would never cheat on her."<br /><br />"I'm sure she is. Young married woman probably fucks the local college kids who come over to do repairs to the house. Probably even has a whole routine. She own lingerie?"<br /><br />"Well," the older man stammered, "yeah."<br /><br />"Have you ever seen her wear it?"<br /><br />"No…but."<br /><br />"Exactly, a hot young wife isn't waiting around for you Alex. She's fucking the best piece of meat she can find."<br /><br />"Now I don't think you should be talking about my wife that way, you don't know…"<br /><br />"Exactly Alex, I don't know and neither do you."<br /><br />"Well I never."<br /><br />With that the conversation was over and Jack didn't have to worry about any more ramblings coming from the older man's mouth for the rest of the plane ride home. About that time the stewardess came up to him and asked him if he wanted a drink. He smiled at her, touched her thigh a little, just a glancing gesture, and leaned her in closer. He whispered something into her ear and she laughed a little school girl giggle and her face turned red. Five minutes later Jack went to the bathroom, he came back twenty minutes after that. He slipped his ear buds into his ear and went down his playlist; once he found some good easy listening he settled back into his seat and fell asleep.<br /><br />----------------<br /><br />David sat in his first class seat, a window seat, and memorized the people around him and the layout of the plane. He had already spotted the Air Security as soon as he'd gotten on, and kept an eye on them. He didn't like not having a gun. His porcelain one would work, but he didn't like how inaccurate and fragile it was. Still, it was better then nothing. Two hours into the flight and he couldn't stand the guy snoring next to him. The man had fallen asleep nearly twenty minutes into the flight and it was driving him crazy. He looked around, making sure no one was paying attention, and slammed the side of his hand in a karate chop into the mans throat, he started to gag, and David covered his mouth. When the man was dead he leaned him over in his seat and put a pillow under his head. The man in front of David turned around and laughed.<br /><br />"Bout time that fucker quit snoring, I was afraid I was going to have to kill someone." The man said.<br /><br />"Tell me about it." David replied.<br /><br />David opened up the laptop in his lap and began to look at the dossier on Naito. He didn't need to at all but he wanted something to do and it gave him that opportunity.<br /><br />Target: Naito (Night), a.k.a. Jack Dower, Philip Stringer, James Macey, Donovan Cross, Victor Tridant, Thomas Sans.<br /><br />Current Location: Unknown.<br /><br />Current Probable Locations: New York, London, Paris or Frankfurt.<br /><br />The School: recruited by Slapjack (KIA) when he was 13 years old. Showed excellent ranking in all categories, greatly outmatched his peers. Excellent ranking in swordsmanship, eventually defeating his master in combat. Several school records including in: One Mile Run (4 minutes 23 seconds), 40 Yard Dash (3.9 seconds), Stealth (completed Pesel run in 1 hour 43 minutes), Evasion (eluded instructors and peers for 3 days 7 hours 42 minutes), Military Tactics (defeated the Mariashi simulation in 37 minutes), Hand to Hand Combat (Fastest Knockout in 7 seconds), Swordsmanship (defeated Master Yamatanashi in 3 minutes). Graduated at age 20.<br /><br />Assignments: ..:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><br /><br />His first assignment was to gather Intel and eliminate the target codenamed Bastard. (March 12, 2010)<br /><br />Other assignments are classified except for the following dates: March 23, 2010, May 2010, June 2010, August 2010, October 2010, October 2010, December 2010, December 2010 (here the list continued but David simply glanced to the end of the nearly 400 assignments).<br /><br />Current Status: Renegade, Kill on Sight.<br /><br />David closed the dossier on his computer and frowned, he didn't know why he thought Jack was going to New York instead of attacking one of the other two organization leaders overseas, but it didn't matter what he thought, the organization was sending him to London to protect the head cheese. He wondered if Silence, Sleep, Freedom, and Retribution would be able to take him out in New York, if not it would be Death, Mayhem, Destruction, and Vengeance in Frankfurt, if they didn't do the job it would be down to him and the one other agent Jack had never heard about or met, Wrath. He didn't like Wrath. Just like he didn't like the fact that they had no one to watch the leaders in London and Paris, just because they were smaller and therefore less important.<br /><br />David stepped off the plane and looked around, he was expecting someone to be holding a sign with his name on it, that was usually the way it worked, instead he was staring at a well muscled black man in BDU's, hair in dreadlocks. The man stood at around six foot one and probably weighed a hundred and ninety pounds. He was a good size, and he was strong. If he had an official record at the school David also knew he would have taken one of Jack's records, that being the swordsmanship, he beat the master in under a minute. David knew this, the man knew that David knew this, just like David knew he carried a katana on his back much like Night did, in a lot of ways Wrath was the twin of Night, if it wasn't for the fact that he was nineteen. And that was why David didn't like him; he was untested in serious combat situations. True the kid had already had his first kill. But David never considered the first kill, no one except for Jack every cared about that, his first kill bared a trophy that still hung around his neck. This kid though, had a trophy of his first kill as well, a titanium ring that floated on his right hand.<br /><br />"Doc." The kid said without extending a handshake.<br /><br />"Wrath."<br /><br />"You're wanted at the palace immediately."<br /><br />"I'm sure I am, you leading the way?"<br /><br />"If you'd like."<br /><br />"Why not? Keeps me from having to drive."<br /><br />----------------<br /><br />Jack was sprinting along a fence line in snow almost up to his knees. All he had to do was keep pumping his legs as high as he could and he would continue to drive through the snow. He was nervous, his heart was pounding, and he could even hear it in his ears. For seven years he had been waiting to get his first assignment and ever time he thought he was going to he never did.<br /><br />When he finally stopped running he was underneath a large oak tree, its branches sagging with the added weight of the snow. He checked the picture of his target again for the hundredth time, then climbed the tree.<br /><br />He had been watching the target for three days now, gathering Intel that the organization wanted, proof that the man was cheating them and lying about it. As well he had been learning the lay of the land and the best route to take on his attack, which would be now.<br /><br />He had a view of the whole complex from his new vantage point and even though he already had the schematics memorized he paid attention to every single detail now to see if anything was out of place or different. There was a limo at the front door of the main house. He also watched the pattern of the guards to figure out timing. The guards were accurate and precise. Even those that had obviously been doing their jobs for years remained vigil and alert, scanning their assigned territories with the upmost patience. When Jack thought he had their routine memorized he jumped over the wall silently. He landed without a sound and began to sprint. The snow wasn't even remotely deep on this side, apparently the target was rich enough to maintain a heated yard, and the grass was still luscious and green.<br /><br />The first guard was dead before he even knew what happened; he was in mid turn the second his neck was snapped. Guard number two was dead from a crushed throat about the time he finished his turn. Jack ran out wide and emerged silently at the side of guard number three who was greeted with a slit throat. Guard number four a blow to his nose that sent the bone into his brain. Guard number five slit throat as well. Number six, a broken neck. Number seven, broken neck, and number eight who had actually managed to key his radio and was about to speak because he saw the body of number seven lost his head entirely. Jack ran to the side of the house and up the trellises until he emerged on the balcony of the third floor. He crept slowly, looking through windows and listening. The man had a teenage daughter who was asleep in her bed. The son appeared to be fucking his dad's girlfriend. The dad was having sex with a prostitute who looked to be about eleven. Jack paused on the son, he hadn't had sex in almost seven years, and he hadn't even felt the urge. Maybe, he thought to himself, he would see how Mary (Victory) was doing when he got back to the school. He moved back to the father and waited, the son was a target, as was the daughter, but he wanted to kill the father, the bastard, first. When the man had his fun with the little girl he tossed her off the bed like a piece of trash and laid back, lighting a cigarette as he did. The little girl sat on the floor next to the bed and held herself as she cried softly. The older man, who was hairy and overweight, patted her on the head and rubbed himself. Jack removed the katana from behind his head; he had a sheath that followed his spine, and silently crept through a window. The little girl saw him but did not even move or make a sound and so he slid into a position beside her.<br /><br />"You're going to make a good piece of pussy one day little lady. One day you will like it. You all do."<br /><br />Jack slid up onto the bed and covered the mans mouth with his hand, the older man struggled at first but slowly gave up and rather then fight he tried to cover his exposed organ. Jack straddled him and leaned in close to his ear. The man's eyes were wide with fear and they darted around as if looking for something, perhaps help. Jack knew there were three other guards in the house, but he also had a feeling the bastard had told them not to be around while he had his way with the little girl.<br /><br />"I have a message for you Mr. Galaraga." Jack whispered into the man's ear, "fool them once, shame on you, fool them twice, shame on them, fool them three times…"<br /><br />Jack inserted the blade into the man's stomach and slit up, spilling his organs. Galaraga tried to scream but Jack continued to hold his mouth, and he silenced that scream when he slit his throat. Jack got off the bed and touched the side of the girls face with two of his gloved fingers. They left streaks of blood, the girl looked at him but no one was home in her eyes. Jack sighed, and slid out of the room. He killed one guard in the hallway then slinked into the son's room. Personally the son had done no wrong, but Dad had told Jack to kill everyone in the family, leave no one to continue the fathers work in name. The dad's girlfriend and son were still going at it. The girlfriend was attractive, Jack took a moment to admire that, the son was too young to know what he was doing, and too overweight to maintain a good pace. He was pounding the girlfriend doggie style and she didn't even notice when Jack decapitated him. She didn't notice when he repeated the same process with her either. Jack left that room and then entered the sisters. She was young, she was beautiful. Jack knew she was fifteen but he also knew that one day she would have grown up to be very lovely. He removed a syringe out of his back pocket and slowly pulled the cap off. The girl slept, and never woke up. As Jack was leaving the compound he checked the body of the first guard he killed. The man didn't have anything useful on him, save for a small silver cross necklace which Jack took, and draped around his neck. Then he was over the wall, and moving at that awkward high stepping sprint.<br /><br />Jack got off the plane and hailed a taxi, the taxi drove him to a bookstore on a small street corner in Paris. Jack got out, paid the taxi, and walked inside, he was unarmed, but didn't think it mattered. Jack walked up to the clerk and smiled.<br /><br />"I'm looking for Mr. Lehmue."<br /><br />"I'm sorry sir but there is no Mr. Lehmue here."<br /><br />"Really?"<br /><br />Jack hit the man hard in the diaphragm; he knew this guy wasn't muscle, just like he knew the guy was working for Lehmue. The guy crumpled into a ball, but not before he pushed a little button that was under the counter. A door opened in a bookshelf to Jack's right and he calmly walked through it. There were two guards at the entrance to an office, they saw Jack coming, and then they saw him virtually disappear. The two men walked down the hall in a staggered pattern, guns at the ready, when they got to the point where they thought they had seen the man he was nowhere to be found. Jack dropped down behind the rear guard and snapped his neck. The other guard put up a fight and Jack broke his leg, then his arm, and then ripped his throat out. He sidestepped quickly to keep from getting any blood on himself, and then continued down the hall. The door to the office was locked, so Jack knocked.<br /><br />"Fuck off Night, fuck off."<br /><br />"Mr. Lehmue, if you do this quickly, I will do this quickly, if you do this slowly, I will do this slowly."<br /><br />He heard a moan then the door unlocked. Jack slid it open and waited for the gunfire. It came, hot and heavy, Jack heard two separate pistols. When they had to reload he quick walked into the room. One guard went down to a blow to the throat and the other ended up flipped over Jacks shoulder and Jack knee dropped into his throat. Lehmue sat behind his desk, his head in his hands.<br /><br />"Night, Night."<br /><br />"Sucks that you're a small leader doesn't it Lehmue, the fact that none of my classmates are here tells me that you didn't rank high enough on the list. Is it going to be as easy to get to Ross in London? If that's the case that means New York and Frankfurt have four guys a piece and David is floating somewhere."<br /><br />"Let me give you advice, and tell you not to go to London." The man laughed.<br /><br />"I take it that's where the head cheese is?"<br /><br />The man just continued to laugh and Jack nodded, fair enough, he thought to himself. He grabbed the gun off of one of the dead guards and loaded a round into the chamber; he pointed the pistol at the man's head. As soon as he did this he saw something in the mans hand, it was small, metal, and when he pushed the top it began to beep. Jack frowned, and took off running, about the time he reached the inside of the bookstore the small device exploded. The whole building shook, and the concussion sent Jack flying into a wall of books. The man who had been working the front desk started screaming. The ball of fire that followed the explosion was promise enough to get Jack out the door at a full sprint. When he reached the other side of the street it did just that, and the building went up in a whump as the wind seemed to get sucked into the old building. Jack went over a few blocks, hailed a taxi, and went back to the airport.<br /><br />----------------<br /><br />David sat in the back of the Lexus with blacked out windows and sipped a glass of brandy. He often didn't drink, in fact most of them didn't drink, it was a poison to the body that only dulled senses and reaction time, but David, unlike the others, remembered drinking before he went to the school, and he remembered that sometimes it was nice for those sense to be dulled. The car was cruising along with Wrath behind the wheel when he saw the black man cock his head slightly to the side; he was listening to an earpiece. When his head returned to its normal angle he looked back at David and grinned.<br /><br />"He just hit Paris."<br /><br />David nodded as if this was the most normal thing he had ever heard in his life.<br /><br />"Tell New York to be ready."<br /><br />"Why New York? Why wouldn't he come here or Frankfurt instead, why cross the pond?"<br /><br />It was one of those rare moments when an accent would kick in, David, as well as the others, were good at masking accents and sounding like they came from wherever they wanted to, Wrath was still young, and his English accent had just slipped in.<br /><br />"Because Lehmue talked, he probably told Jack what was waiting for him wherever he goes. He won't come here because he would have realized that this is the main and final target. If he comes here now it would get the challenge over with too quickly. Likewise he probably already knew that Frankfurt would be a hard hit, so the organization would send their most qualified there, New York would be a prime target as well, but the easier ones are there. In other words, he's prioritizing."<br /><br />The younger one seemed to think about this for a second, then continued driving, after a while he turned to look at David again in the rearview mirror.<br /><br />"That makes no sense, why go after the easiest first. Wouldn't you want to eliminate the toughest opponent first?"<br /><br />David smiled.<br /><br />"You would if you weren't Jack."<br /><br /><B>PartVI</B><br /><br />Jack stepped off the plane and headed down the terminal, when he reached the end the head of the female college student next to him exploded in a shower of blood, he instantly dropped to the ground and started to roll. Chaos ensued.<br /><br />People began running everywhere, screaming, it was disorienting and Jack needed to find the source of the gunshot. He couldn't believe that one of them would actually open fire in such a crowded place, not to mention in an airport, it was absolutely ridiculous, he didn't even know how they got past security. Of course, Jack would have figured out a way as well, then he also started to wonder how they found his plane.<br /><br />Jack jumped behind a row of those cheap uncomfortable plastic chairs and they exploded over his head, two people the row behind him were shot, as was a person running the row in front of him. He leveled his body to the ground and started to think.<br /><br />Who? If he knew a who he could figure out an option, he would know their weakness. Obviously it was someone who was daring, and not very smart either. It took him a few seconds, Retribution, and if Retribution was around that meant Freedom was near as well. He heard gunshots down the wide hall behind him and knew that was the case, he also knew that the fire was most likely directed towards airport security. Jack jumped up and sprinted, people started falling and screaming in pain all around him, he slid behind a pillar and looked around. There he was, Freedom, down the hall in a shootout with security, he hadn't seen him in years but even here he could see a large scar that trailed across the back of his neck and shoulders. All around him people were going around in a state of panic and confusion, but he also knew that soon the area around him and Retribution would be clear of people, and he didn't want that. Jack turned and started sprinting again this time he dove behind the desk that they check your ticket at before you board the plane. He had a notion of where Retribution was, and knowing the man himself he had a feeling he was correct, he was standing in the middle of the hall, wide open.<br /><br /> Jack grabbed the phone on the desk, and began pounding on the computer tower, when he broke off one of the walls he tested the corners and found them sharp, he set this piece on the ground then began rummaging around in the computer itself, eventually he found a long chip that he cracked to a point and stuck that in his belt. He jumped over the desk and threw the sheet of computer at the same time.<br /><br />The sheet flew straight, spinning as it went, and stuck into Retributions body armor, he glanced down at it and that's what gave Jack his chance. He ran, ducked, weaved, and jumped. He flew through the air at Retribution, pulling the piece of chip out of his belt as he did and buried it into the man's throat. Retribution grabbed his throat and pulled the chip out, it hadn't gone in very far, Jack had hoped he would drop his gun but he didn't. Instead Jack rolled around his legs and found his knife tucked into Retributions boot, he pulled it out and the other man ran forward to get away from the swipe. Jack was about to lunge when the air around him whizzed with bullets. He turned to find Freedom coming down the hallway at a walk, looking calm, like a frozen pond.<br /><br />Jack ran for the tube connecting to the airplane at a full run. He was in a losing situation without a gun and he needed to find open ground. The plane was still connected but the gap between them was enough for him to fall through so he did, straight to the ground below. He hit the ground moving and heard glass shatter as Retribution shot at him from inside the building. Pieces of concrete peppered his legs before he was able to get out of his line of sight. Jack turned around to watch Freedom fall to the ground in the same spot he had just landed, and once again the man started walking toward him, not running, walking, like taking a casual stroll.<br /><br />Jack ran for a building. Freedom continued to walk.<br /><br />The man was tall, with blonde hair and a dark tan, he wore a wife beater, tan shorts, and sandals. As he walked Retribution fell to the ground behind him and sprinted past him after Jack. Retribution was shorter, only about five foot eight, and he moved like a champion runner, his long black hair bouncing in its ponytail, he looked gothic in solid black fatigues with a black shirt, black fatigue jacket, black bulletproof vest, black sunglasses, and black boots.<br /><br />When Jack got into the building he immediately cut left and stood next to the door. Retribution came in at a dead run and Jack barely had a chance to grab his ponytail, when he did though it brought the other man to the ground, and the startling motion also gave him the chance to bury the stolen knife into his throat. With Retribution dead Jack grabbed his gun and looked out the door.<br /><br /> Freedom was still walking and he stopped when he saw Jack, he slowly slid out of his sandals, standing on the ground barefoot, and watched. Jack swung the gun around and Freedom bolted to the left, out of Jacks sight, when Jack stepped out of the doorframe he was greeted with pistol at chest level he dropped to the ground as the gun went off over his head, and brought his gun up at the same time, unloading three shots into the underside of the other mans chin. Freedom fell, missing the top part of his head. Jack got up, and ran, he had to get as far away from the airport as possible.<br /><br />-----------------------------------<br /><br />Jack stood outside the gate of the massive mansion and rolled his eyes, he never understood the point of living in excess.<br /><br />He was ready, he was wearing his stealth shoes, skintight BDU pants, a skintight black sweater, his sword, a tight black skimask, two 1911's that of course were also black, and a black combat knife. He strolled up to the gate and rang the bell. A face appeared on a touchscreen and Jack could see the little camera mounted above it, the face was staring at blank space.<br /><br />"Please step in front of the camera."<br /><br />Jack did, and he watched the face turn worried.<br /><br />"Who are you?"<br /><br />Jack didn't answer.<br /><br />"Who are you?"<br /><br />Jack pulled out his sword, and stabbed it through the camera. Seconds later three black sedans came hauling ass down the large gravel driveway, at the same time floodlights kicked on across the compound, and he heard dogs begin to bark. Jack backed up into the shadows.<br /><br />The gates opened and thirty men armed to the teeth stepped out of the sedans, Jack had to stifle a laugh, they were all facing the same direction. Jack ran, silently, swiftly, slide under one of the sedans, grabbed and lifted himself up flat against the vehicle.<br /><br />"We should get back up to the house, he could already be on his way there."<br /><br />Just as quickly as the men got out of the sedans they got back in and went the same speed back up to the house. Jack felt gravel hitting him in the back and it felt like thousands of bee stings but he didn't move or make a sound. When the sedans got to the front of the house once again the men piled out.<br /><br />"Grab the dogs, let them go. Unit one, patrol directly outside of the house. Go. Unit two, patrol the yard. Go. Unit three, I want a scheduled sweeping of the inside of the house after you let the dogs go. Now move."<br /><br />All the men took off running in different directions, except for the one who he had heard issuing the orders, he stayed put at the front door. Jack lowered himself to the ground and emerged from underneath the car on the opposite side from this man at the door, silently Jack threw his knife and it sailed straight into the man's throat, he dropped, and Jack ran. He grabbed the guy's body and went in through the front door. He half expected there to be guards sitting in couches in the entry way but there were none, the house was as silent as a tomb.<br /><br />This was too easy, it was harder getting Tamaguchi.<br /><br />He hid the body in a hall closet and made his way around the house, slowly, silently. He entered an upstairs hallway, the lights were off and he froze. Something wasn't right, something didn't feel right, it was too silent. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and Jack knew, someone else was here. He entered the hallway only slightly then went up the walls quickly and smoothly until he was flat against the ceiling. He looked all around, eyes and ears straining to find anything. Finally he did, breathing, but he still couldn't tell well it was coming from. He was about to start moving when he heard the slight shifting of someones hands on a wall and he was able to figure out where the sound came from, the next hallway. He dropped to the floor without so much as the slightest noise and crept down the hall, his body flat against the wall but not touching it.<br /><br />He came around the corner, slowly, then waited to see if he'd been spotted, after a about a minute he determined he hadn't and started to look around but he kept his eyes barely open, it only took him a few seconds to see the whites of the man's eyes as he strained to see something in the dark, it was odd, but the man had looked over Jack three times and still hadn't seen him. Slowly Jack removed his katana and kept the blade at his back to not allow any glint to come off the polished blade, even in the darkness a blade would be visible. He was about to strike when the lights came on, the figure above him and himself quickly had to adapt their eyes again to get used to suddenly being able to see.<br /><br />The man saw Jack and lunged off the wall he turned and Jack saw another man, dressed exactly as himself and this other man, standing near the light switch, then darkness again.<br /><br />Jack moved swiftly, he backed down the hallway, back the way he came, and then pressed himself to the floor. He heard the hira shuriken fly over his head and stick to the walls around him, there were at least seven, then a bright light exploded in front of his face, Jack jumped up from the floor blinded, and ran back the way he'd come before he entered the hallway. One of the things he was always able to do was memorize his surroundings, it was something that came easily, naturally, and he jumped, still blinded, behind a large leather couch, there he waited and listened.<br /><br />There was nothing, except for the sound of his own beating chest. After a while he slowly began to regain his vision and he waited until the last gleam of light left his vision before moving again. He ran, straight back the way he had just come from, katana trailing behind him in his right hand, he was low to the ground, sleek, and didn't make a single sound.<br /><br />When he came back into the darkened hallway he didn't stop, he felt, and heard, hira shuriken hit him in the chest, thankfully under his tight sweater he was wearing a leather Roman musculata cuirass, the leather had been so well massaged that it didn't creak, the points of the shuriken still penetrated his flesh, but it was better then getting the full effect. Jack swung the sword around in the cramped quarters and he heard the sound of blood flowing, he could smell it, he heard the head hit the ground just before the body followed, he jumped, going off the wall so as to not step in the blood, then flattened himself once more again against the ceiling. He waited and listened.<br /><br />The other person, the one he had seen by the light switch, wasn't moving either, they weren't making a sound. He had been hoping they would have after hearing the body but that wasn't the case, he knew who it was, Sleep, just like he knew that he had just killed Silence.<br /><br />------------------------------<br /><br />Jack didn't know how long he'd been flat against the ceiling but he knew two things; one, someone had to move, and two, he was running out of time. Soon the rest of the guards would take their patrol up to the second floor and he really didn't want to have to deal with that. He figured he could scare the guys in Frankfurt more if he was able to kill his target with very little deaths of anyone else, of course, Germany was going to be an entire different story, but they didn't know that.<br /><br /> He was about to move when he saw Sleep standing directly below him, the man was looking right at him but he couldn't see him. Jack was invisible. Slowly the man moved down the hall, stopping every few inches to look again, when he had passed him fully and was slightly beyond Jack dropped from the ceiling, the other man didn't even turn around, he had been whisper quiet.<br /><br />Jack slowly brought his sword up until it was even with the other man's neck and he gently pressed the tip of the blade to the back of his neck. Sleep froze and Jack heard the clearly audible sigh, then the other man lifted his own sword in front of him and dropped to his knees. Jack cut his head off in one clean stroke then continued down the hall.<br /><br />When he reached the door he saw that it wasn't a usual door, it was solid steel and obviously locked with several large bolts. Jack cursed himself silently then made his way back down the hall, he searched swiftly room through room until he found what he wanted, an attic entrance. He went up into the attic and then traced his way back until he assumed he was over the room then he calmly stepped through the ceiling.<br /><br />He landed on the floor in a loud thump and scanned his surroundings. There was only one person in the room, Harold Barnes, and he was sitting behind his desk brandy still in hand, cigar in the ashtray, and he was staring at Jack as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Jack strode around the massive desk, put out the cigar in the ashtray, took the brandy from the man's hand and set it down, then sat on the desk facing him.<br /><br />"Mr. Barnes."<br /><br />The other man, who was severely obese and balding stared at Jack with an open mouth, Jack saw the panic button near the mans right hand but he still hadn't moved. Jack clapped his hands in front of the man's face and the large man instantly made for the panic button, with a swift move Jack cut his finger off in mid stretch with his combat knife. The man grabbed his hand and made to scream but Jack covered his mouth.<br /><br />"Why did the organization come after me? Why couldn't they just leave me alone?"<br /><br />Jack spoke in his native Irish accent, he made no attempt to hide it or cover it up. He removed his hand and the man spoke through clenched teeth.<br /><br />"You were too viable an asset, we had hoped to bring you back in, when we realized you wouldn't come back we decided we would punish you for your insolence."<br /><br />Jack sighed and shifted slightly on the desk.<br /><br />"You should have left me alone."<br /><br />"You will never survive Germany, Night, just give it up. If you stop now we may be able to forgive you enough to allow you to live. You've created quite a problem but not one that still can't be solved."<br /><br />Jack edged the blade of the combat knife closer to the man's throat.<br /><br />"All my life I've heard I wouldn't survive Mr. Barnes, and yet I am still here. The organization sent me on the hardest missions and I only came back with scratches. There are only, what, six of us School kids left?"<br /><br />The fat man looked around the room, eyes darting in his head, Jack knew that look, it was of desperation.<br /><br />"Pick up the phone."<br /><br />The other man looked at him then slowly did what he said.<br /><br />"Call her, put her on speaker."<br /><br />No one in the organization knew that one of the highest leaders was a woman, except for the other leaders. No one had ever seen her either. Jack knew this, just like he knew that the School people in Frankfurt had no idea that they were actually guarding the woman, they would assume they were guarding her husband, a rich industrialist and to them the second highest leader in the organization. Jack hadn't even known this until just now. He figured it out through pictures, in Tamaguchi's office there was a picture of him standing with a woman, she looked tough, imposing, then again he saw the same thing in Lehmue's office, and just now, on the desk in front of him was the same woman, shaking hands with Barnes. He knew he was right because of the look on Barnes' face. Jack almost couldn't believe it he had never thought a woman could even be in the organization. Barnes dialed a number, then hit the speaker button. It rang twice and then it was answered.<br /><br />"Speak."<br /><br />The woman's voice was soft, sweet even, but Jack could also hear the cold cruel edge behind it. In that one word she gave off an aura of sophistication and determination, he admired her a little, and smiled when he thought of killing her. Barnes made a move to talk and Jack slit his throat.<br /><br />"Hello madame, I suppose you will know who this is in a few seconds. I am impressed that a woman is actually a leader in this organization, second to the top in fact, but that doesn't change the fact that I am going to kill you."<br /><br />He spoke with a clear crisp English accent. Suddenly the voice on the other end of the line softened a bit.<br /><br />"You always made me proud Daniel, even now I'm proud."<br /><br />Jack flinched a bit, he hated hearing his old name, he hadn't heard it in years until David spoke it outside the lighthouse.<br /><br />"I'm going to take pleasure in killing you."<br /><br />There was silence on the other end for a few seconds then Jack heard a soft laugh, it was the kind of life only a woman can do.<br /><br />"I would expect nothing less Daniel, can I expect to see you soon?"<br /><br />"That would be an accurate assumption."<br /><br />"Until that hour."<br /><br />Then the line went dead, it didn't do that traditional off the hook sound that seems to come into play as soon as a conversation is over in the movies, it was just silence, Jack put the phone back in its cradle and headed for the door.<br /><br /><B>Part VII</B><br /><br />Jack sipped a cup of hot tea and watched the television screens, he wasn't in an airport this time, but a train station. All over the news he was watching his own exploits, of course, he wasn't in any of them. Ninety percent of the reports were saying it was terrorist activities, and that made him smile. He checked his watch, set down his cup of tea, and headed to his train...<br /> ----------------------------<br />David sat in the massive den of the mansion he was in and sipped a glass of brandy, all around him were antiques that were worth more then he had made in his life, he plopped his feet on some three hundred year old chairs and settled himself in. He had only been there a few moments before the younger Wrath came in and settled down in front of him.<br /> ----------------------------<br /><br />"We placing bets?" The younger man asked.<br /><br />"Sure." David sighed.<br /><br />"Who ya got?" Wrath questioned.<br /><br />"Night of course."<br /><br />"I'll take that bet, not a chance he's getting into that place."<br /><br />David laughed, it was a genuine laugh, not a fake one.<br /><br />"But…" the younger man continued, "If he does bite the big one in Germany, who you got on killing him?"<br /><br />"Flip that, who do you want?"<br /><br />"I got Vengeance, that guy scared the crap out of me."<br /><br />David laughed again and the younger man scowled a bit, his arms flexed involuntarily, David admired the youth, it became much harder to maintain that body as you got older.<br /><br />"If anyone had a chance, and I say that because they don't, it would be Death."<br /><br />"Never seen him."<br /><br />"If you had, you'd remember, he stands about six four and weighs a good three hundred and thirty pounds of solid muscle, long brown hair, square jaw, full beard, it doesn't take you long to realize he's Russian."<br /><br />"Just cause he's big doesn't mean shit."<br /><br />David laughed again and the youth shifted in his seat.<br /><br />"This is true, but big doesn't factor into Death."<br /><br />"How so?"<br /><br />"Well for one, he doesn't carry any weapons."<br /><br />"So how much?" The younger man asked.<br /><br />"Up to you."<br /><br />"Ten thousand euros?"<br /><br />"Deal." David smugly replied.<br /><br /> ----------------------------<br /><br />Jack walked down an empty street and turned down an alleyway, at the end stood a man probably in his sixties.<br /><br />"Guten abend."<br /><br />"I hate German, speak English."<br /><br />Jack smiled and shook the mans hand.<br /><br />"How you live in a country for forty years and not speak the language is beyond me."<br /><br />"Ohhh I can speak it, I just choose not to."<br /><br />The man shifted a bit as he unlocked the door behind him.<br /><br />"Ya know kid, they find out I helped you, I'm a dead man."<br /><br />Jack clapped the older man on the back and gave a slight chuckle.<br /><br />"Old man, what's to say I'm not going to kill you?"<br /><br />The older man shifted slightly as if to brush off Jack's hand and he grimaced a bit. Slowly he opened the doors to reveal a treasure trove of weapons, anything a wandering assassin could dream of. There were rifles, fully auto, bolt action, semi-auto. There were handguns ranging in every size and every style, the same could be said for the sub-machine guns. There were knives, swords, and grenades of several designs, C4, cutting edge and highly illegal foam explosive, mortars, rocket launchers. Basically anything and everything that was ever made to kill or maim was in this room. It made Jack laugh that it was just locked with a simple padlock. He patted the man on the shoulder and stepped inside. The older man waited outside and started chain smoking cigarettes, he paced nervously back and forth in front of the now closed entrance and kept glancing down the long length of the alleyway. When the door opened again he looked like he was going to have a heart attack.<br /><br />"Calm down." Jack hissed.<br /><br />"Look kid, I know ya never have to pay me or nothing but I would love to die somewhere sunny."<br /><br />Jack emerged through the door carrying two large duffel bags in each hand and one across his back, his body was hunched slightly as he accommodated the severe weight and the muscles on his arms looked like they wanted to explode. Jack set one of them down and pulled a card from his shirt pocket along with a piece of paper.<br /><br />"By all rights I should kill you right now." Jack exclaimed.<br /><br />The older man took a step back and Jack grinned.<br /><br />"Look Night, when they find out, I'm a dead man and you know that. Might be better if you kill me anyway, at least I know you would do it quick. Probably cut my fucking head off."<br /><br />"There won't be a 'they' for very much longer old man, here."<br /><br />Jack handed the card and the piece of paper to him.<br /><br />"I doubt they changed the passwords because they knew if I tried to access the account it would be all over the board. So, this is the card to get you into the Vineyard Bank in Switzerland, once you're in there tell the guy at the door that you're looking for a raincoat, when you get in you have to type in a twenty-two character password…it's the first number on that sheet of paper, after that you have thirty seconds to type in the following two passwords…"<br /><br />"Wait," the old man interrupted, "what are you talking about."<br /><br />"Look you old bastard. When I'm done there will be no one to stop you from walking into that bank and it will take at least a couple of days for lawyers to close the account. So, after the two passwords you have to speak a phrase. That phrase, oddly enough, is…All good things come to those who wait. You get that?"<br /><br />The old man nodded but frowned.<br /><br />"What are you telling me?"<br /><br />"In that account is over two hundred million dollars, us school kids use it when we need quick cash."<br /><br />The old man leaned back against the brick wall and let out a whistle.<br /><br />"And you're telling me I can have it?"<br /><br />"Yeah, just wait until it's over."<br /><br />Jack picked the bags back up and started walking down the alleyway.<br /><br />"Wait," the old man yelled after him, "how will I know when its over?"<br /><br />Jack laughed. "Watch for some weird terrorist shit in London."<br /><br />The old man lit another cigarette and watched Jack continue down the alleyway, under his breath he said an old prayer of hope, not for himself, but for Jack.<br /><br /> ----------------------------<br /><br />Death, "the Russian," stepped underneath the guard house door and out into the crisp night, every step he took made a resounding thump. True to David's word the man didn't carry a gun, or knife, or any weapon for that matter. He wore large steel toed black boots, blue jeans, a wife beater, and over that a thick flannel shirt, his body was covered with tattoos, including one hundred and twenty six skulls that traced around his forearm, once for each person he had killed with his bare hands.<br /><br />He stepped over to where two other men stood under a small lamppost that lined the walkway into the main door of the large mansion that was basically a castle. In fact, basically wasn't the word for it, it was a castle. Around the entire mansion was a twenty-foot high stonewall, complete with walkways and guard towers. The mansion itself was some ten stories tall, and at each corner of the house were more guard towers. In the front "yard" of the mansion, tucked securely behind the wall were four hummers complete with mounted fifty caliber machine guns.<br /><br />The complex boasted nearly one hundred armed guards, a staff of servants, maids, nannies, butlers, chefs, handy men, and ground maintenance. The guards were all hand-picked ex-military, armed with MP-5's, guard tower guards used sniper rifles with night vision and thermal scopes, guards inside the house used "street sweeper" shotguns with fifty round drum mags. They worked in continuous fifty man at a time shifts, and each one had to go through channels even to take a piss.<br /><br />Their leader, was a former lieutenant in the Marines, a woman by the name of Alice Walker. In actuality though, Death didn't give a shit about her, the person he was guarding, or any of the guards, he just wanted to lay his hands on Night. He stepped over to the other two men and grunted.<br /><br />One of the men stood about six feet tall, he was dark skinned, he hailed originally from Turkey but it didn't matter now. His hair was cut close to his head and his face clean-shaven, he wore a crisp suit and smoked clove cigarettes. In one hand, was the cigarette, in the other an old school Thompson Machine Gun, not the world war two Thompson, the gangster "Tommy Gun." Underneath his suit jacket he had two backup drum magazines. This man, was Mayhem.<br /><br />He nodded at Death and continued talking to the other man. This man, stood five feet one inches tall, he had no hair, no body hair, no tattoos, his eyebrows were black though but they were behind simple glasses, he wore baggy black jeans, a black wife beater, skater shoes, and a black hoodie with a skull and crossbones, he had MP3 earphones in his ears but he wasn't listening to anything. He had a wallet chain, but if you looked close enough at it you could make out that each ball in the chain was actually barbed with four spikes, and if you looked at his knuckles he had steel ball bearings under the skin between each one, this man, was Vengeance.<br /><br />"So how do you suppose he's going to get in here?" Mayhem asked.<br /><br />"Why the fuck would he come in here? That would obviously be suicide." Vengeance retorted.<br /><br />"Because he's stupid?"<br /><br />"He is anything but stupid," Death countered, "he is by far the smartest out of the three of us."<br /><br />Despite the fact that Death looked the way he looked he spoke elegantly without a hint of accent, flawless English.<br /><br />"Say," Mayhem continued, pointing a finger at Death, "didn't you fight him once while we were in school."<br /><br />"Fuck yeah he did," Vengeance fired out.<br /><br />"What happened, I can't remember?"<br /><br />"It was a draw, Dad broke it up." Vengeance answered.<br /><br />Out of nowhere a gunshot sounded above their heads, they calmly looked up to see another man at the tallest point of the "castle."<br /><br />On closer inspection he was tall and very thin, wearing what would be a typical military attire, his red hair stuck out in tufts and his face was locked down the scope of the gun. When he looked down you could see that he wasn't someone you would look at twice. This man, was Destruction.<br /><br />"I thought he preferred explosives?" Mayhem asked.<br /><br />"He does." Death answered.<br /><br />Destruction put a hand to his throat and a voice came through all of their nearly invisible earpieces.<br /><br />"Spotted him, shot at him, think I wounded him."<br /><br />"Was he carrying a gun?" Vengeance asked.<br /><br />"Negative," Destruction replied, "just a piece of paper."<br /><br />Death pointed to Walker who was looking on nearby and she regarded the much larger man with disdain. He waved his finger in a circular motion over his head and she keyed her throat mike and ordered her men to mount up.<br /><br />Ten minutes later the hummers returned and the lady stepped out of the lead car. She calmly walked to Death with a smile on her face and handed him a piece of paper.<br /><br /> ----------------------------<br /><br />Jack was watching from high in a tree and all he really wanted to do was laugh. The situation before him was pretty ridiculous, he couldn't actually believe he rated what he saw in front of him, there was practically an army. He knew the drill, an old military friend had told him the layout of the compound and of the situation inside of it and it was insane.<br /><br />A hundred guards? With the internal ones on top of that with street sweepers?<br /><br />It was funny. He held the slip of paper in his hand and continued to look out at the scene in front of him. Through process of elimination he had determined that Death, Destruction, Mayhem, and Vengeance were likely his classmates here. Mayhem was cocky, Destruction was insane, Vengeance had little man syndrome, and Death, well, Death he didn't want to think about, he only hoped he would have the opportunity to kill him with a weapon.<br /><br />He saw a slight glint through one of the forty flood lights that surrounded the compound and raised his spotting scope to the top of the castle, when he did, he free fell out of the tree. Dropped the piece of paper, and ran, smoothly blending into the shadows. Into the night.<br /><br />He felt the burn when he was halfway back to his "hideout" and touched his left ear, his fingers came back bloody and he laughed. He knew it was Destruction that he saw through the spotting scope holding a rifle in his direction, he just couldn't believe the crazy bastard had managed to see him, once more he couldn't believe that he had almost sniped him. If he had to lose the top of his left ear for his stupidity then so be it.<br /><br />When he got back to his place he grabbed the bottle of rubbing alcohol, the needle and thread, it was going to be ugly, but people like him didn't go to hospitals.<br /><br /> ----------------------------<br /><br />Death looked at the piece of paper and had to stifle a laugh. Mayhem, Vengeance, and Destruction all looked at him.<br /><br />"For fuck sakes what?" Vengeance blurted out.<br /><br />Death handed him the piece of paper and started laughing.<br /><br /><I>Hey guys,<br /><br />Just wanted to let you know that through a process of elimination that I figured out which ones of my school chums were in there. So to each of you, allow me some parting words if we don't speak soon.<br /><br />Death: I love ya you big fucking Russian. I hope I kill you with a gun and don't have to face those hands of yours. Yes, I know we technically need a re-match, but fuck that, if I don't have to fight you hand to hand I'm not going to do it. So, arm yourself, even though I know you wont. P.S. Did you get bigger?<br /><br />Mayhem: Seriously, are you still using a Tommy Gun? Because that would be priceless. How in the hell do you even lift that thing. By the way, I'm going to kill you before you even manage to point that thing at me, believe that. P.S. I'm sure you're still ugly.<br /><br />Vengeance: We all know that you have little man syndrome. Its ok, you should have seen a therapist instead of putting ball bearings in your hands. Yes, I heard about that. I will see you soon. P.S. If you pull out that fucking chain of yours I swear right now that even if I'm holding a gun I will drop it and pull my sword. Just to let you know.<br /><br />Destruction: If you even attempt to blow me up, I'm going to make your head explode. P.S. You're really weird.<br /><br />Finally to Ms. Walker: You ma'am are actually pretty hot for a Marine and I tell you what, if you walk out of that compound before midnight tonight, not only will I let you live, but I will even take you out on a date. P.S. Lose the sports bra, go for something in a push-up, I'm sure those suckers are wonderful.<br /><br />Alright guys…and gals. I will see you tomorrow, if you would like me to attack at night (which of course, I would absolutely enjoy), flash the third floodlight on the right from the front entrance twice. If, however, you would like me to attack during the day, flash it once. Ok, if you want me to attack before noon, flash it three times. I'm just curious as to what time you would like to die, figured I would give you that option. Until that day gentleman…and lady.<br /><br />-NIGHT</I><br /><br />Vengeance looked up from the note and pointed to Walker.<br /><br />"Flash that fucking light twice."<br /><br />Death put his hand on the man's shoulder and shook his head, then turned to Walker himself.<br /><br />"Flash it once."<br /><br />Walker turned to move and he cleared his throat causing her to turn around again.<br /><br />"And if you leave before midnight, I will personally hunt you down and I will rip your head off with my bare hands."<br /><br />The lady grinned, and turned to her men.<br /><br /> ----------------------------<br /><br />Jack saw the light flash once and smiled. Of course they wouldn't want him to come when there was any cover of dark but fuck it, he had secretly hoped they would be that stupid but was already planning for otherwise.<br /><br />Currently he was in the garage of his place strapping C4 to the undercarriage of a stolen car, well, not exactly to the undercarriage, he was connecting it to the front bumper, quite a bit of it actually. After that he would put together what weapons he wanted to take, right now he was looking at his Katana, two small machine guns (these guns were small at the length of a 357 magnum and the width of a 1911, they didn't hold much or pack that big of a punch, but he could carry lots of ammo for them and they could be useful. Along with that he was planning on his two 1911's, a combat knife, one Bullpup, and a bunch of explosive foam. Once he knew that Destruction was there, he wanted to give the guy a show. He had always hated him.<br /><br />He also knew because this was going down during the day that it wouldn't take long for police to show up, even though this castle was well away from anything, in fact it wasn't even that close to Frankfurt at all. He figured at best it would be an hour before the authorities arrived, at least anything that was worth a shit.<br /><br /> ----------------------------<br /><br />Destruction stood outside of the main door to the mansion and twirled his custom made explosive in his hand. It was half the size of a grenade and a tube, like a pipe bomb, but it had three times the destructive power of one. He twirled it casually. He checked his watch and saw that it was twelve o'clock. At midnight that night they had found a sports bra hanging from the lamppost nearest to the exit of the castle and a quick look had found that the former marine was nowhere in the compound, he had thought it was funny, Death disagreed. Death was inside the house, sitting in the middle of the house to be exact, with Vengeance. Mayhem was around somewhere.<br /><br />He checked his watch again and saw that it was twelve o'five, and right after he did that the gate guard alarm went off. He turned his earpiece on and listened.<br /><br />"Report." It was Death's voice.<br /><br />"We have a car coming down the drive at high speed," a guard announced, "looks like he's going to ram the front gate."<br /><br />Destruction saw guards running along the wall heading to the main gate, checking their MP5's, he also saw the guard tower guards turn their attention to the gate as well. He sat down on the front steps and waited. He had the sinking suspicion this was a decoy.<br /><br />"He's ramming."<br /><br />The guards on the front gate opened fire at the car and Destruction waited to hear it collide. It did indeed, the whole font gate exploded so large that the ground shook. He stood up and smiled, he recognized the C4 for what it was and laughed as pieces of rock fell down around him, mixed with pieces of guards. Where the front gate was, was now was a giant crater. He started to move towards it when the rock wall to the right of the mansion exploded inward. He turned his attention in time to see three guards on the wall drop to weapons fire, he heard the sound of a bullpup a few seconds later then saw a figure streak into the compound. He liked the fact that Night was using explosions. He lobbed his homemade explosive in that direction and made his way for the front door, pulling a Desert Eagle from a side holster, it carried custom made explosive rounds as well. He felt his homemade bomb go off as he made his way inside.<br /><br /> ----------------------------<br /><br />Death heard the explosion and watched Vengeance jump to his feet. He made a motion for the man to sit back down and he did. In a way, he hated that he was going to use Vengeance as bait, then again, he didn't like him anyway. After a few moments he heard another explosion, then Destruction made his way into the house, pulling out his Desert Eagle. The man nodded in his direction, another explosion went off, and he went to the right of the house. Death stayed where he was, and guards with their street sweepers followed Destruction.<br /><br /> ----------------------------<br /><br />Mayhem heard the explosion and started running, he was outside at the back of the house and he wanted his chance at Night. When he rounded the left hand side of the house from the back an explosion forced him into the wall of the house. His ears were ringing and he couldn't see very well, his vision was slowly coming back. He went to regain his feet and felt a gun barrel press into the side of his head.<br /><br />"Told you that you weren't even going to point it at me."<br /><br />Then there was nothing as his brains splattered against the wall.<br /><br /> ----------------------------<br /><br />Destruction heard glass break and he waved the guards forward into the room where the sound originated. He went to follow them in when the door slammed shut in his face. As soon as it did he grabbed a net explosive from a small pouch and laced the door with it.<br /><br />A net explosive was just that, a net, that was typically used for breaching a door. He waited for a few seconds then heard the sounds of fully automatic shotguns going off.<br /><br />He laid himself flat on the ground as the walls over his head erupted outward from the guns, after a few moments, the shooting subsided and there was silence again.<br /><br />He waited a full five seconds, then detonated the net explosive. The door splintered inward with a concussive force, he tossed a flash bang in, waited for it to explode, then moved in with his DE ready. As soon as he walked in he saw something go through the wall to his right and he ran back out the same door just in time to see the same flash enter the room across the hall. He fired twice behind it and the wall erupted in small explosions. Then he traced it, moving slowly.<br /><br />He rounded the corner into the room swiftly attempting to dodge anyone that could be waiting and was suddenly halted by his gun getting jerked from his hand. He turned to face Night, who had a large grin on his face. He swung at his face but missed and his hand erupted in pain as the wrist was snapped and for good measure Night also broke three of his fingers in the same motion. Destruction didn't make a sound however. He swung again with his good hand and Night seemed to disappear. Then he was behind him and he tried a roundhouse kick that got caught, and then he felt his knee snap in a defensive move. The thin man dropped to the ground, pushed a button, and the vest of explosives he wore under his shirt pinged to life. Suddenly a hand was at his throat and he felt another hand remove the detonator cable from the small of his back. Destruction looked up to see Night holding what looked like an aerosol can, the other man forced his mouth open and it was quickly filled with foam that hardened rapidly. He watched Night place what looked like a little timer in his mouth and the other man smiled.<br /><br />"Told you."<br /><br />Night took off in a dead run as Destruction struggled to remove the foam out of his mouth. A few seconds later and that whole quarter side of the house blew away to rubble.<br /><br /> ----------------------------<br /><br />Death had heard the gunshots, then the several explosions, then silence, and finally he stood up. Vengeance did the same. The smaller man keyed his radio, spoke into it, and then shook his head no. Their classmates were already dead. Death nodded to the smaller man and slinked back into a hidden part of the room. He watched the smaller man pull out his chain and begin to swing it.<br /><br /> ----------------------------<br /><br />Vengeance watched the bigger man slink back into the shadows and he got ready. As he stood there he heard more shotgun blasts, some MP5 fire, then some return fire from what sounded like an extremely small submachine gun. He was nervous, and sweating profusely under his arms. He took a few steps forward then stopped again. Death had told him to wait there and he was going to do just that. He continued to swing his chain, it was comforting, when he saw Night calmly stroll into the room. Vengeance started pacing, he was getting ready to fight. He watched as Night shook his head, then dropped the two tiny machine guns he was wielding and removed the Katana from his back.<br /><br />As soon as Night made for him Vengeance started swinging. He brought the chain up, down, and around with a type of grace. He made sure not to get it stuck into any furniture or walls as that would indeed suck and he slowly made his way toward Night.<br /><br />He watched the other man dodge. He knew he was going to attempt to discern a pattern and Vengeance tried his hardest not to form one. It was hard though, using this type of weapon one of the only ways to use it as a fighting style was to use patterns, as with any martial arts. But he also knew that he would have to improvise and adapt. He broke stride and made a swing for Night's head, and flinched when he saw the Katana come down and severe his arm. He didn't scream though, he wouldn't give the prick the satisfaction, and he still had another arm.<br /><br />Vengeance swung, trying to connect with the ball bearings in his left hand when he saw that limb detach as well, he turned to face Night and saw the blade come down on his neck.<br /><br /> ----------------------------<br /><br />Death watched and as soon as Night decapitated the smaller man he jumped from his hiding spot and wretched the blade from the other man's hand. He struck the sword down, burying it into the hardwood floor and Night stepped back, wincing a little. He looked at the piece of ear missing from Nights head and smiled.<br /><br />"You didn't have to do that," Night said, pointing to the blade, "that's horrible for the sword."<br /><br />Death took a step forward, and Night took another step back.<br /><br />"Have you been working out?" the other man asked, "How much can you bench now?"<br /><br />Death smiled, and grinned even bigger at Night.<br /><br />"I'm benching five hundred and twenty pounds now, yourself?"<br /><br />"Umm something like that."<br /><br /> ----------------------------<br /><br />Jack really didn't want to have to fight this guy. He was huge, one of the bigger man's arms was as big around as his waist. Five hundred and twenty pounds, Jesus, was that even necessary Jack thought. He looked and saw Vengeances barbed whip laying on the ground and thought about grabbing that, but he had tried using that particular weapon back at the school and had never found the knack for it.<br /><br />So instead, he got in his muay Thai posture and felt the 1911's at his back. He would give this a shot, if he started to lose, well, there would be other options. And in all due respect, he liked the big Russian.<br /><br />To his surprise, the Russian adopted the same stance.<br /><br />"Get the fuck outta here." Jack said.<br /><br />The Russian just smiled and Jack sighed. As soon as the sigh was released the Russian moved close and swung, Jack ducked under the swing and brought a knee up to the bigger man's ribcage, it felt like a brick wall. Before he even had time to plant his foot again the man came around with a roundhouse, Jack dropped to the ground and kicked at his knee, the bigger man rolled with it and dropped with a knee of his own, aimed at Night's chest. Jack rolled out of the way and then had to continue to roll as the man came down with his large foot trying to neck stomp him, after nearly a full circle Jack rolled backwards and came to his feet. He expected the bigger man to attack as he came up and instead he stood there.<br /><br />"Come on Jack," the bigger man said, "Do you honestly think this is going to work out in your favor?"<br /><br />Jack ran at him and jumped, double knee dropping him in the chest. With any normal person that kind of blow would have sent them stumbling backwards, or falling, instead the Russian stuck his chest out and it was Jack that hit the ground. He rolled and kicked again, attempting to leg sweep him and once again the Russian went with the punch. Jack found himself again rolling away from foot stomps, this time however the Russian charged when he attempted to gain his feet. Jack stumbled backward and felt the knee collide with his ribcage, it hurt, but it wasn't a break, the Russian had been slightly off balance. Jack delivered a vicious rib shot to counteract it and even though his fist ached with the impact he managed to get the man off balance.<br /><br />With the bigger man showing his side and Jack straight on he ran again and double knee dropped him straight to his exposed ribcage, this time the Russian did fall, and Jack took the opportunity in stride. He dove onto the bigger man's back and put him in a rear naked choke, to Jack's surprise the big man managed to gain his feet, with Jack on his back, and he ran for one of the many granite pillars that were throughout the interior of the house at the last second he turned and slammed Jack into it. He instantly let go and saw stars.<br /><br /> ----------------------------<br /><br />The Russian stepped away and looked at Jack as he struggled to regain his feet.<br /><br />"I can make this quick." The big man said.<br /><br />Jack waved at him, that wave that says, "Whatever." Returned to standing straight and tall and got into a different posture that Death had never seen before.<br /><br />"And what is this?" He asked.<br /><br />He watched the tiny man and saw that he looked like he was getting ready to pounce and he braced himself, he knew the smaller Night would try and get him off balance again.<br /><br />"Its called Krav Maga." Night said.<br /><br />And with that, he lunged. The Russian was expecting a chest shot and instead got a full kick straight to his groin, he actually grunted involuntarily, and leaned over, when he did he felt Night double elbow drop him to the back of the neck. He fell, seeing stars and tried to go to his knees, as he did he felt the smaller man land on his back again.<br /><br />Death went to try and do the same thing again, he expected a submission hold and instead was rewarded with fingers being dug into his eyes. He grabbed the man's wrist and attempted to pull him off, as soon as he got some leverage he felt a knee strike continuously pounding him in the ribcage, he leaned to that side and let go of the hands and instantly felt one of them return to his throat grabbing his windpipe. He grabbed this hand and was granted the pleasure of the knee strikes to his ribcage again, he heard them crack and grunted again. Then he felt one of the hands go for his chin, and the other one to the back of his head, they maintained a death grip and Death strained his neck muscles trying to prevent what was about to happen, and then…nothing.<br /><br /> ----------------------------<br /><br />Jack watched the larger man fall to ground and stepped back, leaning against a leather chair, breathing heavy. There was one thing in the style of Krav Maga that wasn't expected in any other style, and that was anything goes, there were no rules.<br /><br />He struggled to remove the sword from the ground and put it back into the scabbard at his spine. He rotated, hearing a noise, and instantly knew what was about to happen, the rest of the eighty or so guards were about to rush the house.<br /><br />He had a feeling they were going to use a typical military strike with teams doing sweep and clears and as soon as the front door burst inward he saw the flash grenade get thrown in. He lunged, diving behind a couch and covered his eyes as the grenade went off, as soon as he heard it he took off at a sprint. Machine gun fire ripped the wall apart behind him as he burst through a door. No sooner than he did that he heard the glass rupture in the room he ran into, he closed his eyes and covered them and heard another explosion of a flash bang, he dodged, using memorization back into the hallway and was rewarded with not only the ground and walls around him erupting into small shrapnel but the hallway doing the same. They were surrounding him, and he kind of wanted that.<br /><br />He slid into the next room and swept a guard that had come through a window. Before he even managed to fall backward Jack had gotten back up, put him in a choke hold, and choke slammed him, he then picked the man up, using him as a human shield, and using the guards own gun eliminated the ten other men that had entered the room. He broke the guards neck, then continued running.<br /><br />As he re-entered back into the opening of the foyer he not only saw the guards moving in disarray, but the bullets that were impacting the wall in front of him. He slid again, and re-entered the room he had originally breached. There were guards in here as well and he eliminated another ten with his two 1911's, all headshots. He grabbed two of the street sweepers that were on the ground around him, reloaded and reholstered his 1911's, then criss-crossed the street sweepers into an x pattern. Then he ran back the way he had just came, slid into the foyer on his knees and began to unload the fully automatic shotguns. <br /><br />Bodies, and body parts flew everywhere as Jack unleashed a hundred rounds of twelve gauge slug shotgun rounds. In a figure eight pattern he ran back into the second room he had encountered the interior guards and grabbed two more of the unrelenting shotguns, then went diving into the first room he had encountered exterior guards in outside of the foyer, he unloaded again, then repeated the pattern.<br /><br />By the end, even though for the most part the walls around Night had continued to be pummeled he was always one step ahead, and he picked off the rest of the stragglers as they tried to run away with shots from his 45's to the back of their heads. He looked at the carnage around him and started to laugh. By all rights, and he knew it himself, he should have been dead.<br /><br /> ----------------------------<br /><br />Jack ran to the fifth floor and when he came around the corner to go up the next flight he saw two more guards at the end of the hall. They saw him, opened fire, and he stood behind a wall until, stupidly, they both had to reload at the same time. He stepped back around, they saw him, and lowered their guns. He raised the two 1911's fired once out of each gun and was rewarded with a headshot to both. That was movie stuff, the stuff that wasn't possible, but if you practiced long enough it was quite possible, and he had practiced enough. He made his way down the hall and opened the door. Inside was an office and a man sat behind a desk, he was old and gray and he held a double-barreled shotgun. Jack saw him and the man smirked.<br /><br />"Guess you're going to kill me now?" the man said.<br /><br />"Wasn't planning on it."<br /><br />"Warum?"<br /><br />"Your not who I'm looking for."<br /><br />With that Jack stepped back out of the room and closed the door then he quickly placed a charge that he had grabbed off of Destructions body. It was small, much smaller then an average claymore, but it would do the trick; he laced it in front of the door then took off back down the hallway.<br /><br />He made it to the seventh floor before he heard the explosion. What man would leave his wife to die?<br /><br />On the tenth floor, and final floor, Jack went straight to a back room, the only one, from the outside, that had no windows. When he opened the door he was facing a vault door. He touched a communications pad on the outside of the door and spoke.<br /><br />"Warum ich nicht kann eingehen?"<br /><br />There was a pause and then the familiar female voice he had heard before.<br /><br />"Warum nicht tatsächlich."<br /><br />He heard bolts unlock and the large metal door slowly slid inward. He paused then stepped inside.<br /><br /> ----------------------------<br /><br />Mrs. Slichtheiler watched Jack walk through the door and she smiled. He was as handsome as she remembered. Were she younger she would have tried to seduce him to keep her life, and she would have enjoyed it, instead she held the small twenty-two-caliber purse gun with the pearl handle in her hand, and never even pointed it at him.<br /><br /> ----------------------------<br /><br />"Bonjour, vous êtes une belle dame, son une honte je dois vous tuer."<br /><br />The lady smiled at Jack and he smiled back at her.<br /><br />"Pouvons-nous échanger à l'anglais ? Je déteste vraiment le français."<br /><br />Jack laughed and shrugged.<br /><br />"Wie steht's mit Deutsch?" he responded.<br /><br />"Nein. Auf Englisch."<br /><br />"I knew you were French, it was easy, all I had to do was look at you." Jack said.<br /><br />The older lady sat the purse gun on the table next to her and waved her hand around.<br /><br />"A panic room."<br /><br />"I know," Jack answered, he held another can of the foam explosive in his hand and waved it at her, "I would have made a way in."<br /><br />She nodded, and pointed to a seat across from her in the lavish panic room, most of these rooms that Jack had seen had been sparsely furnished but this one was opulent, he sat down and she smiled.<br /><br />"Yo siempre le pensaba uno de los más atractivos." She said.<br /><br />Jack smiled and nodded his head.<br /><br />"Flattery will get you no where, besides, I thought you wanted to speak English."<br /><br />She nodded, and shrugged her shoulders.<br /><br />"Ich denke, dass Zorn jetzt am attraktivsten ist."<br /><br />Jack flinched, and it caught even himself off guard.<br /><br />"Wait," he said, "who is Wrath?"<br /><br />She laughed a gentle laugh, none of the malice that he had heard in her voice on the phone and he settled a bit, he knew she had accepted her death.<br /><br />"It doesn't matter," she said, "you will meet him soon enough I believe."<br /><br />Jack didn't like it, he didn't like someone he didn't know, but these weren't the questions he needed to press.<br /><br />"What's his name?" Jack asked.<br /><br />She looked at him and shrugged.<br /><br />"Who is to say it is a man?" She responded.<br /><br />Jack smiled.<br /><br />"If it was a woman, no offense, this organization wouldn't exist."<br /><br />The older woman chuckled and patted her thigh.<br /><br />"Son nom est Arthur Billings."<br /><br />"Why did you tell me?" Jack asked. He wondered why he didn't even have to force it out of her.<br /><br />"Parce que je savais qu'il ne me ferait aucun bien pour résister. Ainsi j'ai symbolisé la meilleure voie de vous permettre de savoir devrait juste vous dire. Maintenant, comment projetez-vous de me tuer ?"<br /><br />Jack shrugged, his French was rusty.<br /><br />"Why wouldn't I. I know it would do me no good to resist. So, how do you plan to kill me?" She translated for herself.<br /><br />Jack shrugged, in truth he was just planning on shooting her.<br /><br />"How would you like to die?" He answered.<br /><br />"Par l'épée."<br /><br />Jack nodded, and removed the Katana from the sword on his back.<br /><br />"Who is this Wrath?" Jack asked, his sword at the ready.<br /><br />"You will find out soon enough, I would advise you practice the skill with the blade you are now holding."<br /><br />Jack shrugged, he was the best at the sword and he knew it. He wasn't worried about anyone who thought they could beat him at that. He would gladly accept the challenge.<br /><br />"Tête ou Coeur?" Jack asked, basically, head or heart.<br /><br />"Coeur." The older lady responded.<br /><br />Jack nodded, and drove the blade into her heart. He waited until she quit twitching, then twisted the blade. For some reason he had felt an attachment to her, and he didn't know why. He removed the blade, cleaned it, and made his way to exit the compound.<br /><br /> ----------------------------<br /><br />There were police, as he had expected, but he easily bypassed them, when he reached the entrance to the compound he saw the younger Lt. Walker standing at the edge of the road. He pulled the Suzuki Hayabusa GSX1300R over to the side of the lane and looked at her. The bike was worth twelve thousand American dollars and had a top speed of close to two hundred miles an hour. She looked good in her push-up bra and Jack laughed.<br /><br />"Need a ride?"<br /><br />She smiled, and climbed on.<br /><br /><B>PartVIII</B><br /><br />Jack had been sitting on the roof adjacent to the expensive loft apartment of one Arthur Billings in London for nearly a week. Through the usual channels (i.e. conversations that never took place) Jack had found out that this would have had to been the wealthiest Arthur Billings in London, therefore the most likely to be the leader of the organization.<br /><br />Yet, in this week period, all the while he was getting soaked from the rain that wasn't really rain, Jack had yet to see any people other then Arthur himself. The man had continued to do his day-to-day thing and there had been no one, no bodyguards, David, women, anyone. Finally, upset by the fact that he didn't think this was the man when no one else even came close to rating a match, he got off the roof, and knocked on the door of the loft when he knew the man would be home.<br /><br />He knocked three times; when there was no answer he knocked three more times, when there was still no answer he kicked the door in.<br /><br />The first thing he saw was a lavishly furnished apartment, the second thing he saw was a large flat screen TV, the third thing he saw was one Arthur Billings jerking off (or actually no longer jerking off) to a rather raunchy gay porn featuring an extremely muscular black man with a not so large white man. Arthur Billings himself wasn't a very substantial man. Jack guessed him at five feet six inches and maybe a hundred and twenty pounds if he was lucky. Mr. Arthur Billings still hadn't moved, his dick still in his hand, he was staring at Jack, opened mouth.<br /><br />"What do you do for a living?" Jack asked.<br /><br />He was still scanning the room, even as he asked the question, he didn't consider the man in front of him a threat.<br /><br />"I just get paid." The other man responded, realizing he was exposed and attempting to hide himself, although keeping an eye on Jack to see if he was looking and if so possibly interested.<br /><br />"What do you mean you just get paid?"<br /><br />The other man studied Jack as he looked him over.<br /><br />"I should call the police."<br /><br />"You could try."<br /><br />The man still made no attempt to move and Jack focused his attention back to him.<br /><br />"I don't know, I just do, for no reason. A few years ago this man came up to me and offered to pay me a hundred thousand euros a year just to use my name."<br /><br />Jack thought of all the other Arthur Billings in London and how this one had gotten lucky, or perhaps not so lucky, a tiny white gay man.<br /><br />"What was the man's name?"<br /><br />At that Jack heard the barely audible creak of a staircase. He turned around to find a rather young, and very fit, black man with a sword in hand attempting to sneak up behind him. Jack stepped further into the room and kept his calm, keeping his hands in his pockets, he had no idea who this man was, and he had never seen him before. As he backed up and the other man entered the room, he heard the audible gasp, and no doubt excitement of Arthur.<br /><br />"And who are you?" Jack asked.<br /><br />"My name is no matter." The black man replied in a heavy British accent.<br /><br />Jack could see that the young man was nervous, but he could also see that he was confident, Jack wasn't used to that look in someone's eyes.<br /><br />"Humor me." Jack responded.<br /><br />He looked out of the corner of his eye and saw Arthur slowly bring his penis back out in the open, he started to jerk off again, staring at the younger black man the entire time. Jack pulled out a silenced nine millimeter from behind his back and shot him in the head, then turned his attention back to the black man. This younger man had taken a guard position when Jack had removed the pistol and he had also taken a step back, this told Jack two things; one, he was inexperienced, two, he wasn't carrying a gun. He re-holstered the pistol, and turned his attention back to him.<br /><br />"So, your name?"<br /><br />"They call me Wrath."<br /><br />Jack hesitated; this had been the one that Slichtheiler had mentioned.<br /><br />"So, Wrath is it?" Jack's hand slowly crept to the katana at his back. If this man were good, he would have to prove it.<br /><br />The younger man lunged, bringing his sword in for a strike. Before Jack even knew what happened he felt white-hot heat across his back and he realized his opponent was behind him. He moved, and felt the muscles ping along his back. He could feel the cut, it wasn't deep, maybe deep enough for stitches but he doubted it, he could feel the sticky blood though, and he knew the cut was about a foot long, he also knew that if the other man had wanted, he would be dead. He turned around in a flash and blocked another strike, this one aiming for his legs, and then another for his head, then another that was almost like an uppercut. Only then did Jack look, or even try to look, at the other man's sword. His sword wasn't a katana, it was a short sword.<br /><br />Jack quickly laid his sword on the top of a table, handle out, and dove in with martial arts. The other man managed to get a swipe off that nicked Jack's upper thigh, but it was barely a graze. His fist, connecting to the other man's jaw though, wasn't a graze. Wrath took a step backwards from the blow and Jack jumped in with vicious punches to the man's ribs and chin. Jack grabbed the younger man's sword hand and felt three violent strikes to his head in retaliation. Jack stepped backwards and tried to clear his head and could see the other man out of the corner of his eye do the same. In that moment Jack jumped back in. He tried sweeping, the man jumped, head shots, dodged, kicks, deflected. Everything he threw at the other man was blocked or avoided. Finally the other man brought up another uppercut with his blade and it connected with Jack's cheek.<br /><br />Jack reeled, and the other man went on the offensive. Jack found himself suddenly backing up, trying to avoid the short sword tracing his every move less then a second after he had completed it. He continued to back up until he found himself once again next to his sword. In a swift movement he grabbed the blade and brought it up, it was blocked, and Jack saw the blade's collide. His sword wasn't meant for "sword fighting" the other man's was. Jack realized this, turned like he was going to run, then brought the blade up in an arc behind his back without ever turning his body.<br /><br />Jack felt the blade tear flesh through bone, the usual feeling of dismemberment, and whipped himself around. As he turned he saw the younger man, minus his blade hand, drop to a knee to retrieve the blade with his other hand. In a smooth motion Jack drove his blade home, the katana entered at the knee, traced the calf bone, went through the foot, and imbedded itself in the floor. Wrath screamed, and Jack punched him in the mouth.<br /><br />"You should know better than that," Jack said as he removed his silenced pistol, "you are obviously trained, we show no emotion."<br /><br />Wrath gritted his teeth but Jack could tell he wanted to scream, he was young, and he hadn't felt pain like that. Even if he did live, he would be crippled the rest of his life.<br /><br />"Now, who is the real leader…Wrath?"<br /><br />The younger man looked at him, then spit in his face. Jack grabbed his face with one hand, shot the nine-millimeter into the wall, and then touched the barrel to the man's face. He heard the hissing intake of breath and then nothing. Jack fired again and this time touched the barrel to the other man's eye, he saw the eye melt, then move into almost goo. The other man screamed and Jack punched him once more to silence him.<br /><br />"I can make this quick, an honorable death," Jack sighed, "or I can do this slow, and make you wish you were dead."<br /><br />In a movement Jack didn't see, the younger Wrath brought a blade up into Jack's ribcage with his good hand. The blade punctured his leather body armor and stuck itself in between two of his ribs. He showed no sign of pain, grabbed the front of the other man's pants, pulled them out, shot the pistol again, and stuck it down the front of Wrath's pants. He heard the other man moan and the blade was removed. Jack grabbed it, grabbed the other man's head, and began to cut his ear off. The other man screamed again and Jack had to punch him into silence once more. He couldn't understand why they would send someone this young after him, it was foolish.<br /><br />"Tell me," Jack implored, "and this will all be over."<br /><br />Wrath spit in his face again. Jack laughed, and grabbed the short sword that was on the ground near him.<br /><br />"Guess you don't want any balls in your body at your funeral."<br /><br />Jack brought the sword up and the man whimpered.<br /><br />"Tell me, and this will all be over."<br /><br />"Roundcourt…" the man hissed, "Dad."<br /><br />Jack shook his head.<br /><br />"Dad is dead."<br /><br />"No…Roundcourt Road…expensive…"<br /><br />"What is his name?" Jack asked.<br /><br />"Dad."<br /><br />Jack hit him, then tore the rest of Wrath's ear off that was still connected, with his bare hands. The younger man went to scream again and Jack punched him once more.<br /><br />"Nice and quick." Jack said, then he picked up the other man's good hand and began to snap fingers one by one.<br /><br />"Yunger."<br /><br />"Really?" Jack snapped another finger, then his wrist.<br /><br />"Yes…Yunger…I hope Doc kills your fucking ass."<br /><br />Jack removed the blade from the other man's leg, arched it up, and cut his head off.<br /><br />"So," Yunger said, "he killed our newest? I was hoping young Wrath would be superior."<br /><br />David studied the older man, the one they called Dad, he, like Jack, had thought him dead for many years now. The older man was still fit, still in good condition, still lethal. Even though he was nearing seventy his black hair only had highlights of gray that tinged the edges. He was wearing a simple attire of blue jeans and a white t-shirt with Nike tennis shoes. The watch at his wrist, and small glasses were the only things that gave away his money. His face was still lined with acne scars of his youth, his ice blue eyes penetrating, his skin remarkably free of wrinkles and tanned. David could see the muscles of his arms and even the still defined six-pack through the white t-shirt. When he stood up and began to pace around the room, hands at his back, David could see the pearl handled thirty-eight revolver tucked into the back of his jeans.<br /><br />"I told you," David said, "Its Night we're talking about. Is there anyone who could beat him?"<br /><br />The older man looked at David and a slight smile played at his lips.<br /><br />"You can."<br /><br />David nodded, not a nod of agreement but of understanding.<br /><br />"So," the older man continued, "Do you think Wrath talked?"<br /><br />"Probably."<br /><br />"So, Daniel will be on his way then."<br /><br />David nodded, flipping the Smith and Wesson H.R.T. Rescue blade in-between his fingers. There were better knives, but he liked the black blades and handles of the Smith and Wesson.<br /><br />"I only want a small detail of guards, send the others away, I want the doors open, I want him to be my guest."<br /><br />David looked up, not believing what the other man had said, if it was him, he would have suggested hiring an entire army not sending the few they had away. Then again, an army had not helped the lady any.<br /><br />"Are you sure that is the correct course of action?" David asked.<br /><br />The older man looked at him, smiled, and then waved his hand to dismiss him. David nodded and left the room.<br /><br />Jack waited nearly three weeks to heal before heading after this Yunger. He had found him easily, had found his opulent mansion, the man certainly didn't hide his money, it was amazing to Jack that he hadn't figured it out earlier. It was an expansive mansion with large grounds, some three hundred yards of open ground in all direction before reaching the house. Open ground meant he would have to find another way in.<br /><br />"We don't recommend night jumps mate."<br /><br />Jack looked at the skydiver and nodded.<br /><br />"I understand that, but you've gotten your money, all I need you to do is fly me up."<br /><br />"Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the money its well more then we ask for, but you do understand the risk of a night jump? I see you're certified to jump, but have you ever actually done it…a night jump I mean?"<br /><br />Jack considered telling the man the truth, just so he would shut up, and then decided he would.<br /><br />"Look pal," he was using a northern American accent, "I've done thirty-six night jumps and three HALO jumps, you ever done a HALO? How many night jumps have you done?"<br /><br />The other guy stood there, mouth open, hands on his hips.<br /><br />"Get the fuck outta here, what, you like special forces or some shite like that?"<br /><br />"Something like that."<br /><br />"Well why didn't you fucking say so mate? What time you wanna jump?"<br /><br />Jack floated through the air silently, he could see the grounds below him easily because they were lit up like a baseball field, everything except for the house, it was a dark spot in the center. He tucked the chute into a spin, spiraling straight down through the dark hole that the house created. At the last moment he pulled out of the spin, angled himself up slightly, and whisper quiet landed on the roof of the mansion. He tucked the chute up quickly, stored it, then made his way down the roof. When he got to the edge of the house he wrapped his legs around a TV antennae at the ankles and hung over. He opened a window below him, pulled himself back up, turned around, and slid into the now open window.<br /><br />As soon as he stepped foot into the room he saw a glint of steel and turned his head in time to have it whizz by him and stick into the wall, he could barely see the make from the black blade and handle, Smith and Wesson. His sword was still on his spine but it was reversed, he reached to his lower back to grab the handle.<br /><br />"When you've finished this," he heard David's voice and saw the man standing near the door of the room, "then we end it…by the lake at the edge of the property. If you come with anything but your tanto I will shoot you. Are we clear."<br /><br />"Yes," Jack replied through clenched teeth.<br /><br />"And no armor. You will find him at the end of the hall, he is expecting you. There are no guards."<br /><br />Then David was gone. Jack walked out into the hall and didn't see him, so he made his way to the room at the end of the hall.<br /><br />He opened the door quietly and stepped inside. The only light came from a fire in a fireplace in the center of the room. The room was large, easily thirty yards at its diameter, sparsely furnished, but he could see a man standing at the corner of the room, looking out a window.<br /><br />"How are you Daniel?"<br /><br />Jack heard the words and knew the voice; he strode across the room, a tear welling in the corner of his eye.<br /><br />"Dad?"<br /><br />The man turned around and Jack looked at him in disbelief.<br /><br />"You're dead, I saw you die."<br /><br />The other man nodded and Jack looked straight into his ice blue eyes.<br /><br />"You needed to think I was dead. It was the only way you would do your job, and you've done wonderfully my boy."<br /><br />Jack hesitated then looked at him, the gleam gone from his eyes, all he saw was death.<br /><br />"You wanted me to destroy the organization?"<br /><br />"Exactly. We're a tired old bunch for the most part. Our days in the sun are gone, we deserved to be destroyed and what better way then to use our perfect tool? David would never have done it. None of the others could have ever completed the assignment. But I couldn't let you just do it; you would have to work at it, make sure we were all gone. That's why everyone had orders to kill you. Just like you will have to work to kill me. Perhaps…" the old man said as he grabbed a katana off the wall, an ancient katana nearly 900 years old, crafted by Sanjo Munechika, "we could have an old fashioned duel."<br /><br />Jack stepped backwards, removing his katana, and assumed his preferred fighting stance.<br /><br />"I don't want to kill you."<br /><br />"My dear boy, I'm already dead to you. All you are doing is fighting a ghost."<br /><br />He assumed his fighting stance as well, and looked at Night.<br /><br />"Do me proud Daniel. Do what I trained you to do."<br /><br />He sprinted at Jack, surprisingly quick, but Jack wasn't taken off his guard. He sprinted forward as well. The old man went low and Jack sidestepped and went high. He felt the older man's blade trace up his side from bellybutton to just below the armpit, the cut was deep but not a kill strike. Jack's on the other hand split open the man's stomach. Yunger dropped to his knees, holding his trailing intestines. Jack turned around quickly and decapitated him. He looked at the body for only a few seconds before turning and walking out of the room.<br /><br />Jack walked to the lake holding his side. He dropped his katana and two pistols on the way there, then his body armor that was pretty much useless in a knife fight anyway, it was why the sword had managed to penetrate the way it did. He removed his tanto and walked to where David was standing looking out over the lake.<br /><br />"You ever think it would come to this?" David asked as Jack neared.<br /><br />"I had an idea." Jack said, as he got nearer. "We never really were friends even when we were kids. And the two best always have to play king of the hill at some point."<br /><br />"Did he tell you why?" David asked.<br /><br />"No." Jack replied.<br /><br />"He wouldn't tell me either." David paused."Was it a quick kill?"<br /><br />"Yes."<br /><br />"Good."<br /><br />David removed his shirt, reducing himself to dress slacks and shoes, and pulled out his larger Smith and Wesson that was about the same size as Jack's tanto. The other man looked at Jack and saw the large wound from the duel earlier.<br /><br />"Can you fairly compete?" He asked.<br /><br />"We will see."<br /><br />Jack darted forward, he knew David was an aggressive fighter and hoped to keep him on the defensive.<br /><br />Suddenly Jack felt fire open up on his body as the two men circled each other in the fight David was still the one scoring the points. He felt a wound open up on his forearm, then his wrist, the side of his neck, back of his thigh. He was losing a lot of blood and starting to get lightheaded. David made another swipe, Jack grabbed his wrist with his free hand, David went to kick him and Jack buried his tanto into the other man's thigh. David flinched and when he did Jack grabbed his own blade out of his hand and buried it into his ribcage. When David turned again Jack removed his tanto from his thigh and drove it upward into the underside of his chin. David dropped dead, and Jack fell to the ground as well. He stayed that way for a while before he grabbed David's discarded shirt, split it, and wrapped it around as many of his wounds as he could. Then he started walking. It was over. He picked up the katana, and started to regain his step.<br /><br />"Permission to proceed?"<br /><br />"Negative Lightside, base says to let him leave, they may want to recruit him."<br /><br />The assassin known as Lightside looked through the scope of his sniper rifle at the assassin known as Night as he limped across the field. He'd had a clean shot ever since the man had landed on the roof of the house but he hadn't had permission to fire.<br /><br />"Come again base. This guy has killed how many? I'm to let him live."<br /><br />"Affirmative."<br /><br />Lightside stood up and pulled his red hair into a ponytail. He grabbed the rifle, looked down the scope at Night one more time, and then started the hike back to his jeep. The trip took about twenty minutes. When he got back to the jeep he opened up the back and slide his rifle in, then turned to get in. The first thing he noticed as he was turning was a 2006 Yamaha Y7 propped against the side of the jeep, as soon as he turned the blade of a katana stopped at a halt near his throat. He looked over at the man holding it and saw the man he had just had in his scope. The man looked at him, he couldn't even stand upright and Lightside thought he may be able to take him out in a little hand to hand, he thought that, until the man smiled.<br /><br />"Who are you?" Night asked.<br /><br />Lightside didn't answer.<br /><br />"Whom do you work for?"<br /><br />Lightside pinched the panic button on his thumb and continued to look at him, he could have shot him, and he should have shot him.<br /><br />"We can do this the easy way or the hard way."<br /><br />Lightside smiled, "Ohhh, I think I will take the hard way."<br /><br />His opponent smiled and the smile itself made him nervous.<br /><br />"I was hoping you would say that." Night said.<br /><br /> <br /><br /><B><I>The End</B></I>DeistBrawlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208558981915537789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1274732308027449129.post-24431014679721725192011-09-28T18:23:00.001-07:002011-09-28T18:25:08.450-07:00CBR-III: Book #44-51<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU2wLW-ssNGUzlVJ2vRY2W_tsliRZuNG9sagc4-VPQdR9iELke24XjKcTQApnDNT62ndFpZHTrlNqEMgQvDl7pWkSQy73g7MnMZlLEFRqiAG7_iLBD3mCoK3Xy2JqkQJnke1XLCCY3I9Av/s1600/pajibacard.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 314px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU2wLW-ssNGUzlVJ2vRY2W_tsliRZuNG9sagc4-VPQdR9iELke24XjKcTQApnDNT62ndFpZHTrlNqEMgQvDl7pWkSQy73g7MnMZlLEFRqiAG7_iLBD3mCoK3Xy2JqkQJnke1XLCCY3I9Av/s400/pajibacard.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5657586266969119426" /></a><br /><I>Killing Floor<br />Die Trying<br />Tripwire<br />Running Blind<br />Echo Burning<br />The Hard Way<br />Nothing to Lose<br />Worth Dying For</I><br /><br />In doing the CBR this year I’ve learned that the potential for a series to be incredibly boring is rather high. Sure, there are some series that manage to provide something new and engaging with each book. I think more along the lines of <I>Lord of the Rings, A Song of Ice and Fire, </I>the <I>Dark Tower</I>, and the <I>Inheritance Cycle</I>. However, after reading the <I>Jason Bourne, Women’s Murder Club, Alex Cross, Nina Wilde/Eddie Chase,</I> and now <I>Jack Reacher</I> series my boredom level has gone through the roof. <br /><br />Their biggest problem is that they regurgitate. Each book is just a regurgitation of the other. With the good series that I described they all combine to tell one linear story. With these they more or less follow the basis that each book can be stand alone. So, what they end up doing is writing the exact same book over and over again…and again. What they really do is only change some things around, tweak the plot, add something here and there, but it’s essentially the same goddamn story. <br /><br />Enter this review of the <I>Jack Reacher</I> series. <br /><br />Jack Reacher is 6’5” and ranges anywhere from 200-250lbs (go figure Tom Cruise is supposed to play him in the theatrical version of <I>One Shot</I>). He’s a former Major with the military police in the U.S. Army and belonged to a unit that was considered the toughest and the best. When he gets out of the Army with an honorable discharge he becomes a drifter. Simply traveling the country by walking, hitchhiking, or bus. On some occasions things come up and he makes money, typically a lot of money, so he’s not a bum. <br /><br />Here’s how the books go. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrrwYmiWn1nfWSbC3wvMNqfyYbIIt0w42bKCR0KLqlAAikOIehwds61R2LkcSrrYsEmqhC4U0LDMVTv_r89TCxX-kIphmo0UMwncDu8fSNndGG43qjMfQILiN_OIPTlNQq-cXO7szazav7/s1600/Nothing+to+Lose.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 222px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrrwYmiWn1nfWSbC3wvMNqfyYbIIt0w42bKCR0KLqlAAikOIehwds61R2LkcSrrYsEmqhC4U0LDMVTv_r89TCxX-kIphmo0UMwncDu8fSNndGG43qjMfQILiN_OIPTlNQq-cXO7szazav7/s400/Nothing+to+Lose.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5657586320987902514" /></a><br /><br />He travels to some town, usually arriving on foot, and he comes across something odd. Either something happens to him directly or he witnesses something happening. His old detective nose kicks in and he starts investigating. Usually a crossroads will appear. He can either decide to continue the investigation (which can result is his own personal bodily harm or demise), or he can leave (considering he doesn’t know the people). I…don’t think he ever walked away. At some point he will beat the living shit out of someone, and that someone may or may not actually be bigger than he is. Take the case of <I>Worth Dying For</I>. In that one he beats the shit out of, practically, an entire team of ex-college football players over 6’4” and pushing 300lbs. He’ll probably kill some more folks. He’s very Judge Dredd. An unmasked vigilante that spreads his name around like confetti. He also, almost always, strikes first. Typically with a head butt, an elbow, a knee, or a straight up shot to the nuts. Oh, and he likes uppercuts. Shit, he kills a guy in one punch without even knowing if the guy was an actual bad guy. Thankfully, he was. If this guy existed in real life he would have been in prison a long time ago…on death row…probably dead already. I understand the guy is off the grid, but most of these happen in small towns. I’m pretty sure with a wanted poster that reads the name of Jack Reacher and a description, even his picture that could be obtained from the Army, the cop would figure it out quick. Especially when he walks up to him, or her, and introduces himself. He’s also a bit like James Bond. Only whereas Bond seduces women, they more or less give up and have sex with him. This may be the reason why he has been approached to write for the James Bond series. <br /><br />You don’t have to read the entire series. In fact I jumped around a bit. In fact most forums will even tell you that you don’t have to read them in order. My favorite though was <I>Nothing to Lose</I>. I don’t really know why, because it was just like all of the others. Maybe it’s the ending.DeistBrawlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208558981915537789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1274732308027449129.post-25676026100311678082011-08-04T16:45:00.000-07:002011-08-04T16:52:55.456-07:00I Wrote ThisA lovely lady named Andrea at <a href="http://weakmeatstrongeat.tumblr.com/">weak.meat.strong.eat</a> started something called "story time saturday." You can post your story on your own blog and she'll link it from hers, or you can just send it to her and she'll post it. Last Saturday the concept was "concrete." That's all she gives you and you run with it...in whatever direction you choose. <br /><br />This was my contribution: <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Concrete Summers<span style="font-style:italic;"></span></span><br /><br />When I was a child my feet were rough from the summers spent running barefoot over gravel at my grandparents house, and the hot Texas concrete at home. Concrete that was so hot you could, literally, cook an egg on it. My feet were so rough you couldn’t even cut them with a knife. Rough enough that I always thought the people who would walk on coals weren’t doing anything special. <br /><br />During those summers I came inside daily with new skinned knees and elbows from playing tackle football in the street. New scars that arrived from random adventures with friends and cousins. I once rode a bicycle off the roof of my grandpas barn. My cousins had told me they’d done it before…they hadn’t. The thorn bush I landed in didn’t help matters. I hopped a chain link fence only to have a spoke slide into my thigh. Missing my femoral artery by mere millimeters. I still waited an hour to tell my mother because I had torn a brand new pair of jeans. I hated those faded gray jeans. That one took four stitches inside and four outside. I almost took my cousins eye out with a bb during a bb gun war. I shot him through a large wall of sheet metal. Aiming blindly. <br /><br />We would chug beers in my Uncles work shed. Betting who would finish it the fastest. We held on to the illusion that we were adults. Sneaking a cigarette every now and then. Using language that would normally get us a beating at home. <br /><br />We were immortal. <br /><br />During these childhood years I never had a summer love. I regret that. I also regret the young love found in small towns. To know everything about someone simply from having grown up with them. <br /><br />I didn’t have my first real kiss until I was sixteen. In the fourth grade I chased a girl into the girls bathroom and had her kiss me…but that doesn’t count. <br /><br />I always wanted to know what it was like to lay in a Texas field and count the stars, a girl curled into my arm. Crickets singing their song. <br /><br />To take my dads truck out for a date on a Friday night. <br /><br />To share a milkshake. <br /><br />To have a love that preceded working and paying bills. <br /><br />I didn’t even have my first real date until I was out of high school. I lost my virginity to someone that wasn’t worth it. I haven’t had a relationship last longer than a year. <br /><br />The unattainable youthful love wasn’t from lack of trying…mind you. Nor was it because I was uninterested in girls. <br /><br />My friends and I would ride our bicycles down the street, baseball cards in the spokes, debating about who the prettiest girl in school was. Swearing to each other that as we sat in class we could see their skirt rising. The trickeries of teenage eyesight (that still happens). One such girl I asked out five times, from the fifth grade to my junior year. She never said yes. Being in a college town we would sit on the curb down the road from sorority row and watch the girls come out in clothes entirely too tight for them. We would idly drool at them during annual car washes. Wondering. Waiting. For the time when we too were in college and could get girls like that. <br /><br />I never did…I wonder if they did. <br /><br />I was the kid that got passed over while playing spin the bottle…because none of the girls wanted to kiss me.<br /><br />I was the weird kid that sat in the back of the room and kept to himself. <br /><br />I was the kid that played sports but never had a popular position. <br /><br />The kid that sang in the choir, and worked on the newspaper. <br /><br />Growing up I’ve always seemed to have a best friend that was better with the ladies. First it was Jason, then it was John, now it’s Steven. I’ve lost count of the number of times a girl, or woman, has asked me if they were single. Of the number of times I’ve talked to a lady for hours only for them to eventually ask me that very same question. To flirt with reckless abandon and find out they were only talking to me to get to them. <br /><br />I always wondered what it would be like to hold hands under the lights and noises of a high school football game. <br /><br />To pick up a date at her parents house. <br /><br />To sneak a goodnight kiss before the porch light comes on. <br /><br />The romantic, elusive, summer love. <br /><br />So now I still hit the concrete. My feet are still tough. I drive a car instead of riding a bicycle. I still sit on the curb watching women go by…only now I do it while sipping can beer and grinding cigarettes under my heel. <br /><br />And I’m still waiting for a summer love. <br /><br />I’m still waiting to curl up with that lady and read the stars. <br /><br />Still waiting for my quick goodnight kiss on a front porch. <br /><br />I’m still waiting.DeistBrawlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208558981915537789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1274732308027449129.post-49683895539600531672011-07-12T18:38:00.000-07:002011-07-12T18:50:43.039-07:00CBR-III: Book #38-43<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnn1Zf92lUMbQIt4BtZUiQZBYZhLmzra-TOuailD1N0oA9zW76jA2RgMQ2cNkP6i9eQyTYPkU6-kO2SrvK6xocmlJhvlG3MaOEzGiR8QbMWLghYKui3MrXbVJ0ag9nFGhXedZB93OeHFCv/s1600/pajibacard.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 314px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnn1Zf92lUMbQIt4BtZUiQZBYZhLmzra-TOuailD1N0oA9zW76jA2RgMQ2cNkP6i9eQyTYPkU6-kO2SrvK6xocmlJhvlG3MaOEzGiR8QbMWLghYKui3MrXbVJ0ag9nFGhXedZB93OeHFCv/s400/pajibacard.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628647131229938930" /></a><br /><I><B>As before this review is of a series of books. Because of this there will be spoilers.</B></I><br /><br />There’s something to be said about the type of writer like Andy McDermott. He easily reminds me of writers like Matthew Reilly (author of the Shane Schofield series) and <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixSpAzV5gneird7bWV0suWN-euIeFrK3_gyWrqZ5S4lHv4wdB8EkU4E0LyOlXVDLR7UoQGOFiLO47jMxo5bhtd9FFpCoWy_I285T9w4nJo8yqPYzXE-0tvc9_XJbEt99zIG3O-Fl0t1BM-/s1600/atlantis.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 262px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixSpAzV5gneird7bWV0suWN-euIeFrK3_gyWrqZ5S4lHv4wdB8EkU4E0LyOlXVDLR7UoQGOFiLO47jMxo5bhtd9FFpCoWy_I285T9w4nJo8yqPYzXE-0tvc9_XJbEt99zIG3O-Fl0t1BM-/s400/atlantis.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628646166748054530" /></a>Eric Van Lustbader (who took over for Robert Ludlum in the Jason Bourne series). Their plots are kind of redundant and repetitive, their dialogue is pretty elementary, and their action is entirely over the top. They do have one thing going for them though. Pacing. Their books are blisteringly fast. With tight, intense, fight scenes. For this reason I literally breezed through all six of McDermott’s books in about a week and a half. At one point I read two of them in one day. Those books being: <I>The Hunt For Atlantis, The Tomb of Hercules, The Secret of Excalibur, The Covenant of Genesis, The Pyramid of Doom, </I>and <I>The Sacred Vault.</I><br /><br />The books follow two main protagonists; Dr. Nina Wilde and Eddie Chase. <br /><br />Dr. Nina Wilde is an archaeologist, however, she’s as much of one as Indiana Jones <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv6PBZL1X7WfA7fgKz0Y6XGdAd_VuItvDAP894bRvvQ0TfBLzQH5rNBTXODh_HzWYYg0IwhLwOjoU6JExMP5ZCloVjfMV5bcDNtWvNx9124f8JScZfq2tFCsjy6auUKdHq1QNHTYbhR-Fz/s1600/hercules.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 258px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv6PBZL1X7WfA7fgKz0Y6XGdAd_VuItvDAP894bRvvQ0TfBLzQH5rNBTXODh_HzWYYg0IwhLwOjoU6JExMP5ZCloVjfMV5bcDNtWvNx9124f8JScZfq2tFCsjy6auUKdHq1QNHTYbhR-Fz/s400/hercules.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628646168267453458" /></a>is. Like Indy she takes a few clues and manages to make astonishing breakthroughs that no one else was able to make in relatively short time. Like Indy, while declaring a need for archaeological integrity and professionalism they both don’t mind busting into an ancient tomb, getting what they came for, and getting the fuck out. Also like Indy government agencies come out of the woodwork for her help. She also has a mixture of Lara Croft in her as well…and is referred to as being a living Croft several times in the series. This comes from her nature of things being blown up, people getting shot, and her, literally, globe trotting while raiding tombs. The series starts out in her mid to late 20’s. <br /><br />Eddie Chase is the epitome of masculinity. Shorter than many of his opponents, hairy,<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHk-YqNwRAK0mEZ08ogauloypkpPec3EnNHOOxyk1XqlEOKkVOkdOn445epdVNOnpoXW4mxpK5NSSSCmJwCAGYbKTipLJOgH8iMtqgwNnDdLHOugbs3qvvVvTy1vHkgPh7JTMUb1bTknt5/s1600/excalibur.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 261px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHk-YqNwRAK0mEZ08ogauloypkpPec3EnNHOOxyk1XqlEOKkVOkdOn445epdVNOnpoXW4mxpK5NSSSCmJwCAGYbKTipLJOgH8iMtqgwNnDdLHOugbs3qvvVvTy1vHkgPh7JTMUb1bTknt5/s400/excalibur.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628646168101543906" /></a> angry, and quick to respond with sarcasm and brutality. He leaves behind a beautiful woman in seemingly every country. He enjoys action movies and intelligence isn’t really valued very highly in his list of important things. A former SAS (the British Special Air Service or their version of special forces) soldier, he now works as a mercenary; primarily as a bodyguard…often with the aid of his Wildey gun. He appears to be trained in almost every weapon known, and is an expert in hand to hand combat. His reoccurring mentor, Mac, shows up frequently in the series to help. Eddie starts out in his mid 30’s. <br /><br />Through the course of the series Nina and Eddie’s relationship progresses as such. Bodyguard-Boyfriend-Fiancée-Husband. This is key in their interactions and banter. While Nina prefers to remain serious, Eddie likes bouncing out witty one liners and an overwhelming desire to have sex…no matter what the occasion. Some of these one liners are bad, like, Arnold bad. <br /><br />The plots are always the same. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghDz59Zl0J0r1baC3qS88K5HkvnSm7I9dV0UmxNVW0sFketbpFLUVZsCB86cw9O0DbVTbm9o0_2pEKY6uzQMQnif3JWKf0ElnFzqMcPE_fjgKoWsAFmfCiz4K2vcdhREzEgU3Etw2gnVjj/s1600/genesis.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 259px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghDz59Zl0J0r1baC3qS88K5HkvnSm7I9dV0UmxNVW0sFketbpFLUVZsCB86cw9O0DbVTbm9o0_2pEKY6uzQMQnif3JWKf0ElnFzqMcPE_fjgKoWsAFmfCiz4K2vcdhREzEgU3Etw2gnVjj/s400/genesis.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628646172880568258" /></a> <br /><br />Some billionaire maniac wants to recreate the world in his own image (usually through an act of almost global annihilation). To do so they must recover some ancient artifact that will help them obtain this. In order to stop them two civilians run around the globe trying to beat them to the artifact first. A whole bunch of people will die, priceless artifacts and historical sites will almost be destroyed (or totally destroyed), and several laws and international laws will be broken. Yet, because they saved the world…again…all of that will be forgotten. Usually along the way someone they trusted will actually be working against them, and some sort of jealousy will erupt between Nina and Eddie. <br /><br />In <I>The Hunt for Atlantis</I> it’s a billionaire descendant of Atlantis that, using<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ5gcY-66xNX8LCux8eW1QH1KaIAQMmQvBTPNNDGguSv6dFD8SVphLHOAHmOUmVqWaIVTrtTrTsCT96uqv3577WB5qTVq-UMtNcVUu3_z_2vC7TRQeXh3wweF3c1c7ArWcf8vxK6jh-Xxs/s1600/pyramid.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 244px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ5gcY-66xNX8LCux8eW1QH1KaIAQMmQvBTPNNDGguSv6dFD8SVphLHOAHmOUmVqWaIVTrtTrTsCT96uqv3577WB5qTVq-UMtNcVUu3_z_2vC7TRQeXh3wweF3c1c7ArWcf8vxK6jh-Xxs/s400/pyramid.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628646183844671858" /></a> Atlantean DNA, wants to create a virus that will wipe out everyone who is not a descendant. <br />In <I>The Tomb of Hercules</I> it’s a billionaire who wants to create a new Atlantis of the richest men in the world. Of course, there’s Eddie’s ex-wife who wants a totally different outcome. <br />In <I>The Secret of Excalibur</I> it’s a billionaire who wants to use the sword to create some weird, mumbo jumbo, energy source. Then again there’s someone else who has an ulterior motive. <br />In <I>The Covenant of Genesis</I> it’s a billionaire…errrr…organization that wants to use the knowledge that we humans evolved after another race of humanoids to…uhhhh…create global religious chaos. Or something. <br />In <I>The Pyramid of Doom</I> it’s a billionaire who has created his own Scientology like religion. Using the remains from the undiscovered tomb of Osiris he will make it to where the only people on the world who will live will be those that worship him.<br />In <I>The Sacred Vault</I> it’s another billionaire religious zealot who wants to, in essence, create chaos and then rule the world. <br /><br />Got it? Good. <br /><br />The books are, like I said, fast reads. If you feel like turning your brain off and <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzIw5yFtpX9SCZbifnqiNExaNwrPPv_Qhu565UkUlik5NhRwVhH_vc5raRZDTxecH82-gssfKjUi5ID8L5pn39iT0irgtnUannNf-8z-40iuoQH-z_Mx8bnO0nN8SpjhvehitujDmWIRb0/s1600/vault.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 244px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzIw5yFtpX9SCZbifnqiNExaNwrPPv_Qhu565UkUlik5NhRwVhH_vc5raRZDTxecH82-gssfKjUi5ID8L5pn39iT0irgtnUannNf-8z-40iuoQH-z_Mx8bnO0nN8SpjhvehitujDmWIRb0/s400/vault.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628646342008098834" /></a>getting in on some good old ass kicking fun…it’s a good series. I would like to say that you grow attached to the characters…but I never really did. In fact, after reading six books in a row, I actually grew tired of them. There is only so much bickering between the two protagonists that you can take. Likewise the contradictory attitudes between them makes you feel less sympathetic to either of them. The only one of the two that actually seems to have any true emotional problems is Eddie, and the stories are slowly trying to pull some of those out. Nina just seems like a whiny bitch half the time. Well…a whiny bitch who won’t listen…thus causing some seriously dangerous outcomes. Remember how I said she’s more like Indy and Lara then a true archaeologist. The majority of the trouble they get into is from Eddie telling her to wait for a sec, and her bulldozing ahead. I do like how he continues to reuse bit characters. Many of them are actually more interesting than the leads. <br /><br />P.S. I seriously doubt hundred thousand year old (you read that right) booby traps would still work. Just saying. <br />P.S.S. As a general rule of thumb...don't talk to your enemy...just go ahead and shoot them in the head. The James Bond theory of tell them your entire plot and give them the opportunity to escape is HEAVY in this series.DeistBrawlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208558981915537789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1274732308027449129.post-2799812702375658252011-06-25T20:09:00.000-07:002011-06-25T20:15:58.609-07:00CBR-III: Book #37: A Walk in the Woods<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF7C7TUCKk3LwYarB-GPQfqUGPeF6JN4ZdjtIXS_8pBlMWlBI0koThYUwYu3KtHKsL1HVv6faPQKnYFMNronNXn6M0JXU2MZCKSA7E9zISFXb0dK9hgVGeLSMJK-SBP4IASCLzwzMf_LG-/s1600/pajibacard.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 314px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF7C7TUCKk3LwYarB-GPQfqUGPeF6JN4ZdjtIXS_8pBlMWlBI0koThYUwYu3KtHKsL1HVv6faPQKnYFMNronNXn6M0JXU2MZCKSA7E9zISFXb0dK9hgVGeLSMJK-SBP4IASCLzwzMf_LG-/s400/pajibacard.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622361488288877890" /></a><br /><br />For those of you who are friends of mine on Facebook you’ve seen the pictures I post when I go hiking. For those of you who only read the blog you might notice a couple of posts where I talk about hiking…I even have one completely dedicated to it. When my Army buddy Chris had leave from his post at Fort Stewart he called me up to do <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0_jKt295JUPCM8AmPKDzROeaqZAmRjhz0zOsBA45i_cplTloK-7jAMynfhCdb2SgOyO0w-FZarJbopFSZPgnw0jX8pTnVD31tDtjnw6vY_GVyVmpI0jacl38eF5ajEUp5Z4SuxwvQExJs/s1600/awalkinthewoodscover.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0_jKt295JUPCM8AmPKDzROeaqZAmRjhz0zOsBA45i_cplTloK-7jAMynfhCdb2SgOyO0w-FZarJbopFSZPgnw0jX8pTnVD31tDtjnw6vY_GVyVmpI0jacl38eF5ajEUp5Z4SuxwvQExJs/s400/awalkinthewoodscover.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622360835929519650" /></a>some drinking. During the course of that drinking with him and his sister we got into the conversation of hiking. His sister apparently does a lot of hiking and I mentioned a desire to hike the AT. She immediately began to barrage me with a list of everything that I would need, how much said gear would cost, and how I would logistically go about it. During the course of the bombardment she mentioned a book she really liked by a guy named Bill Bryson called <I>A Walk in the Woods</I>. It was his attempt at hiking the AT with a buddy of his. I’ve never heard of Bryson before but he is a non-fiction writer that has, apparently, written several well liked travel logs. I…for one…thought travel logs were all but extinct. He’s also known for his humor. Which is well used in <I>A Walk in the Woods</I>. <br /><br />I’ve always heard that hiking the AT is fucking hard. You have to manage around 15 miles a day, it extends from Maine to Georgia, and you have within a certain time window to actually complete it (before the trail is shut down due to weather). Bryson manages to describe the details of the trail without overwhelming you. He mentions murders that have happened on the trail, of attacks by wild animals, and yet his attitude is basically…fuck it. He tells you these things, and then basically says he didn’t really give a shit. I think that’s the attitude that most people on the trail would need to have. Yes, you have the possibility of blah, blah, blah, but you basically just need to ignore it. It’s all about will power. <br /><br />The book begins with him getting ready, then the addition of an old friend, Katz, who is going to go on the trail with him. While Bryson is in relative shape, Katz is the exact opposite. Remember the story I told you about Tim when he went hiking with me? Bryson almost gives the exact same description in his book. I would honestly say I also like the beginning of the book better. In the beginning it is more story, often humorous. In the end the book becomes more about a history lesson. This is due, mainly in part (and what seriously disappointed me in the book), to the fact that Bryson doesn‘t actually complete the entire trail. In fact, he doesn‘t even do half of it. There are times when him and Katz skip entire sections because they, “Don‘t feel like it.” By the middle of the book they just quit, and when they do go (way farther up the trail) to hike again…they quit again. Yet Bryson proudly declares that he still feels he “hiked the AT.” <br /><br />An example of a humorous portion would be like this: “All the books tell you that if <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLNTqDJVePpZjEVGg2cB9_rzCMtb32kmjUZZgbakijV4wievhZzHHEByniNGTH1ZUKS-q2nWFxzSxzvP_k-HqS8hqt6a7wsJX-sPClyVZ0zBH7E0qxwkZlN33MImBajzMgc4aNmCg1nJg3/s1600/grizzly_bear-8210.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLNTqDJVePpZjEVGg2cB9_rzCMtb32kmjUZZgbakijV4wievhZzHHEByniNGTH1ZUKS-q2nWFxzSxzvP_k-HqS8hqt6a7wsJX-sPClyVZ0zBH7E0qxwkZlN33MImBajzMgc4aNmCg1nJg3/s400/grizzly_bear-8210.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622360842290662882" /></a>the grizzly comes to you, on no account should you run. This is the sort of advice you get from someone who is sitting at a keyboard when he gives it. Take it from me, if you are in an open space with no weapons and a grizzly comes for you, run. You may as well. If nothing else, it will give you something to do with the last seven seconds of your life.” <br /><br />Interesting accounts like this: “There is one recorded instance of a woman smearing honey on her toddler’s fingers so that the bear would lick it off for the video camera. Failing to understand this, the bear ate the baby’s hand.”<br /><br />Historical accounts like this: “To that end, biologists dumped several drums of a poison called rotenone into fifteen miles of creek. Within hours, tens of thousands of dead fish were floating on the surface like autumn leaves, Among the thirty-one species of Abrams Creek fish that were wiped out was one called the smoky mad tom, which scientists had never seen before. Thus, Park Service biologists managed the wonderfully unusual accomplishment of discovering and eradicating in the same instant a new species of fish.”<br /><br />Or this: “Alden Patridge…On a typical trip he strode 110 miles over the mountains from Norwich to Williamstown, Massachusetts, trotted up Mount Greylock, and came back home the same way. The trip there and back took him just four days--and at this time, remember, when there were no maintained footpaths or helpful blazes. <br /><br />He complains about the laziness of modern people…like this: “I know a man who drives 600 yards to get to work. I know a woman who gets in her car to go a quarter of a mile to a college gymnasium to walk on a treadmill, then complains passionately about the difficulty of finding a parking space.”<br /><br /><br />I can’t really tell you, therefore, if I truly liked the book or not. I mean…I liked it, but I was also intensely disappointed in it. Other than the fact that Bryson doesn’t even complete half the trail I was also looking for something less ecology based. Toward the end of the book, like I said, he goes on huge tirades about environmental issues and how humans are destroying everything. That’s not what I was <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6b6C4WU9QkuC0ets3nDg6y0L7mDnPViLwIOJMjMPp-HIk6UOmnDHTRDAp1OrD-OZWtomJSkJOlkeudTniE2TnZ4bVcKOP7zueHZQLyZ3_aEhXSvLBuhBlqtALwlDQ_13Pqr0GsJiAHlt8/s1600/trail.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6b6C4WU9QkuC0ets3nDg6y0L7mDnPViLwIOJMjMPp-HIk6UOmnDHTRDAp1OrD-OZWtomJSkJOlkeudTniE2TnZ4bVcKOP7zueHZQLyZ3_aEhXSvLBuhBlqtALwlDQ_13Pqr0GsJiAHlt8/s400/trail.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622360839724355698" /></a>looking for, especially considering the beginning of the book. I was looking for more of an internal perspective. I wanted to see if, after completing over 2,000 miles of trail, how it had changed him. I wanted to see how his view of nature changed. Sure, we get some looks at other hikers. He describes which shelters are awesome…and which ones suck. He talks about what it’s like to run into civilization again after being away from it for days. He even mentions how much a shower and an actual meal really matters. There are several times where his comments irked me though. I never really got the feeling that Bryson likes nature (considering all the times he ran for a hotel when given the chance). Some of his attitudes and perspectives were the exact opposite of the reasons I hike. He discussed how every tree started to look alike. How he didn’t like the solitude of being surrounded by nothing but trees, etc. That is the exact reason I hike. I like to be away from it all.DeistBrawlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208558981915537789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1274732308027449129.post-75797269761744347142011-06-21T17:56:00.001-07:002011-06-21T18:30:22.565-07:00CBR-III: Book #20-36<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvXQ5zIgZghziM_nBWBWra6KnEu8cXsQz9aD_5jGAmY8mz9uEq1FiHV1o8P-enYMod1FVmgousGsC19DGSIt77RyQfhyRaoKpou9loUV3FBDFtA2v1IiSvpeiHvimhyphenhyphenEV7LNAdZbJhtXXX/s1600/pajibacard.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 314px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvXQ5zIgZghziM_nBWBWra6KnEu8cXsQz9aD_5jGAmY8mz9uEq1FiHV1o8P-enYMod1FVmgousGsC19DGSIt77RyQfhyRaoKpou9loUV3FBDFtA2v1IiSvpeiHvimhyphenhyphenEV7LNAdZbJhtXXX/s400/pajibacard.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620842552163239666" /></a><br />Uhhhhh. I’ve been debating for the last hour about how to actually write this. Much<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjevC4SeXovp5zbgvy2DJZ40bfIQdc-D0ViLA6qPIo0T3q74RftIJMCNTn0kUV5YuXuVrhmXbOtjGEe6cVIIljpWkCepU7CmX7DW5cmklv1dq9sAPs7sYqIkezETT-4BkvvFzh9k4kN2L25/s1600/books1.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 128px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjevC4SeXovp5zbgvy2DJZ40bfIQdc-D0ViLA6qPIo0T3q74RftIJMCNTn0kUV5YuXuVrhmXbOtjGEe6cVIIljpWkCepU7CmX7DW5cmklv1dq9sAPs7sYqIkezETT-4BkvvFzh9k4kN2L25/s400/books1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620843314131664274" /></a> like when I did the <I>Women’s Murder Club</I>; I’m about to attack an entire series. Sixteen books…to be exact. I suppose I should start this, ideally, by saying that there will likely be plenty of <B>spoilers</B>. Not because I want to spoil anything for you, rather, it will kind of be hard not to. The series? James Patterson’s <I>Alex Cross</I> series. <I>Along Came a Spider, Kiss the Girls, Jack & Jill, Cat & Mouse, Pop Goes the Weasel, Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue, Four Blind Mice, The Big Bad Wolf, London Bridges, (Mary, Mary), Cross, Double Cross, Cross Country, (I, Alex Cross), </I>and <I>Alex Cross's Trial.</I> I was actually finishing <I>I, Alex Cross</I> at the bar last night and every time someone asked me what I was reading I would respond with, “The next to last book in the <I>Alex Cross</I> series.” <br />Naturally, they would give me a confused look. My next response was, “Have you ever seen <I>Kiss the Girls</I> with Morgan Freeman and Ashley Judd? How about <I>Along Came a Spider</I> with Morgan Freeman.” <br />“Oh! Yeah!” <br />“Yeah. Freeman plays Alex Cross. Those films were based on the first two books in the series.” <br />I guess I can start by saying that, once again, Hollywood fucked up. They fucked up first by doing the films out of sequence. As listed above, <I>Along Came a Spider</I> should have been the first film. Also, while I love Morgan Freeman, he was entirely miscast as Cross. Did he have the wisdom/personality that Cross carries with him? Somewhat. Well, let me describe Alex Cross and maybe you’ll understand. <br /><br />Dr. Alex Cross, the Dragon Slayer, homicide detective in Washington, D.C. He grew up poor. Raised by his grandmother, Nana Mama, from a young age. Nana Mama was a teacher, stands five feet tall, and has more authority in Cross’s life than anyone else. She’s the ruler of her house and she rules it with an iron fist (Alex still<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibCX8ukfH9UdDthq9GYe93Q0mbqmvdcYc1yLIVsYiHU4cPCiOPXJenIlw7dgkUif54FvQ-s8scBdxGJfSAU9S-VK7ud4GHE8w4D26ScsLRBe02uL4WATzXEdpuCY8nf2qB-GanyoV4XP1W/s1600/ali.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 278px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibCX8ukfH9UdDthq9GYe93Q0mbqmvdcYc1yLIVsYiHU4cPCiOPXJenIlw7dgkUif54FvQ-s8scBdxGJfSAU9S-VK7ud4GHE8w4D26ScsLRBe02uL4WATzXEdpuCY8nf2qB-GanyoV4XP1W/s400/ali.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620850272727954594" /></a> lives with her in the same house he grew up in). She’s also supposed to be an amazing cook and extremely cultured and knowledgeable. Coming up with him since childhood is his on again-off again partner, Detective John Sampson, the Man Mountain. Sampson himself stands 6’9” and weighs around 245lbs. Even he is afraid of Nana Mama. He has a habit of calling Cross, “Sugar.“ Cross himself is 6’3” and weighs around 200lbs. He is often described as looking like a young Muhammad Ali. Before becoming a cop he went to college and got his PH.D. in Psychology. He is, currently, the father of three children: Damon, Janelle, and Alex Jr. He has also been widowed and recently remarried. In the first books he would be in his late 30’s/early 40’s and by the last book he is in his mid-to-late 40’s. Hence why the 60 year old Morgan Freeman wasn’t a very good choice. In many ways the boxing trained, piano playing, Cross, relies on his power and athletic abilities. He also plays heavily on his charm. Even though he is supposed to appear relatively modest he is constantly being hit on by women…and hits on them back. The only thing I would say that has become considerably annoying with Cross is repetition. <br />In every book he “realizes” that he needs to be there more for his kids. In every book he “realizes” that his job is too dangerous. In every book he “realizes” that he doesn’t want to answer the phone. In every book he “realizes” that he is not giving his relationships enough attention. In every book he “realizes” that he doesn’t know if he wants to be a cop anymore. Get my point? The repetition is annoying. By the end of the third book I wanted to punch him in the face. <br />It’s not just in his mind though…Cross is repetitious elsewhere…particularly with the ladies. <br /><br />Cross is a hopeless romantic. He wants to find love, desperately. His children want<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFjpY2420OrZDPL1gogbJF-WZxiprtMxJz4Gq6K2RqEXgek_7nVtHQOsu43aMegXfeZiYC67MhoZpHhbFhiHER1TTdbFpk4f_KxY1q_T6dKBWrZ97jvaAlaQrPK0cxPnScnmDTVUQnM0Az/s1600/books2.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 128px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFjpY2420OrZDPL1gogbJF-WZxiprtMxJz4Gq6K2RqEXgek_7nVtHQOsu43aMegXfeZiYC67MhoZpHhbFhiHER1TTdbFpk4f_KxY1q_T6dKBWrZ97jvaAlaQrPK0cxPnScnmDTVUQnM0Az/s400/books2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620843799523837522" /></a> him to also. In fact, every single fucking woman he brings home they love and want him to marry. For real. Also, despite his romantic nature and general sense of “I suck” that he seems to portray, he constantly has a lady friend. Not only that, but every single one is either the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, or the smartest, or both. For a guy that would certainly consider himself to be a romantic loser…he sure has no problem getting the ladies. The dude never strikes out. Ever. If only those ladies knew that dating him would basically be a death wish. I feel the need to take you down the Cross lady tree. Let’s begin. <br /><I><B>Ellie Randall/Cox:</I></B> while you technically aren’t introduced to her until <I>Cross Country</I> I felt the need to throw her in here first. She dated Cross in his academic days. Oh yeah…she gets murdered.<br /><I><B>Maria Simpson Cross:</I></B> His wife. Mother of two of his children. Murdered. <br /><I><B>Jezzie Flanigan:</B></I> An FBI agent…who wasn’t what she seemed. They did some love making. Executed. <br /><I><B>Christine Johnson:</B></I> The principal at Damon and Janelle’s school. They get it on…he wants to propose to her…she gets kidnapped by a serial killer and disappears for around a year. During that disappearance she has Alex Jr. She comes back pretty fucked up. <br /><B><I>Betsey Cavalierre:</I></B> Worked with Cross. They get it on. Murdered. <br /><B><I>Jamilla Hughes:</I></B> A detective on the West Coast. They date for a little while and break up because they can’t do the long distance relationship. She’s a lucky one! <br /><B><I>Kayla Coles:</B></I> A doctor who treated patients door to door. He was technically still dating Jamilla when he started flirting with the good doctor. During their relationship she is almost murdered by a crackhead. In the aftermath she moves back home to North Carolina. Does he fight for her, try to stick it out? No. He’ll date a woman that lives across the country from him, but he won’t go after one that lives 4-5 hours away.<br /><B><I>Bree:</B></I> A fellow detective with the MPD. He’s actually married to her now. <br /><B><I>Adanne Tansi:</B></I> While technically still dating Bree, cross traveled to Africa in <I>Cross Country</I>. While he never had sex with her they did become quite intimate and even sleep in the same bed together a few times. She was tortured, murdered, and then raped. <br />The ladies sure know how to pick em. I pretty sure that if I was Cross I would never date…ever. <br />Don’t forget his nieces. <B><I>Naomi Cross</I></b> (kidnapped) and <B><I>Caroline Cross</B></I> (murdered). <br /><br />The killers. <br />I think I mentioned when I reviewed the <I>Women’s Murder Club</I> that I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to face serial killers…all the fucking time. I also didn’t see how it was realistic. Oh, sure, I understand that Alex Cross is the Dragon Slayer. He’s the dude that fucks up serious criminals. He always gets his man. But…he’s a fucking cop. Sure, for like a three book stretch there (from <I>The Big Bad Wolf</I> to <I>Cross</I>) he’s no longer a detective but works for the FBI. I also understand that he “helps” the FBI in some cases when he is a detective (and that little stint as a psychologist when he still worked for the FBI and MPD as a consultant). No dude goes after what appears to be every fucking serial killer. From East Coast to West Coast and everything in the middle. <br /><br />He’s a detective, Patterson. Why don’t you, I don’t know, have him solve multiple, individual, murders in his city? You know, instead of spending a whole entire book where he tracks down another serial killer (in some cases, fair enough, you’ve had him go after numerous serial killers in the same book…at the same time.). I mean, a quick search on the internet just pulled up that almost 200 people are murdered a year in D.C. I’ll get off my soapbox though. <br /><br />There are three notorious killers in the Alex Cross series; The Mastermind (Kyle Craig), Weasel (Geoffrey Shafer), and Gary Soneji. These are the only killers to have a multiple book arch. The longest running would be The Mastermind…what with Kyle Craig actually making his appearance in the second book of the series and currently still going. Two of them, The Mastermind and Gary Soneji, even escape prison to come after Cross again (although it takes The Mastermind 5 books to do so). <br /><br />Some other little things of note that I found interesting?<br /><br />In the book <I>Cross Country</I> the villain goes by the name of Tiger. Tiger is listed as being 6’6” and 250lbs. In other words he’s almost the same size as Sampson…in fact, he’s just 3 inches shorter. Yet, even with them being in the same vicinity of each other, Patterson neglects to give us a brawl. Damn’t. I was waiting the entire novel for that fight to happen. Way to disappoint. <br /><br />"The great jazzman Hilton Fenton came over to our table and told us a funny story about the actor Morgan Freeman." -<I>Cross</I><br />"Or maybe some choice line of Morgan Freeman's from <I>The Bucket List</i>." -<I>I, Alex Cross</I><br /><br />If he mentions Morgan Freeman more than that I didn’t realize it. I tried to take a note every time his name was mentioned, but I read some of these books, while drinking, to the point that I got double vision. <br /><br />"Tom Clancy had mentioned the bar in <I>Patriot Games</I>, but in the novel he said there was a picture of George Patton on the wall, which upset the bar's regulars, especially since Clancy had made a career out of being in the know. The Command Post was a <I>Marine's bar</I>, not Army." -<I>The Big Bad Wolf</I> (which is after <I>Four Blind Mice</I>).<br /><br />Was that a burn? It feels like a burn to me. That you would pick out a singular offence like this and call it out in your book. Not to mention it wasn’t some huge error…it was a picture hanging on the wall in a bar. Now, the reason why I made a note of <I>Four Blind Mice</I> to go along with that quote is this. In <I>Four Blind Mice</I> Cross is on the trail of a group of killers. The killers like to hang out in<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj4vSWsbnwIxxcKWtd-w8ERkd9cXxdsoddNx46nECfSS4ZdTgIfjAJiy9jdDIRtlEzNXx9wjAbxXWC6PC3YgWzBF90aaKe2liLxWWrDAqp9ibS5jY_i9_0-3uPCyfNWwo7a62pp6TAi6K6/s1600/kennesaw.gif"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 354px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj4vSWsbnwIxxcKWtd-w8ERkd9cXxdsoddNx46nECfSS4ZdTgIfjAJiy9jdDIRtlEzNXx9wjAbxXWC6PC3YgWzBF90aaKe2liLxWWrDAqp9ibS5jY_i9_0-3uPCyfNWwo7a62pp6TAi6K6/s400/kennesaw.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620841918892479586" /></a> a cabin in the woods, where they have nice games (where people can’t be heard screaming), and where they go hunting. That place was Kennesaw Mountain in Kennesaw, GA. I live about twenty minutes away from Kennesaw Mountain. It’s a State Park…which means there is no hunting. It is surrounded by roads…think of it like an island. Surrounding the park are sub-divisions and smaller roads that are lined with houses. In other words…there are no rural areas of Kennesaw Mountain where someone can hunt and no one can hear you scream. Kennesaw itself is a college town. So, Patterson, before you go insulting someone about a little error about a picture in a bar…maybe you should make sure that on of your major plot settings is…I don’t know…actually feasible. <br /><br />I waited to discuss <I>Alex Cross’s Trial</I> until the end because it is kind of a stand alone book. It’s supposed to be written for you to believe that Cross himself is writing it. The story follows Ben Corbett (6‘4“ height always seems to play a role in the Cross series), an often times pro-bono lawyer who specializes with trials regarding racism. He is tasked by President Roosevelt to go to Mississippi (Ben’s hometown) to see if an overwhelming number of hangings were occurring (as he'd been hearing). There he is told to find Abraham Cross (Cross's 6'7" great-uncle) to aid him in his task. I think I liked this story the best because of the time period; otherwise it’s like every other Cross story. All the women want Ben but he’s got a wife and two kids back home that he really loves. Basically replace Cross with Ben…they’re pretty much identical. Except Ben is white.<br /><br />So that’s the <I>Alex Cross</I> series in a nutshell. If you actually finished this entire review…I salute you. The books aren’t bad, honestly. I could read one in about 4 hours. I have no doubt that they would make for an excellent vacation/airplane read.DeistBrawlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208558981915537789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1274732308027449129.post-49246917452431805122011-05-24T20:48:00.000-07:002011-05-24T21:17:57.712-07:00A Look At The BBC Show Robin Hood<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8iJCPkpeOb3TJQYECqaRdrcM-H8hjhs2OcYs8qdbnNXBT2pamX0aPF47PeCtHoSVEkIOPWgmU8N_QfdvELwZCwWAgJ-00-HxfREl-cyypy6xOGEgpZzvKCRXG1J3WmikULFZ7s2NMEbgt/s1600/robinhood_bbc_america.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 223px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8iJCPkpeOb3TJQYECqaRdrcM-H8hjhs2OcYs8qdbnNXBT2pamX0aPF47PeCtHoSVEkIOPWgmU8N_QfdvELwZCwWAgJ-00-HxfREl-cyypy6xOGEgpZzvKCRXG1J3WmikULFZ7s2NMEbgt/s400/robinhood_bbc_america.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610495859428475634" /></a><br />I’ve been in a kick lately of watching BBC shows. I don’t know what it is, and no, it’s not <I>Doctor fucking Who.</I> I’ve been watching shows like <I>Primeval, MI-5</I> (or <I>Spooks</I> in the UK) and <I>Robin Hood</I>. Not to mention the show <I>Survivors</I> that I decided to get into. <br /><br />I really got attached to <I>Robin Hood</I> and <I>Primeval</I>…which included me watching every episode from both shows. Now my UK friends have yelled at me for watching <I>Primeval</I> but that show is like watching an episode of the movie <I>Lake Placid</I> every time you tune in. It is so bad it’s awesome. This blog, however, I don’t really want to talk about any of the other shows except for <I>Robin Hood</I>. <br /><br />I can’t really say I’m a fan of the story of Robin Hood. Although I have seen many incarnations of it: <I>Robin Hood, Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, Robin Hood: Men in Tights, Robin Hood</I> (Russell Crowe is fat), and the animated <I>Robin Hood</I><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX8Whsdsy5WqNaU0ODtotK1d_2ocTC7RiHFyF1J8Vq75LTNi8vqCPT_iH4DQIxvTPaPqthnVi6KEj5FQ0R5EQLV6-qV03StEY2L8TPfXEPL3bu2Yhx4CNQwpHq9IYINOFlbWqWXlqrWfUh/s1600/xena.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 270px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX8Whsdsy5WqNaU0ODtotK1d_2ocTC7RiHFyF1J8Vq75LTNi8vqCPT_iH4DQIxvTPaPqthnVi6KEj5FQ0R5EQLV6-qV03StEY2L8TPfXEPL3bu2Yhx4CNQwpHq9IYINOFlbWqWXlqrWfUh/s400/xena.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610499974291745954" /></a> where Robin is a fox. I liked this BBC version of it though. It reminded me of growing up watching <I>Hercules: The Legendary Journeys</I> and <I>Xena: Warrior Princess</I>…especially when I got older and developed a huge crush on Gabrielle (Renée O'Connor) at least before she got uber buff. I even watched <I>Young Hercules</I> that starred Ryan Fucking Gosling as the man, er, boy, himself. <br /><br /><I>Robin Hood</I> aired in 2006, 2007, and 2009, but maybe the BBC just likes doing that (<I>Survivors</I> aired in 2008 and 2010). I don’t know why it had a year hiatus, and I can honestly think that it might have had something to do with why the show didn’t get picked up for a fourth season. I mean in TV if you’re gone for a year you might as well be gone for good. I also noticed something else between season two and season three…the production value. <br /><br />The production value was actually something that was rather hilarious in the first <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7zy_141pjlXcM4z1JKCevLAiEv7GzebbwTCPB0BXfOKSKePN8gKVG5tlY4WfRu2-YYaMkrM55qgVzl4HvfjE9v2zQZlO918JY8ztotgbA55Mqt6D00xOtu7Kxe6_T0ILHc8BOwm6lyDcm/s1600/guy.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7zy_141pjlXcM4z1JKCevLAiEv7GzebbwTCPB0BXfOKSKePN8gKVG5tlY4WfRu2-YYaMkrM55qgVzl4HvfjE9v2zQZlO918JY8ztotgbA55Mqt6D00xOtu7Kxe6_T0ILHc8BOwm6lyDcm/s400/guy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610496867952480882" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLXl46jbNOE3k4-7q-N_51RDQI5fcO4YSru1zdO5moHb2Nr-A4Q6lxKn7stedmsmTIW-HZfcKvTqVCdt6SAJ-DJ64AEArEf-mmVqg3gGBuyX6nD3apPHSvQTpx3w4MMAr6WKqYVTMEbk_W/s1600/guy2+%25282%2529.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 291px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLXl46jbNOE3k4-7q-N_51RDQI5fcO4YSru1zdO5moHb2Nr-A4Q6lxKn7stedmsmTIW-HZfcKvTqVCdt6SAJ-DJ64AEArEf-mmVqg3gGBuyX6nD3apPHSvQTpx3w4MMAr6WKqYVTMEbk_W/s400/guy2+%25282%2529.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610496863903924258" /></a>two seasons. In particular Richard Armitage's outfit as Guy of Gisborne. That outfit was a fucking joke. It looked like something out of a reject 80’s hair metal band crossed with an S&M wannabe. The shoulders alone made me laugh every time I saw them. It wasn’t just Guy either, you could tell it in all of the characters. I wondered as soon as the first episode of season three came on about why the sudden influx in costumes. In the first season I can remember several scenes that caught my attention. One being a guy wearing a pair of pants that actually had a zipper. Another was the belt buckles, several of them were entirely too modern. Then again there was the scene where <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVtFeMapodtYWhiRtpkyfpJ8ZgPPnY6gsp8fMem7fGPV6_L-_wxeKib_fnJPleZrvzurnLQ6nyioTK43piCIy7tI117jiWiO6hSTYu5zZI0wBgafzNiVYb-2LRryXJykGQlM-i-iGu9HB9/s1600/robin.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVtFeMapodtYWhiRtpkyfpJ8ZgPPnY6gsp8fMem7fGPV6_L-_wxeKib_fnJPleZrvzurnLQ6nyioTK43piCIy7tI117jiWiO6hSTYu5zZI0wBgafzNiVYb-2LRryXJykGQlM-i-iGu9HB9/s400/robin.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610496871062806402" /></a>Will Scarlett (played by Harry Llyod who is now Viserys Targaryen on <I>Game of Thrones</I>) is laying on top of a roof and you can clearly see the rubber soled hiking boots he is wearing. The sets were similar to this change of play as well. In seasons one and two they tended to rotate between the same 3-4 sets, rarely deviating. In season three they even took the viewer to new cities (although we did travel to Acre at the end of season two). Instead of just Nottingham we were treated to a view of York. The CGI, while almost nonexistent in the first two seasons (and when used was incredibly SyFy channel worthy) also made more of an appearance, to better effect. <br /><br />The cast was also spectacular for what they were doing. I already mentioned Richard Armitage (who will be playing Thorin Oakenshield in <I>The Hobbit</I> movies and makes an appearance in <I>Captain America: The First Avenger</I>) and Harry Llyod, but it also included Jonas Armstrong as Robin Hood, Gordon Kennedy as Little John, Sam Troughton as Much...Robins best friend/once servant (who, if I remember correctly, was the first person to get infected in the <I>AvP</I> movie), Joe Armstrong as Allan A Dale, Lucy Griffiths (so hot) as Marian, Anjali Jay as Djaq (a foreigner who joins the group as their somewhat doctor), and Keith Allen as the Sheriff of Nottingham. Of all of them Keith Allen was the only one that drove me nuts. I don't know what it was, I guess he either hammed it up too much or I just <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN0gmjBw_SwqOUZEgNQTRrhyphenhyphena0ET6zAHutx0GXNnCcRdILriaT3GgWynRC_N8MBBRwrSvYw8nawOa5ja1TyAVVRwfUDIM2hvdi3yiun-wyVKknBRdtyvYvyD37yp3ZjlFcCRxbqWUWWSCt/s1600/robin2.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 219px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN0gmjBw_SwqOUZEgNQTRrhyphenhyphena0ET6zAHutx0GXNnCcRdILriaT3GgWynRC_N8MBBRwrSvYw8nawOa5ja1TyAVVRwfUDIM2hvdi3yiun-wyVKknBRdtyvYvyD37yp3ZjlFcCRxbqWUWWSCt/s400/robin2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610496872652411282" /></a>couldn't stand him. I mean, I don't think you're supposed to like the Sheriff of Nottingham, but Alan Rickman was fucking awesome. In season three they added Friar Tuck, played by David Harewood, and he's black...I guess that's how they added color. They also brought in Joanne Froggatt as Kate, Lara Pulver as Isabella, and Clive Standen as Archer (who is currently playing Gawain on <I>Camelot</I>). Shit, how can I forget the wonderful role of King Richard was played by Steven Waddington who was in <I>The Last of the Mohicans</i> and <I>Sleepy Hollow</I>. He was only in one episode, but he fucking nailed it.<br /><br />I could tell there would be changes when we lost several of the main characters at the end of season two, and I felt it again at the end of season three. In fact, season three kind of sealed the shows fate. <I><B>SPOILERS</I></B>: At the end of two they kill off Marian and eliminate Djaq and Will Scarlett. At the end of season three they kill off Robin, Allan A Dale, The Sheriff, Isabella, and Guy. They not only just eliminated Robin, but they dropped the cast down to two people who had been with the show since the beginning. I know the intent was to have Archer become Robin Hood, but come on…that’s why <I>The X-Files</I> bombed…you got rid of Scully and Mulder. <I><B>/END SPOILERS</I></B>. <br /><br />The writing for the show got a bit ridiculous. There are only so many times you can run away. There are only so many times one of the members of your group can get captured and you have to rescue them. There are only so many times you can rob from the same fucking person before it gets old. They also decided to up the anti by throwing in a lot of things that are more modern…like booby trapping a room with rope like they were lasers. Let us not even mention another trap that ridiculously drops to some raging inferno of hell. I mean, I can understand how writing the same shit every day could get old, but come on. Instead of having the merry gang rob someone every episode, instead of having them run from Guy, or rescue a comrade, they could <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPCg_qHHf1KV7fNViz8yDHfRFSF2GNpQ9Oo0R_EEKHGkwl4Zgdw3qeFA_JbHElNSElqqcZd52sMvdbcEJkEWkF0vM4i4DZViIpx0uXEA-vuefO_Xerl_yeM0pWWpRAPfYyZxM-TxABeERq/s1600/marian.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPCg_qHHf1KV7fNViz8yDHfRFSF2GNpQ9Oo0R_EEKHGkwl4Zgdw3qeFA_JbHElNSElqqcZd52sMvdbcEJkEWkF0vM4i4DZViIpx0uXEA-vuefO_Xerl_yeM0pWWpRAPfYyZxM-TxABeERq/s400/marian.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610501417445741170" /></a>have just…I don’t know…played with character interaction, or had them just sit around the fucking campfire for a day and trade stories of war and life. They kind of tried that plot in the episode “A Good Day to Die,“ but they completely fucked it up with too many other plot points. I really would have liked to have seen how Robin and Much became the way they were. Why Much was so dedicated to following and protecting him. We’re only even given, I think, one glance of them when they were actually in the crusades. Did I forget to mention that in the first two seasons Robin Hood wouldn’t kill anyone? Totally. Third season? Fuck that shit he arrowed people left and right. I’m also wondering how fucking easy it was to get into a castle. They seriously do it like every other episode. You think they could, eventually, keep wanted criminals (whose faces were pretty damn well known) out. The “cover your head with a hood” trick…would only work, maybe, once. I can also understand deviating from the legends and other source material, but sometimes I think they went a little too far. Like…not introducing Friar Tuck until the third season? That’s some bullshit. <br /><br />Through it all though I loved it. Would I have liked it to continue? No. The show ended where it needed to end. Unlike some shows I’ve fallen in love with. I’m looking at you <I>Harsh Realm</I>, mini-series my fucking ass. In David Bentley's article about the cancellation of <I>Robin Hood</I> (which you can read <a href="http://blogs.coventrytelegraph.net/thegeekfiles/2009/07/robin-hood-axed-an-arrow-into.html"> HERE</A>). He says "The finale of the third season had been shunted from BBC1 to BBC2 to make way for Andy Murray's overrunning game at Wimbledon." That, my friends, is a sad way to go. Was it better than the overabundance of reality television that plagues our screens? Hell yes. Did you know that <I>Survivor</I> is still going? <I>Survivor</I>. Eleven fucking years, people. How the hell is that goddamn show not gone? Would I recommend <I>Robin Hood</I>? Like I said, I’m not a big fan of the Robin Hood character, but I enjoyed the shit out of the show. It brought me back to that time where television shows were just meant to be entertaining, and didn’t cost enough to feed a small country.DeistBrawlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208558981915537789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1274732308027449129.post-39108359498896431472011-05-20T14:48:00.000-07:002011-05-20T15:06:31.114-07:00The Tale of TimLet me tell you about Tim. <br /><br />I’ve known Tim for about 9 years now. Originally I met him through a guy I worked <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij2dHQeVtdGBP-dQRyczYEOBSi9FeV-D4pUkou03UXCKPnfo2KphDg9_e4Y9bJuuAW-wgpNCGudGXWptTXcMUEqDJee_3dTmdCK8whMkaN2X4WLNr40F88VDqgtJBlhaHRP802OfbUy09K/s1600/tim.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 352px; height: 264px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij2dHQeVtdGBP-dQRyczYEOBSi9FeV-D4pUkou03UXCKPnfo2KphDg9_e4Y9bJuuAW-wgpNCGudGXWptTXcMUEqDJee_3dTmdCK8whMkaN2X4WLNr40F88VDqgtJBlhaHRP802OfbUy09K/s400/tim.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608919797000079058" /></a>with and over the years we’ve become best friends. He smokes Camel menthols? Crushes? Turkish Silver? I know he smokes camels, and they‘re not a regular cigarette…because I can smell them. He drinks a lot of soda’s, prefers a good comic book or horror movie, loves fantasy, and plays video games. He’s a metal head who tends to stick with a certain sound/type of band, and he doesn’t really drink. He’s also an angry fucker. No, really. <br /><br />He’s a nice guy, however, when he gets angry (usually this is directed at a girl…in the sense of infidelity or stupidity) he has to let that anger out. How does he let that anger out? On his hand. Seriously, I think he’s broken his hand more times than the years I’ve known him. He likes to punch inanimate objects. I think the last time he broke his hand he punched a newspaper dispenser. You know, one of those steel ones? The time before that I think it was his spare tire on the back of his jeep. He’s also lazy. <br /><br />Now coming from me calling someone lazy is a serious matter…because I’m fucking lazy. He’s seriously fucking lazy. There have been times where I’ve called him at 3 in the afternoon and he was still sleeping. I don’t know how he does it. Rarely can I sleep past noon anymore, and that’s even after I got to bed at 5 am. He’s also not really sociable. <br /><br />Most of the times I get him to come out it’s like pulling teeth. <br />“You want to go to the bar tonight?” <br />“Not really.” <br />“Wanna go get something to eat?” <br />“Eh, I’m not that hungry.” <br />“Catch a movie?” <br />“No. I think I’m just going to stay home. I’m not really in the mood to go do anything.” <br />“What if I pay? I can spot you a few drinks.” <br />“Nah.” <br />“I’ll drive.” <br />“Eh.” <br />“I’ll come pick you up, drive, and pay. It’s like I’m taking you on a fucking date.” <br />“Naw. I really just want to stay home.” <br />“Dude.” <br />“What?” <br />“I fucking hate you.” <br />He also, pretty much, absolutely, will not go to Atlanta. <br />“Hey man, want to come to Atlanta with me?” <br />“No.” <br />“Why?” <br />“I hate Atlanta.” <br />“Why?” <br />“Eh.” <br />“Dude.” <br />“What?” <br />“I fucking hate you.” <br />Every so often he will call me and ask me to go out. Saving me the trouble of having to convince him to go out. <br /><br />A while back, when I started hiking, I would ask him to go with me. He literally lives, like, 3 minutes from my usual hiking trail. How many times has he gone with me? 3 times. I’m pretty sure it’s three times. Twice on the Homestead Trail and once on the Ironhill Trail. Anyway, once I got the GA Park Pass he seemed to be more interested in going out hiking. Not on my usual trail though. No. He wants to go check out the other parks. Not a problem, I’m a fan of road trips. <br /><br />The first time we went out we went to Amicalola Falls in Dawsonville, GA. His idea.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz_bwmpEmVQeFfd1rihfKzbVakpxgUgdqLfZfLnqjKG3o_S2tgdu4R7XLLnYeDooD9OLm6hqCJ8oUJfsvKKa8Iq2JtIb4Or4DJ9WAW9fZxyqvyuQpgsYMvHYI8vBowqp_6C3w608hA2xbn/s1600/amicalola.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz_bwmpEmVQeFfd1rihfKzbVakpxgUgdqLfZfLnqjKG3o_S2tgdu4R7XLLnYeDooD9OLm6hqCJ8oUJfsvKKa8Iq2JtIb4Or4DJ9WAW9fZxyqvyuQpgsYMvHYI8vBowqp_6C3w608hA2xbn/s400/amicalola.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608919802845673170" /></a> He chose the place. How far did he make it up the trail? About a quarter of the fucking way. I finished it, constantly yelling down at him that he was a bitch…because those steps were a fucking bitch. 600 of them to be exact. On the trip home he tells me that we should do this more often. Check out a new park say, every Monday (because we both had Mondays off). <B>THREE</B> months later (and both of us now unemployed because both restaurants we worked at shut down) he hits me up on fb chat (I’ve heard from him about going out drinking or hanging out, but this chat was during the <I>day</I>). He wants to go check out Cloudland Canyon in Rising Fawn, GA. Apparently there are two waterfalls at Cloudland Canyon, and the trail to the waterfalls is only two miles roundtrip. <br /><br />Now, I usually hike a 4 ½ mile trail…so two miles wouldn’t be jack shit. HAHA. <br /><br />The drive out there takes us around an hour. Most of it is off the highway with a speed limit of 55. The scenery is beautiful, but I quickly realize we are getting the fuck away from civilization. At one point, at 3 in the afternoon, we didn’t see a single living soul for fifteen minutes. What else? Well, with the windows rolled up and the radio playing, not to mention we were in the middle of a conversation, I heard a sound. The fucking cicadas were so loud that I could hear them in my car. We rolled down the windows to a stereo surround sound of these motherfuckers. It sounded like a symphony concert. Loud. It was pretty freaky. <br /><br />So we get to Cloudland Canyon at Tim is very happy and excited. It’s a gorgeous day <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcT-IJihcj93ifN2YKqQipjE3VUAu7gLlu05-VFAnFfBkUlrrZxTTtVNG6YwClJwE1o0BSh5X6GW29z9Y_n2jURqiCImziRSuKaoPFIbQv7b7nL7rrMdXIBdtlW4ooj0NwwAlUoejjiiZI/s1600/happytim.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcT-IJihcj93ifN2YKqQipjE3VUAu7gLlu05-VFAnFfBkUlrrZxTTtVNG6YwClJwE1o0BSh5X6GW29z9Y_n2jURqiCImziRSuKaoPFIbQv7b7nL7rrMdXIBdtlW4ooj0NwwAlUoejjiiZI/s400/happytim.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608919801302264146" /></a><br />and he’s ready to go. The view is amazing and he can’t wait to see these waterfalls. The first thing I notice is the trail is not like most hiking trails I’ve been on. The majority of them have been beaten down, smoothed out, well worn. This bitch was laced with rocks, steps, loose gravel, etc. There were even warnings posted to not deviate from the path. As we are coming down this guy and pregnant lady are coming up. <br />“Fuck waterfall number 2 man.” <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5sfe5A2RjiCf8V7hViAVqPHyacuXNKThtP3VJBp_wpv-ylArRcmdNHp-joHHLZkYJG56Ugx7fxwfJGPvpcuzh4o_lKATL4c-mXNFO8HzOwELvLp8dUqf3pW0vdi4WGL4JAtyhGYZUNUDg/s1600/onthetrail.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5sfe5A2RjiCf8V7hViAVqPHyacuXNKThtP3VJBp_wpv-ylArRcmdNHp-joHHLZkYJG56Ugx7fxwfJGPvpcuzh4o_lKATL4c-mXNFO8HzOwELvLp8dUqf3pW0vdi4WGL4JAtyhGYZUNUDg/s400/onthetrail.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608919805721817410" /></a><br />“Huh?” <br />“That path is not worth it. There are a shit load of stairs and the waterfall isn’t even that cool. Just check out number 1.” <br />“Thanks?” <br />“No problem.” <br />Waterfall number 2 is .3 miles away. Waterfall number 1 is .1 miles away. <br />“Let’s check out number 2 first.” I say. <br />“No, let’s do 1 first.” <br />“Why? 2 is farther away. We should do that one and then check out 1 on the way back.” <br />“He said 1 is better anyway.” <br />“Exactly, so we see the better one after the shitty one.” <br />“Let’s check out 1.” <br />“Fine.” <br /><br />1 is awesome, and Tim is very happy and pleased. On to number 2. As we’re climbing <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWRAilOEcswnTBQpsFg1c1-JjTnvKXAus5geJKKwJHSPvPGROHU3F6Klzd9NaPzlSiECgBGPzry5e8-RftDU1fPQxirlKmIvGwE5yLiC2f8JKul6Mm0yihGn4-Hcgz9wVsSWnMxT2-800e/s1600/startback.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWRAilOEcswnTBQpsFg1c1-JjTnvKXAus5geJKKwJHSPvPGROHU3F6Klzd9NaPzlSiECgBGPzry5e8-RftDU1fPQxirlKmIvGwE5yLiC2f8JKul6Mm0yihGn4-Hcgz9wVsSWnMxT2-800e/s400/startback.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608919809089171714" /></a>down a shit load of stairs to get to 2 I keep thinking to myself, <I>Tim’s not going to make it.</I> I’ll give the boy this, since Amicalola he’s lost 30 lbs, mainly due to diet. If you look at the two of us he would appear to be in much better shape. However, I remembered Amicalola. We get to the bottom and I can tell he’s nervous. <br />“Where does this trail go?” <br />“The map shows that it goes about another two miles up that way.” <br />“Should we take that one back?” <br />“Well…it would, hypothetically, add another four miles onto our hike.” <br />“Yeah, but, would it be easier?” <br />“I don’t know, our car is way the fuck up there. Eventually were going to have to get back to the top of the canyon.” <br />“Fuck.” <br />“You can make it.” <br />As we look at the path ahead of us Tim does not look very happy, and he demonstrates this displeasure. <br /><br />About an 1/8 of the way up he starts lagging. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz3gPVQCgjB6TJc433VhsC2g9cBIH9oyu8khRRSFpVT6-SLFr1zjpuvPkUs2YiMagJ3JWCNN8TNKBqsYA8mv8vaicbHo7RUtHIPNDwO_MoHz2nZmmvTNUx57xOJqxdiweRoI6sulxg4Ez1/s1600/fallingbehind.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz3gPVQCgjB6TJc433VhsC2g9cBIH9oyu8khRRSFpVT6-SLFr1zjpuvPkUs2YiMagJ3JWCNN8TNKBqsYA8mv8vaicbHo7RUtHIPNDwO_MoHz2nZmmvTNUx57xOJqxdiweRoI6sulxg4Ez1/s400/fallingbehind.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608920014770648018" /></a><br />“Keep moving.” I tell him. “Don’t stop. Even if you need to take a break stay on your feet. Pace back and forth. Stopping will just fuck you.” <br />He listens to me for a while, but then he starts taking more and more breaks. The next thing I hear is that he feels like he needs to puke. <br />“Drink a little.” I say. “You probably just need to hydrate.” <br /><br />I go another distance and turn around. Now he’s squatting. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja-Qie5KHzZsajN1teU5yBccQU_NOYvMGnYxU1IKsURRNlyxLDDL-s8B1C4b9w_Ci2zCxiw5OVSM0yKfzQ5VKgMm8ltA9qwpv-OgaNZCors7bkvviEDci5-iGkAFTEhzvKA9CLtQD98Pga/s1600/squatting.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja-Qie5KHzZsajN1teU5yBccQU_NOYvMGnYxU1IKsURRNlyxLDDL-s8B1C4b9w_Ci2zCxiw5OVSM0yKfzQ5VKgMm8ltA9qwpv-OgaNZCors7bkvviEDci5-iGkAFTEhzvKA9CLtQD98Pga/s400/squatting.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608920015639669346" /></a><br />“Oie, what the fuck did I tell you? If you need to break stay on your feet, move around.” <br />“But this is comfortable. It’s not really my legs anyway, my legs are fine, like I said I just have this urge to puke.” <br />“…then puke.” <br />“I can’t.” <br />“Dude, I can puke on command. If you have to puke then puke.” <br />“It’s not that easy.” <br />“How many of your powerades did you bring?” <br />“Just the one. Why?” <br />“Well if you had both of them I would have told you to chug one. That would probably make you puke.” <br />“I’ll be alright.” <br /><br />Any time someone comes near us I say, “Man up.” You know, so he could at least pretend to be alright. We get another distance and the breaks are coming more and <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis_BVxRjcDpnrKh5JcBMXPr7edxQDRkKgbwIZogYiquPh3pnisc3O35G1zA_cwkNGw-ouN6KrYQ1LM_ShZdSXL3XcTIp3tjJ18naT722MVdW4v22LXFiniVVd2P2rcu9gHPGgh-Ep4LX5P/s1600/layingdown.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis_BVxRjcDpnrKh5JcBMXPr7edxQDRkKgbwIZogYiquPh3pnisc3O35G1zA_cwkNGw-ouN6KrYQ1LM_ShZdSXL3XcTIp3tjJ18naT722MVdW4v22LXFiniVVd2P2rcu9gHPGgh-Ep4LX5P/s400/layingdown.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608920022485219106" /></a>more. Eventually I hear this one. <br />“Dude, just give me five minutes and then I’ll do the rest of the trail in one big go.” <br />“Ok, but don’t sit down or anything.” <br />That didn’t happen. In fact, he didn’t just sit down, he laid down. <br />“Tim.” <br />“What?” <br />“I told you not to sit. You’re not just sitting, you’re fucking laying down.” <br />He demonstrated his displeasure with me once again. <br />“Five minutes?” <br />“Five minutes.” <br /><br />So I kept pacing back and forth, taking a picture here or there, I even went up the trail a bit and came back down to him. I would have left him, but I remembered Amicalola falls. I left him then and he ended up not seeing anything. <br />“Five minutes is up.” <br />“Bullshit, it hasn’t been five minutes.” <br />“Fine, it’s been three minutes, get the fuck up. Remember, you‘re the one that picked this place” <br /><br />He did, and we slowly continued our way. Every time he starts to pause again I call out, “Just think what it’ll be like when you get to sit down in the car!” or, “Don’t forget about the AC…imagine how good that’ll feel.” <br /><br />Almost to the top and he stops again, he sits down. <br />“Tim, come on, we’re almost there.” <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAAkJvcFccV0lwR7-G6av7UZqFkh4NjhxeAbwRwHNdHfvz0yAFIWI2gUeRwhRYsSOnOVcViMwowRAjjwm18NhX8PGUcsWSbLlhdlGRuyaHvf2GREMs2iIpPjlF5bAeA9TBR3qQIm93dHVP/s1600/puking.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAAkJvcFccV0lwR7-G6av7UZqFkh4NjhxeAbwRwHNdHfvz0yAFIWI2gUeRwhRYsSOnOVcViMwowRAjjwm18NhX8PGUcsWSbLlhdlGRuyaHvf2GREMs2iIpPjlF5bAeA9TBR3qQIm93dHVP/s400/puking.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608920030527474738" /></a><br />He gets up…and pukes. <br />I was <I>this</I> close to actually catching it on camera. In the few times he’s gone hiking with me he’s ended up puking on at least half of them. <br />“Feel better now?” <br />“Not really.” <br />“You should feel better, you’ve been bitching about puking for the last hour.” <br />“Well…yeah, I do feel better.” <br /><br />The rest of the way back to the car he doesn’t really pause anymore. He gets one pause when I go off the beaten path and stand on the cliff ledge to take a picture, but he didn’t follow me down there…probably because I had to do a little climbing. Then, glory be, the car. <br />“Thanks.” He says to me. <br />“For what?” <br />“For sticking around. You really motivated me to do it. If it hadn’t been for that I probably would have quit.” <br />“You’re welcome.” <br />“Oh, and you’re picking the trail next time.” <br />“Why’s that.” <br />“Because I apparently want to kill myself.”DeistBrawlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208558981915537789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1274732308027449129.post-78901333137035298352011-04-24T16:10:00.000-07:002011-04-24T16:20:54.286-07:00CBR-III: Book #12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU_9Fw-JHnQGEiI2BDqRzbnGmBCoM3BFtbaSPuz9anyWvPYBm_zgGKvJX12PmlaFbydSOadk8caef3pXemSeT0Y8NK1BfKVb_OES0GmTOMaIwuZXWSnEdYvILVNF5PTZbnLSXY6OLJpvpe/s1600/pajibacard.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 314px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU_9Fw-JHnQGEiI2BDqRzbnGmBCoM3BFtbaSPuz9anyWvPYBm_zgGKvJX12PmlaFbydSOadk8caef3pXemSeT0Y8NK1BfKVb_OES0GmTOMaIwuZXWSnEdYvILVNF5PTZbnLSXY6OLJpvpe/s400/pajibacard.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599294043120831730" /></a><br /><br /><b>Warning: <i>This review (like the Bourne series) covers a large series of books. Because of this it will likely contain numerous spoilers.</i></b><br /><br />I picked up <i>1st to Die</i> , opened up a beer, and got about four pages in before I said to myself: <i>Wait. I’ve read this before. Have I read this before?</i>.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGJp9gguQk4DCF_lowxJDBAQKcNbsH39ptlKji_49f9nUgt1RwNYDPAUlh7mniSP7zrMdInTSpiwezI2uVXe06KkknmX7rjIiqUaaVEzKzwc74_1pEc6_1X94QlvnXUuWi7XL2d9Wak39g/s1600/lg-1stToDie.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 181px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGJp9gguQk4DCF_lowxJDBAQKcNbsH39ptlKji_49f9nUgt1RwNYDPAUlh7mniSP7zrMdInTSpiwezI2uVXe06KkknmX7rjIiqUaaVEzKzwc74_1pEc6_1X94QlvnXUuWi7XL2d9Wak39g/s400/lg-1stToDie.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599291960844620562" /></a> I didn’t know, so I continued reading. Two more paragraphs and I thought: <i>I’ve totally read this.</i> That’s the problem with James Patterson’s <b>Women’s Murder Club</b>, the story falls out of your head right after you read it. They don’t leave a lasting impression. They don’t make you ponder what you’ve just read. It’s like watching <i>Jumper</i>. It’s pretty entertaining, you’ll likely enjoy it, but will you think about it ever again? No.<br /><br />The Murder Club consists of a key group of ladies:<br />Lindsay Boxer is a San Francisco homicide detective (a sergeant, who becomes a lieutenant, who busts herself back down to sergeant). She‘s an All-American girl, second generation cop, devoted dog lover, and the only character in the series that is presented in first person. She‘s also, honestly, one of the least interesting characters of the series. She can do no wrong. Well she can, but it always works out in her favor. Plus, her love life is fucking boring.<br /><br />Cindy Thomas is a reporter for the <i>San Francisco Chronicle</i>. Originally a go-getter in the first book she‘s just a hot shot after that. She‘s the cute one of the <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj14wsIudgf97EmABgEJ3khHGjKUIiBQyocqcmhkn4K77vzaD2XvdhphwlP5UkuOTMgYAUzZtotScHVDZpWnsqHO9ddZn6NMEdw0ZRcOqRIh5HAdDh6oTD_q50LoOZDNhoOV3-13ur-ONYc/s1600/lg-2ndChance.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 181px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj14wsIudgf97EmABgEJ3khHGjKUIiBQyocqcmhkn4K77vzaD2XvdhphwlP5UkuOTMgYAUzZtotScHVDZpWnsqHO9ddZn6NMEdw0ZRcOqRIh5HAdDh6oTD_q50LoOZDNhoOV3-13ur-ONYc/s400/lg-2ndChance.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599291959314305634" /></a>group, and often used for comic relief.<br /><br />Claire Washburn is the Chief Medical Examiner for San Francisco. She’s also obese. She’s also married. She’s also the most relatively tame one…you know…being that she’s married. Consider her the mother hen.<br /><br />Jill Bernhardt (spoiler) survives three books. To round out all of the sides of a police investigation you have to have a lawyer. In this case she is/was the ADA She was also the only other married one. Leaving it a tie: two single ladies, two married ones.<br /><br />Yuki Castellano takes over for Jill in the 4th book. Originally just a lawyer she eventually has to move up the ranks too…eventually becoming an ADA as well. She’s single. Japanese/Italian. She also never gets laid, a fact we become aware to several times.<br /><br />The books:<br /><i>1st to Die</i>: A serial killer targets newlyweds.<br /><br /><i>2nd Chance</i>: A serial killer targets specific people, and they’re related to cops.<br /><br /><i>3rd Degree</i>: A terrorist group targets rich people. We also start getting into <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPvt9wIpV90pVcrqj8ivDDmRCit-Eq4AjIlyVFbZuLLYAiwun5hMB-A_nGW5ILZYApfklGrrRwGKJjIBTNiVPa3ABTRTlvKe0UQY1xEE3_y3WenNdhYkYfYLOaP2S6Kqk68jmewZPXOqkv/s1600/lg-3rdDegree.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 181px; height: 276px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPvt9wIpV90pVcrqj8ivDDmRCit-Eq4AjIlyVFbZuLLYAiwun5hMB-A_nGW5ILZYApfklGrrRwGKJjIBTNiVPa3ABTRTlvKe0UQY1xEE3_y3WenNdhYkYfYLOaP2S6Kqk68jmewZPXOqkv/s400/lg-3rdDegree.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599291955613649762" /></a>the subplots here. Sure, the other two books had subplots, but they weren’t as distinct. Subplot: Jill’s got an abusive husband.<br /><br /><i>4th of July</i>: The main plot this time revolves around a shooting incident that leaves Lindsay under investigation. Subplot: A serial killer (or killers?) targets seemingly random people in a small town.<br /><br /><i>The 5th Horseman</i>: A serial killer is running loose killing people in a hospital. At the same time the hospital is involved in a court case for malpractice because of the “strange” deaths. Subplot: A serial killer (or killers?) is staging crime scenes. Nicknamed “The Car Girls.”<br /><br /><i>The 6th Target</i>: A random/bizarre shooting incident injures one of their own, and a large court case ensues. Subplot: Wealthy, savant-like, children and their nannies are being kidnapped. Holy fucking shit! There isn’t a serial killer? Praise fucking god.<br /><br /><i>7th Heaven</i>: A serial killer (killers?)/arsonist is targeting seemingly random<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3O2_nxITSCZOR2qfQyW2_TNOaupyvpY2y5uEk_UyFWd_SRUMS5FJpn0RE5hWwI-RJJw-hfscC1ojgU064886Ws0bj9zxr8VAQLO5X9vlCfxrAcuyU7Uw0odESGOR4Fk5d0HMLEUc04Mp_/s1600/lg-4thOfJuly.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 181px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3O2_nxITSCZOR2qfQyW2_TNOaupyvpY2y5uEk_UyFWd_SRUMS5FJpn0RE5hWwI-RJJw-hfscC1ojgU064886Ws0bj9zxr8VAQLO5X9vlCfxrAcuyU7Uw0odESGOR4Fk5d0HMLEUc04Mp_/s400/lg-4thOfJuly.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599291831139952690" /></a> wealthy people. Subplot: An ex-governors teenage son is missing. A woman is being investigated, and tried, for the murder. Did she do it? Is she quilty?<br /><br /><i>The 8th Confession</i>: A serial killer is targeting wealthy people. Subplot: The death of an apparent homeless hero sends Cindy on the hunt. Because of course cops don’t care about homeless people.<br /><br />My beefs:<br /><i>If you were going to write about serial killers…research would be good. </i>My first problem with the stories should be evident, and I just now realized it. Anyone who has even looked at serial killers will notice several things. One, they kill the destitute. People who won’t be missed. In the books they kill rich people. The exact fucking opposite of serial killers. I don’t know if the likely filthy rich Patterson has a problem with rich people, but it certainly appears that way. Two, their victims don’t really fit a pattern (other than all being prostitutes, homeless, etc.). In almost every instance in the stories they do follow a pattern. I.e. the killer is committing…Three, never kill someone you know. Ever.<br /><br /><i>Tattoos</i>. Patterson apparently feels that every bad guy on the fucking planet<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvlst8UAZ-nClSNIFHS619wD4PCVTFS7VGuwSMU0v9pzh_39EBmmcwOKrT8eVyeLZfBbg2Z1BKrhgB45BoM3FRGkJbHfn7gUVgOd_YxRXXAFA1xYZfsgFIb4XSLqzhSc3cep25v2zl9dz7/s1600/lg-5thHorseman.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 181px; height: 275px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvlst8UAZ-nClSNIFHS619wD4PCVTFS7VGuwSMU0v9pzh_39EBmmcwOKrT8eVyeLZfBbg2Z1BKrhgB45BoM3FRGkJbHfn7gUVgOd_YxRXXAFA1xYZfsgFIb4XSLqzhSc3cep25v2zl9dz7/s400/lg-5thHorseman.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599291834975326002" /></a> has tattoos. Most of them have sleeves! It started to get old. Really old. When every person they brought in to question, every “criminal” was layered with tattoos. Thanks Patterson, for sticking to a stereotype.<br /><br /><i>How about some new ideas?</i> In both <i>3rd Degree</i> and <i>4th of July</i> Lindsay (<b>A Cop</b>) busts into a dangerous situation (<b>with killers</b>) without her cell phone, police radio, backup, or a bulletproof vest. And she’s supposed to be fucking smart? That doesn’t sound very smart to me. I think what really cracked me up is that Patterson used the same situation in back to back books.<br /><br /><i>Learn a little about police work.</i> In the opening to each one of the books there is a thank you to an assortment of doctors, police officers, lawyers, etc. Yet he left a glaring hole in <i>2nd Chance</i>. They’re after a suspect, a guy who is actually a former police officer, a guy who is out on parole. They want to hold him, thinking he’s a killer, but they just can’t charge him with anything. <i><b>*cough*…*cough cough cough*</b></i> The guy is out on parole? He’s out on parole and he hasn’t checked in with his parole officer, he hasn’t given them a change of address notification, he doesn’t have a job, and he’s even using a false identity. Two words. Two fucking words. Parole. Violation. Guess who the fuck is back in jail? Are you telling me all of these police officers and lawyers would conveniently overlook that?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1AGC4vok3Iw6jEJksaPmYyr3zTumpVNNwekFjByy6J8PT1iu1ReHhyQOS2-0SAkYQQjie04nzghcRZLikMrbtlz-SZxcDz3LviFf_PFvboo-ZL8Gd2ySIpxh5t2X8DTA5uxQVDu7NZrZD/s1600/lg-6thTarget.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 180px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1AGC4vok3Iw6jEJksaPmYyr3zTumpVNNwekFjByy6J8PT1iu1ReHhyQOS2-0SAkYQQjie04nzghcRZLikMrbtlz-SZxcDz3LviFf_PFvboo-ZL8Gd2ySIpxh5t2X8DTA5uxQVDu7NZrZD/s400/lg-6thTarget.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599291824366886898" /></a> Bullshit.<br /><br /><i>The…give me a fucking break route.</i><br />Yuki is finally ready to give it up for the first time in 2 years? The guy is/was a hermaphrodite? *throws up hands*<br />Serial arsonists are burning houses all over the fucking place and Lindsay’s house honestly, accidentally, goes up in flames? Is that even statistically possible? *headdesk*<br />A killer is practically handing you a signed letter of guilt and it still takes you the whole book to figure out it’s them? *headhoneybadger*<br /><br /><i>LOVE.</i> The little subplots of love are actually fairly interesting. I’m curious to find out who Cindy is dating now, because Cindy has fun. Yuki is just too much of a pain in the ass. The woman doesn’t need a man, not really. What she has is the voice of her mother telling her to be a good woman and to marry a nice man. Kind of <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8csrj7Q3dXPxWyM6i2Cwm9UyzApg5GR3ni7V2nevgfzPkllIr1itbnhuGVP6EbbGwsOOdxur63NZcXrXDVrDnazcL1OMS0aEBSJtQQYjh9c5BOcy6rRBPPHvn3iNS5NaEidf5RHJAlMZi/s1600/lg-7thHeaven.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 184px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8csrj7Q3dXPxWyM6i2Cwm9UyzApg5GR3ni7V2nevgfzPkllIr1itbnhuGVP6EbbGwsOOdxur63NZcXrXDVrDnazcL1OMS0aEBSJtQQYjh9c5BOcy6rRBPPHvn3iNS5NaEidf5RHJAlMZi/s400/lg-7thHeaven.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599291819073232690" /></a>plays out the interest in her. There is no love story with Claire, and the brief romantic malfunction of Jill was actually interesting…but way to fucking throw that idea out the window. Who does that leave us with? Lindsay. Why do I hate Lindsay? We find ourselves at the beginning of the first book with her ready to blow her head off. She’s just lost her love. I don’t…maybe I’m just a skeptic about the concept of love, but that love was her brief new partner in the book. It was a brief relationship. Yes, I can understand the circumstances surrounding their romance. Ok. Then how are you going to fuck it so fast? By the <i>3rd Degree</i> she’s hooking up with another “partner.” This time his name is Joe. He’s not really her partner, he works for Homeland Security, but they were partnered up. I can’t care about her relationship with Joe…a key part in the rest of the books…because I can’t understand it. Anytime they are around each other they fuck like rabbits. Yet, in no time, he’s spouting his love for her and asking her to marry him. How? Why? I know this is weird but I don’t get, or understand, the chemistry. Then, out of nowhere, she hooks up (or almost does anyway) with her actual<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmGUe9Y-aK69Tw7YdyrhNuk8yY0DMZ_76xIxJ4uJNTigjSfN5sKhapGisSsoS1uc5FkNkPFUfgR_8ixF4g_WGMxCEH8E1IPUYZ5G1bOiGlXhrjlC1ppderrsjDBmNd0I2mAX4XO3bELCoH/s1600/lg-8thConfessionPPB.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 181px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmGUe9Y-aK69Tw7YdyrhNuk8yY0DMZ_76xIxJ4uJNTigjSfN5sKhapGisSsoS1uc5FkNkPFUfgR_8ixF4g_WGMxCEH8E1IPUYZ5G1bOiGlXhrjlC1ppderrsjDBmNd0I2mAX4XO3bELCoH/s400/lg-8thConfessionPPB.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599291818137837058" /></a> partner, Richard Conklin. So now she wants Joe, and she wants Rick. Yet, there still isn’t a fucking reason for her to want either of them. Then throw in a little jealously when Rick starts dating Cindy in <i>The 8th Confession</i>, and it’s really fucking retarded. I think whoever is writing the “romance” in these books (Andrew Gross co-wrote the 2nd and 3rd books, Maxine Paetro has co-wrote 4-8) is romantically deficient. Or they are just throwing the romance in there because they feel it’s necessary.<br /><br />In Conclusion:<br />So what do I actually think of the series? The books are like candy. I could pick one up and read it in 4 hours cover to cover. They’re fun, they’re entertaining, but don’t expect some profound literary experience from reading them.DeistBrawlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208558981915537789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1274732308027449129.post-1440536430373295152011-04-18T11:21:00.000-07:002011-04-18T11:36:08.861-07:00The Night of the CatfishMy father and I went camping this weekend. Knowing completely well that there were severe thunderstorms issued for Friday night. What did we say to the warnings? Fuck em. The place we went camping is technically my old bosses property. We go out there, rather than a park (or “campground“), for several reasons. <br />1) We’re not on a concrete pad surrounded by a bunch of other people. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgblOpYa74psGRXdFhknRPMwYwKuxM3hhQhbK0slVIUOB0zdhFRVZr0TLwn8536jC93CztdO1OA5NgZmcPStf_jPMnq6Wuf-LSTsBRbnHcEKOTYVT9wu_UKH5o3NWo-0BTGA5P3tdZJHEzx/s1600/005.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgblOpYa74psGRXdFhknRPMwYwKuxM3hhQhbK0slVIUOB0zdhFRVZr0TLwn8536jC93CztdO1OA5NgZmcPStf_jPMnq6Wuf-LSTsBRbnHcEKOTYVT9wu_UKH5o3NWo-0BTGA5P3tdZJHEzx/s400/005.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596991292516221874" /></a> <br />2) We used to not get cell phone reception out there (we do now but turn our phones off).<br />3) No running water. No bathrooms. <br />4) No fire limits. I can build a goddamn bonfire if I want to.<br />5) We can shoot guns. <br />6) He’s got a stock tank…so we can fish. <br />7) No children. So I can say “fuck” in as many incarnations and as loud as I want.<br />8) No problems with alcohol. <br />So we get there on Friday around 1pm and my dad gets the fire started as I get the tent set up. It was pretty windy (the bitch tried to fly away from me at one point), but everything was set up in about 30 minutes…<br /><br />I’m losing myself. My goal was not to tell you my entire weekend, but one particular instance. Let me narrow this down for you.<br /><br />The weekend: A nice hike, big ass fires, sunburn, some gun shooting, lots of reading <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLuOu1uoOG515ZlV7WwEFtakZd7o_R1y3BdsK5IdQCElbc5cNqkK5qGBwilvgTHpYZhIFoJgXuUU8Oq5tiZgwpC6t9jCRq66-pu5nmYzVJq5YU0RRO5MoTSzoGn_drI3aQoHeYXel1l1OQ/s1600/007.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLuOu1uoOG515ZlV7WwEFtakZd7o_R1y3BdsK5IdQCElbc5cNqkK5qGBwilvgTHpYZhIFoJgXuUU8Oq5tiZgwpC6t9jCRq66-pu5nmYzVJq5YU0RRO5MoTSzoGn_drI3aQoHeYXel1l1OQ/s400/007.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596991297176458786" /></a>(I finished 3 books), 48 beers consumed and two small bottles of Jack, rain, lots of rain, water collecting in the tent, a dilapidated cabin, a nap in the sun, cold soup, warm soup…the night of the catfish.<br /><br />Now for the real story.<br /><br /><B>The Night of the Catfish:</B><br />It’s been raining off and on. Bursts of rain would come, soaking us to the bone, then disappear as quickly as it came. Allowing us brief moments to dry off beside the fire. The there again-gone again, rain has disappeared and become replaced with a steady, slightly heavy, rain. We’ve taken to drinking in the rundown cabin, away from the elements, as the sun slowly declines in the sky. <br /><br />My father has been fishing most of the day while I’ve read. He’s resorted to his Texas style way of fishing, throwing out the lines and then letting them sit there. Once an hour he goes back to check them, liberally drinking as he does. <br /><br />It’s during these return visits that he interrupts me reading. My intent to go out there was simply from a point of relaxation. For awhile now I’ve been stuck in my house. My life has become that of a hermit. I sit on the internet from the time I wake up to the time I go to bed. My only foray outside is to smoke the occasional cigarette. In the last two weeks I’ve gone out with friends once, I’ve gone hiking once, but those have been my only lengthy excursions. I wanted to be out in nature, out in the sun. I wanted to go for a walk and be free of my online addiction. I didn’t mind his interruptions…he was like a kid in a candy store, happy to just be away from it all. <br /><br />The sun is gone, my father goes to check the lines again. I can see the fire still holding on in the rain, flickers of light dancing in the darkness. I brave the elements in my trash bag poncho two sizes too small to get some more beer out of the cooler. I’ve just cracked open another one when I hear it. <br />“Ty! Come here!” I look around, wondering if I’d actually heard him. <br />“Dad?” I yell out in return. <br />“Help!” Comes the reply. <br /><br />I initially started walking, sipping my beer as I went, but then I started running. I don’t run…ever. Thoughts were running through my head. <I>Did he get hurt? Did he fall in the tank and can’t get out? Did he get attacked by an animal?</I> My dad is getting up there in years. I’ve noticed recently that his equilibrium isn’t that good. When he gets cut he tends to bleed a lot because of blood thinners. When he bruises a small hit turns into something that looks catastrophic. So I ran. <br /><br />When I get there I don’t see him down on the ground. He’s standing on the side of the tank, a fishing rod in hand. Imagine the scene if you can. <br /><br />It’s night, but the moon is almost full so there’s that ethereal quality. The rain is coming down not steady now, but pouring. There’s my father. His clothes are soaked to the bone, the rain is sliding off his bald head in sheets, and he’s standing there like a madman holding a fishing pole. <br />“I just ran.” I told him. <br />I stood there, pondering if I should slap him. <br />“Well, help me. I can’t get the line to reel in.” <br />“So.” <br />“Well there’s a fish on the end.” <br />I grab the line with my bare hand and try to pull…it doesn’t move. I look at him. <br />“Are you sure you’re not stuck?” <br /><br />I feel the line jiggle in my hand. He’s not stuck. The line is taunt, tighter than a guitar string. With great effort I manage to pull enough to wrap some line around my<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNpaf-Ov-PfgY_o9aNEQTiL6WSNvSTRNPRP9-BUC3A0pQcpwnwr3_uGs9C22pg9IcLqoH2y5eR8s8YKzAqQKvEGG09vYLfqS3RLMypJtiGY1mZINurvyMLomL4CsQzy8oc0ScNNHR-K8QU/s1600/006.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNpaf-Ov-PfgY_o9aNEQTiL6WSNvSTRNPRP9-BUC3A0pQcpwnwr3_uGs9C22pg9IcLqoH2y5eR8s8YKzAqQKvEGG09vYLfqS3RLMypJtiGY1mZINurvyMLomL4CsQzy8oc0ScNNHR-K8QU/s400/006.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596991306241902738" /></a> hand. Not the brightest idea. I instantly feel it dig into my flesh. I already know it’s going to start bleeding. Fuck it. I keep pulling. My dad has moved up the shore, still trying to get the reel to work again. I grab with my left hand, leading the line in so I can wrap it around my right. Over and over. Slowly I feel that it’s coming close to shore. <br /><br />Through lightening streaked skies and heavy rain, through giant teardrops of water bouncing off the tanks surface, I see it. It churns in the water not ten feet from me. I take a step back. <I>What the fuck?</I> Through my right hand I feel a giant <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuj6bJtRjTdiNps7v9Hd57nx3uUes5rdBSsaPKml8gP11vZX-JBnrhJHzMWKi8h7HhJEpLRv9cML0VXWw3hwONPAM7tDq-XQwgsSXubaMIGRm2hPVulv7Ig4GV1s_hDz3fbr7QBbJCYG43/s1600/014.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuj6bJtRjTdiNps7v9Hd57nx3uUes5rdBSsaPKml8gP11vZX-JBnrhJHzMWKi8h7HhJEpLRv9cML0VXWw3hwONPAM7tDq-XQwgsSXubaMIGRm2hPVulv7Ig4GV1s_hDz3fbr7QBbJCYG43/s400/014.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596991311012973394" /></a>tug and the line snaps. I quickly grab it again at my feet and wrap it around my hand. I pull, taking small steps back as I do. Slowly, it emerges from the water. No sooner did I have it on the shore that the line snapped again. I grabbed again as the big fish flopped, wrapping it around my hand one more time and pulling it as fast as I could up the shoreline. There it sat, the downed beast. It made one last giant thrash before it didn’t move again. <br />“Holy shit.” I mouthed. <br />“Now you know why I yelled for help.” <br /><br />My dad is smiling like a little kid. Even in the dark I can see how lit up his eyes are. We’ve gone fishing many, many times since we moved from Texas to Georgia 12 years ago…this is the first fish he’s caught since we moved here. I wrap the line around a piece of metal that we use to hold the reels. I lift, and the line snaps <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWCiU3sc4crp7oGBRQ_L7uUtmBNLfyDFRgQbm3NQ4LaNDNyG6j4Xce7ymm_fHSHNxwEOQ7BdeMmagpyW7LH3aUnTz91FcZLaLLgP0QGH8KUvysexRwhg0EQXm0WwLXCO9Lu_dznkxQEmuW/s1600/012.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWCiU3sc4crp7oGBRQ_L7uUtmBNLfyDFRgQbm3NQ4LaNDNyG6j4Xce7ymm_fHSHNxwEOQ7BdeMmagpyW7LH3aUnTz91FcZLaLLgP0QGH8KUvysexRwhg0EQXm0WwLXCO9Lu_dznkxQEmuW/s400/012.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596991316798867154" /></a>again. <br />“What’s the test on the line?” I ask him. <br />“20 lbs.” <br />In my hands I can tell one thing. It weighs more than 15 and less than 45 lbs. We guess at 25 lbs, although we don’t know. We only know that to snap the line on weight alone, it’s gotta be over 20. My dad’s still grinning as he picks up the catfish by its gills and carries it to the truck. <br /><br />That grin didn’t leave his face the rest of the camping trip. <br /><br /><br /><br />**That last picture is for a reference. I wear a size 14 wide boot.DeistBrawlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208558981915537789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1274732308027449129.post-3233939658818341232011-04-04T09:16:00.000-07:002011-04-04T09:47:34.684-07:00CBR-III: Book #5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11<B><U>The Bourne Series: From Identity to Deception</B></U><br /><br />I saw <I>The Bourne Identity</I> in theatres with my dad. He’d already read the <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPWSlgJq8EV3m2-_m1WRN6tYyOLxsFZibEa1fzJuFSha7AHrGFBJWm10JsLxbRDHHgWLdRL_o7r8nVajgTeYdvd_P9bPnDXB4j4xIbjE3ESs9ThXF8EbfD_npHMi8YEhGxxu_1GcqvI5Fb/s1600/BourneIdentity1.gif"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 188px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPWSlgJq8EV3m2-_m1WRN6tYyOLxsFZibEa1fzJuFSha7AHrGFBJWm10JsLxbRDHHgWLdRL_o7r8nVajgTeYdvd_P9bPnDXB4j4xIbjE3ESs9ThXF8EbfD_npHMi8YEhGxxu_1GcqvI5Fb/s400/BourneIdentity1.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591765762836656610" /></a>original trilogy and was excited that they turned it into a movie. During the movie he turned to me and said, “This is nothing like the book, but I like it.” Being poor I was looking through my parents books to find something to read for the Cannonball, lo and behold I came across the original trilogy. I set those to the side and kept looking when I came across <I>The Bourne Legacy</I>. What the fuck? Then <I>Betrayal</I> and <I>Sanction</I> popped up…then I got <I>Deception</I>. My intent was to read the entire series and then write a review not of just the individual books, but the series as a whole (I‘m missing two...fucking Eric Van Lustbader). Why? Basically all of the stories are the same, Jason Bourne gets caught up in some crazy government shit, beats the crap out of some dudes, kills some other dudes, and in turn gets the crap beat out of him. In the end though, he’s going to save the US of A. However, Bourne is like Rambo on steroids. I think, if he got in a fight with Rambo, Rambo would be dead in a second. He would step up to Bourne, fists raised, ready to fight, and he wouldn’t even get to swing before he was dropped to the ground. And to think, they were both born in the jungles of Vietnam. Wait, what? <br /><br />The original trilogy was created by Robert Ludlum. As someone said to me, Ludlum is the master of <B>!</B> It’s totally true. Jason Bourne is really a man named David <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf413dVhIBTJ0ClgU3cLJGdb0Iq7lWtQ-6GHOr27k1YP25zL0p1jwJkvtOdXcZBcYNqhknw5ksBErtcQEgTK2l1mzQOStScWukda_RF3lVl_fsTomzwfC0igqG0HSvwjjvSI7SGBDXTpIh/s1600/supremacy.png"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 186px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf413dVhIBTJ0ClgU3cLJGdb0Iq7lWtQ-6GHOr27k1YP25zL0p1jwJkvtOdXcZBcYNqhknw5ksBErtcQEgTK2l1mzQOStScWukda_RF3lVl_fsTomzwfC0igqG0HSvwjjvSI7SGBDXTpIh/s400/supremacy.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591765763415181122" /></a>Webb. Once an intellectual his Thai wife and two children are murdered by a strafing plane in Cambodia. Enraged and without hope he goes to Vietnam where he joins a group of misfits and outlaws known as Medusa. Through them is where he learns most of his skills, quickly becoming the best with the code name Delta One. With the war ending Bourne is recruited to join Treadstone (which you should know from the movies…if you’ve seen them). His job there is to become the worlds number one assassin (at least on paper and in minds) so he can hunt down and kill the real number one assassin, Carlos the Jackal. This is where he, essentially, becomes Jason Bourne. <br /><br /><I>The Bourne Identity</I> is basically what you see in the movie…with a few minor details. Bourne has amnesia. He’s trying to find out who he is while an assassin (Carlos) and the CIA are trying to kill him. Carlos, because he thinks Bourne is after him. The CIA, because they think Bourne has gone rogue. In the film Marie is a poor German woman trying to make her way through life. In the book Marie is an intelligent economist who works for the Canadian government. She helps Bourne, the CIA acknowledges they fucked up, she steals several million from them, they give them a home and Bourne returns to being David Webb…a college professor. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgroQ7VXV-3SSZ7WdXYru5NRHGvp93fORUaqfpYsyGqNsUC3gwxvuTTNzk4E5MDp-ubXM6FpPOPxZ8yAY17miUqYwjkeVujPQGzAED73eRUMmY5wERl4CI0wv0obFY5ZS47eAsrc51b9N_L/s1600/ultimatum.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 185px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgroQ7VXV-3SSZ7WdXYru5NRHGvp93fORUaqfpYsyGqNsUC3gwxvuTTNzk4E5MDp-ubXM6FpPOPxZ8yAY17miUqYwjkeVujPQGzAED73eRUMmY5wERl4CI0wv0obFY5ZS47eAsrc51b9N_L/s400/ultimatum.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591765766957503842" /></a><br /><I>The Bourne Supremacy</I>. Marie is kidnapped. The kidnappers tell Bourne that in order to get Marie back he must go to China and kill an assassin that is claiming to be Jason Bourne. Along the way we discover that it’s not just kidnappers, it’s the American government that took Marie. The assassin he’s after is/was actually trained by another former member of Medusa, and the conspiracy is a lot larger than anyone imagined. How so? One man is trying to take over China. Yeah. <br /><br /><I>The Bourne Ultimatum</I>. Bourne is now a father. Marie and him have had a boy and a girl (parallels to his original wife and children). Carlos the Jackal comes after Bourne. In response Bourne sends Marie and the children to the Caribbean with her brother. There's a side story of a new Medusa? You can probably get the idea of what happens from there. <br /><br />Ludlum’s Bourne is a rather complex character. Far from the young and energetic Matt Damon from the movies he’s more Mel Gibson in <I>Lethal Weapon 4</I>. Bourne is old. In <I>Ultimatum</I> he is 51. As such he doesn’t beat his enemies by being necessarily faster, or stronger, he beats them by being better. Another thing to note of Ludlum’s Bourne is that he, in essence, has a split personality. That split being David Webb. Throughout the books Bourne almost has waves of sympathy, of guilt, of <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyyCPDggSfSvGYoOBvvfqZHsZxlzTJo36DYGTWAUnFEovDnKo8bnkgxptyBZB64S7gzRRiZwuLNcervmVhKsO7YX4AAbrfeTQ4vCh6C3PnOunD_d-t35pDTqPk2tnv0MD02JGgYRsKqd5X/s1600/the-bourne-legacy.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 187px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyyCPDggSfSvGYoOBvvfqZHsZxlzTJo36DYGTWAUnFEovDnKo8bnkgxptyBZB64S7gzRRiZwuLNcervmVhKsO7YX4AAbrfeTQ4vCh6C3PnOunD_d-t35pDTqPk2tnv0MD02JGgYRsKqd5X/s400/the-bourne-legacy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591765767175587554" /></a>remorse. These come from Webb and Bourne is constantly having to shut Webb out. Marie is also much stronger than she was portrayed in the films. She fights, she get’s dirty, and she’s generally smarter than any of the other people around her…including Bourne. Ludlum also likes reoccurring characters such as Alex Conklin and Morris Panov. His books also take place in the 80’s. Now, we get to Lustbader.<br /><br /><I>The Bourne Legacy</I>. So how does Lustbader enter the Bourne world? He’s put Jason back to being David, working at the university again as a professor, he’s still got Marie there with the kids. Then…boom…he not only gets rid of Marie and the kids (figuratively), but he kills off Conklin and Panov. What Lustbader basically does in the first two books is kill off everyone that meant anything in the original trilogy. In essence, he wants to start from scratch. <I>Legacy</I> is basically about an assassin who wants born dead. Through the course of the story he finds out about another terrorist plot that he has to stop and eventually gets the other assassin to help him do it. The key? The other assassin ends up being his son Joshua (the one that died). Joshua is damned good too…better than Bourne. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKFxvkpjndeax-yH7gTI1dXtHVmDQsv5cDqRAPUzPY1s9fV0_pPbFbS6slqh-ujBXnCmsY88pBnlP59rQgmbbtEFbL9VgJcAx9mXngnblqEVzUGs1AMTAXVW0S4etQREEfOf__CWAAerQt/s1600/betrayal.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 225px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKFxvkpjndeax-yH7gTI1dXtHVmDQsv5cDqRAPUzPY1s9fV0_pPbFbS6slqh-ujBXnCmsY88pBnlP59rQgmbbtEFbL9VgJcAx9mXngnblqEVzUGs1AMTAXVW0S4etQREEfOf__CWAAerQt/s400/betrayal.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591765769919675362" /></a><br /><I>The Bourne Betrayal</I>. Boom. Marie is dead. The only other remnant from the original trilogy, Martin Lindros, is kidnapped. Was she killed by some nefarious means? Nope…girl got pneumonia. This book once again deals with terrorists, it’s also where Lustbader starts tossing around the word chameleon a lot. Now, Bourne was always able to blend into situations. Ludlum would mention it using clothes, the way he walked/talked/moved, etc. Lustbader one ups that by using prosthetics, makeup, etc. Now Bourne (and other characters) can mimic literal people. Change their appearance to look exactly like someone else, alter their voice so they sound like them too. This is what happens here. Two terrorists brothers want Bourne dead because he killed their sister (at least they think) a long time ago. That’s their main driving motivation. The other is to take down the government from the inside. What better way to do that than to become someone important, thus, one brother becomes Martin Lindros. There’s also a little subplot wherein Bourne is brainwashed…it doesn’t last long…and I think Lustbader pulled it out of his ass. Along the way we are introduced to several new characters. Including Bourne’s new love interest, a woman named Moira who works in private security. Moore, a woman who is half Egyptian, and a protege of Lindros. Tyrone Elkins! Woot! Although he’s a ghetto black guy that befriends Moore (technically he's almost like a replacement for a character that was continued from Ludlums Bourne).<br /><br /><I>The Bourne Sanction</I>. University professor, blah, blah, going after terrorists, blah, blah, assassin hunting him down, blah, blah. So how is this assassin, Arkadin, different from all of the others? Well, he was Treadstones first attempt. That’s right. Treadstones real goal was to create the perfect killing machine. When Arkadin ran away from them they grabbed Bourne. So how do they meet? While Arkadin is going one way, trying to track down some people…Bourne is going the other way, trying to track down some people. New people? Well, Moore is now head of Typhoon. Hart, a woman, former private security, that is now head of CI. Kendall, LaValle, Halliday are a bunch of government fucks with ties to the NSA that want CI eliminated. Indeed Tyrone is tortured by the Kendall and LaValle as Moore attempts to provide proof to have them taken out. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhGCppHBcaBwyG6jOQTOPya4ZA1g_t5qvGIcbplLavOdSOg0VNIQUnhQ7v_XVya1Vze0GA8kpjRwS2Qql9gs9nb0w3AHqXQowWobCdIsswENSwJxwIEe3YsNM0jRewyPBcWh13hc3arC0d/s1600/sanction.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 199px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhGCppHBcaBwyG6jOQTOPya4ZA1g_t5qvGIcbplLavOdSOg0VNIQUnhQ7v_XVya1Vze0GA8kpjRwS2Qql9gs9nb0w3AHqXQowWobCdIsswENSwJxwIEe3YsNM0jRewyPBcWh13hc3arC0d/s400/sanction.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591765937856677682" /></a><br /><I>The Bourne Deception</I>. Guess. No, really, guess. Terrorists. Yup. Only this time. Dum, dum, dum, it’s Americans! There is so much going on in this book…I wouldn’t even really know where to begin. Arkadin almost kills Bourne, then Bourne goes after him. In the meantime Arkadin has taken over a terrorist cell that he’s training for…something. The NSA is trying to swallow up all intelligence agencies, deriving much of their intel from a private company named Black River. Black River, in the mean time, is trying to start an international war, because an international war means more money. It’s just…confusing. <br /><br />Lustbader’s Bourne is the movie Bourne. Not only does he eliminate everyone from Ludlum’s world (with the exception of Bourne himself), but he does so in two books. Never again is Bourne’s age mentioned, nor is it a factor. We’ve stepped out of the 80’s and moved into modern times. After the death of Marie in <I>Betrayal</I> we don’t even really hear of his children anymore, as if they don’t even matter. David Webb? Other than initial introductions of him in the beginning of each book he doesn’t really exist anymore either. That dual personality? Nope. Only Jason Bourne exists now. Lustbader kills characters off with reckless abandon, almost as if as soon as he gets bored with them he just blows them up. I’m also getting the impression that he doesn’t even like Bourne. More and more his novels are focusing on other characters, other aspects…more on political intrigue. Jason is almost an afterthought to keep the fist fighting and gunplay in the novels. I mean really, how many times can <B>another</B> assassin go after Bourne? Are there even that many high caliber assassins in the world? You would think that after a dude kills a gajillion of them people would quit sending them. Even his new love story between Bourne and Moira is…dull. He’s good at writing action, but he’s not good at developing personalities. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCV9t4b_jx_X-_RIPUwuG7OlM7DmlfOS6VCOV7HGxJqLESfJ34VnrkJgqVxAeIP4wLX5IEGLb0z3OyY56zxP-upldX0iXy30JvhdaVaVibOBvQ7ij8WUzUJXfRTcgpUv3lDW4H45QZkPcq/s1600/deception.png"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 197px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCV9t4b_jx_X-_RIPUwuG7OlM7DmlfOS6VCOV7HGxJqLESfJ34VnrkJgqVxAeIP4wLX5IEGLb0z3OyY56zxP-upldX0iXy30JvhdaVaVibOBvQ7ij8WUzUJXfRTcgpUv3lDW4H45QZkPcq/s400/deception.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591765939868567522" /></a><br />Ludlum took 10 years to write the Bourne Trilogy. Lustbader put out his first Jason Bourne book in 2004. Some 14 years after <I>Ultimatum</I>. His next one came out in 2007 and since then he has popped out a Bourne book every year. Lustbader is much better with action and pacing than Ludlum was, but Ludlum has the story. I think the main problem is that Lustbader is trying to do too much in each novel. Rather than focus on one storyline, or even two, he seems to be trying to fit in as many different plot’s as he can. In many ways it just becomes confusing, in others it’s boring. My advice to him would be to keep a core group of characters. Quit killing people off in every book and introducing more. Stop with the endless roundabout of lies. He mentions that Bourne has a son, Joshua, an assassin, and three books later he hasn’t even mentioned him again. I honestly wish the two of them could have worked on a book together, let Lustbader handle the action and Ludlum stick to the story.DeistBrawlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208558981915537789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1274732308027449129.post-62692382518965967482011-02-19T21:25:00.000-08:002011-02-19T21:28:09.309-08:00CBR-III: Book #4: The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet's Nest<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfRPAEY7l9XcIP00e58nII5RU-ycYyNrgp1SBr4nHIUt21yUvB-e3I5mLA1VENyfpmyOECXUQjhluotRXRtOeugLoFcIH9O2B40pFdZjH1I50FWfmH8gde9FWlX8kwR3qNz3z6ADrbdBKr/s1600/pajibacard.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 314px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfRPAEY7l9XcIP00e58nII5RU-ycYyNrgp1SBr4nHIUt21yUvB-e3I5mLA1VENyfpmyOECXUQjhluotRXRtOeugLoFcIH9O2B40pFdZjH1I50FWfmH8gde9FWlX8kwR3qNz3z6ADrbdBKr/s400/pajibacard.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575639055217754818" /></a><br />It’s a shame that Stieg Larsson died. <I>The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet’s Nest</I> is by far the most superior book of the series. Even though I am a little upset at, once again, the lack of Ronald Niedermann in the story. <br /><br />The third book of the series picks up right where <I>The Girl Who Played With Fire</I> left off. Salander and Alexander Zalachenko are being transported by helicopter to a hospital. Niedermann is on the run after killing some cops, and Blomkvist is trying to figure out the story. <br /><br />The main difference between this book and the last two are the pace. Plus, some new artistic flourishes that Larsson uses (such as incorporating historical accounts of warrior women). The pace because, unlike the other two, the book maintains a steady rhythm. Both <I>The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo</I> and <I>The Girl Who Played With Fire</I> started out agonizingly slow…and have several moments throughout the books that could induce a coma. <I>The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet’s Nest</I>, because of where the book is picking up, automatically begins at a feverish place. The pace continues, except for a few clipped moments that were easily overcome. <br /><br />Plot? It’s kind of hard to say without giving away too much detail. Details that make the story wonderful. Salander is in the hospital, awaiting trial for attempted murder and a host of other charges. When she, with the help of Blomkvist, gains internet access and quickly goes on the hunt. Blomkvist is searching for a group called The Section. The group responsible for Salander’s cover-up in her youth, also the same <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOs-91medYFVZ8Crd1-hFIWsDGSazxqaHMf0M9Gop4sVaqPRdMmZR5Y3y7neNJDeW2wHpm5T7MkmqbYbMoCuuijHsQaP4r3h29ep-DJ7ib47UfCDCW0JIE7rQ5b7ruEjv-arAU9LE_bhYZ/s1600/The_Girl_Who_Kicked_the_Hornets_Nest-64257.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 272px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOs-91medYFVZ8Crd1-hFIWsDGSazxqaHMf0M9Gop4sVaqPRdMmZR5Y3y7neNJDeW2wHpm5T7MkmqbYbMoCuuijHsQaP4r3h29ep-DJ7ib47UfCDCW0JIE7rQ5b7ruEjv-arAU9LE_bhYZ/s400/The_Girl_Who_Kicked_the_Hornets_Nest-64257.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575639133513837058" /></a>group responsible for Zalachenko. Along the way we are exposed to the new cover-up that The Section is trying to create, with the help of internal knowledge, and an investigation involving Sapo, the regular police, Milton Security, and <I>Millennium</I>. In a sub-plot we had Erika Berger. Now working for a rival paper she is being stalked and threatened. While her story can easily be considered one of the weakest it is also rather interesting. <br /><br />Larsson managed to host a massive amount of characters fluidly. With a combination of both new, and returning players. Some of the least influential in the other novels are now brought to the stage, while some of the main ones almost take a backseat. One of the most captivating new characters is Figuerola, Blomkvist’s new love interest in this one. She’s an Amazon woman who works for Sapo, addicted to working out. Despite how much Larsson devotes to describing the characters physique…it really leads to nothing. The entire time I wanted her to engage in some kind of battle with Niedermann. Sadly, I was disappointed. <br /><br />The trial is also one of the best ones I’ve ever read. That’s saying something considering I’ve read a lot of Grisham. However, I don’t know Swedish law…but I would have to say several things happen in the court room that probably aren’t very legal. Oh, and I suppose I should have mentioned that Blomkvist’s sister is representing Salander. <br /><br />The ending felt a little forced. I don’t really know the reason for this, but I felt slightly cheated. I expected something bigger…grander. <br /><br />Like I said, shame Larsson died. He seemed to have finally found a really unique and distinct voice in this, the third book. Rumor has it that he had almost completed a fourth…I wonder if they are going to get a ghost writer. It’s also been reported that he apparently had outlines for quite a few more books. I honestly don’t know how many more he could have done before he just completely exhausted the potential of the characters. After all, there is only so many times Salander can be in trouble, Blomkvist can crack an international story, and people can keep fucking strangers without contracting a serious STD.DeistBrawlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208558981915537789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1274732308027449129.post-53390513671777296132011-02-11T10:00:00.001-08:002011-02-11T10:12:55.791-08:00Pretty Little ThingsAtlanta.<br />Atlanta never fails to disappoint.<br />I thought I was going to have a date last night. I took off work, started cleaning my car, I was even about to get a haircut and trim my beard. Thank god I didn’t do that. My plan was to take her to this burlesque sideshow in Atlanta. So when the date got canceled I debated going to Atlanta for the show or just working anyway. I chose the show…mainly because of Heather Holliday. A few months ago I saw a video…this video to be exact <iframe title="YouTube video player" width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/saimKRaHgGc" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>…and I’ve kind of had an obsession with her since. Not an unhealthy obsession. I don’t plan on stalking her or anything. She’s just incredibly hot. I can’t help myself. Consider it on par with a celebrity crush. I even wore my <I>Warriors</I> t-shirt. No one seemed to understand that <I>The Warriors</I> were from Coney Island…where she primarily lives and works. Oh well. <br /><br />So I get to Atlanta and Steven and I go to Jack’s Pizza & Wings for some beers and <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIjpsbCYIwCvrwZm2W5w-RK1H9sAuBwogxSrX_JEomOBzUVOqezhcPj0Bkk-C0XtdWaYt8OzPt9TBtfw3BO9Pvba6tS-5telk978FPK5aJQFj11HDjzDZ_U07W06L2O83-HIfG4Du8sp31/s1600/heather1.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 306px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIjpsbCYIwCvrwZm2W5w-RK1H9sAuBwogxSrX_JEomOBzUVOqezhcPj0Bkk-C0XtdWaYt8OzPt9TBtfw3BO9Pvba6tS-5telk978FPK5aJQFj11HDjzDZ_U07W06L2O83-HIfG4Du8sp31/s400/heather1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572493727761671218" /></a>pizza. Well, I ate pizza…he stole off my plate like a little bitch. How can you say, “I’m not hungry,” and then continually steal bites of my slice of white pizza? Anyway. I think our intent was to just chill there until it was time to go to the show. Then Corey called. Corey called saying he wanted to get drunk. So we go back to Steven’s to pick Corey up…and then back the way we just came to meet up with their friends Chris and Delia. The five of us then headed to The 5 Spot for the “Pretty Things Peepshow.” <br /><br />Facebook said the event started at 8. We got there around 8:30. The event started at 10. So we skipped out on The 5 Spot and went to have a few drinks at El Myr. This was primarily because The 5 Spot didn’t allow smoking. How dare we be in a place that doesn’t allow smoking. There was a little intermission at El Myr with a crackhead. I find out that Delia and I get all of our tattoos by the same artist (Sam Parker). Other than that…there’s little to be said about El Myr. Although Steven did give us an informative presentation on what kind of fish they had mounted on the walls. <br /><br />Back at The 5 Spot at 10 and we wait for the show to start. I ran into my friend Kim…<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOHr5qlMLIHTFeubpqa9mCfFgLviinRAn-h5dd4M9c9GiPtksFm4BXSQ2Ge1DPA1M90O1biKJFFukx5sCRJtrZtTgBUp0dCBFx62wYwWyyc7qP5qUPbehC84EKDzSgw1Xg1q3RxcxevxLw/s1600/heather2.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 305px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOHr5qlMLIHTFeubpqa9mCfFgLviinRAn-h5dd4M9c9GiPtksFm4BXSQ2Ge1DPA1M90O1biKJFFukx5sCRJtrZtTgBUp0dCBFx62wYwWyyc7qP5qUPbehC84EKDzSgw1Xg1q3RxcxevxLw/s400/heather2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572493715573250770" /></a>whom I haven’t seen in a long time. It was good seeing her. <br /><br />This was my first burlesque show. I’d have to say I enjoyed it. Despite the fact that they are not fully nude…I totally thought it kicked the shit out of a strip club. Burlesque was much more seductive and sultry. Not simply ass shaking and taking your clothes off. The creator of the show is a lady named Go Go Amy. She’s a beautiful woman. To put it mildly. When Heather came onstage, I about died. She participated in several routines. Personally she did a sword swallowing routine and a fire breathing one. She also helped out in a whip cracking and “electrifying” an audience member. To say I was enthralled is an understatement. <br /><br />I noticed this chick that kept looking at Steven. So, when she sat down next to him, I mentioned this fact and they soon started talking. When the show ended we all stepped outside. As I’m standing out there Corey tells me to get the car started so it can warm up…in particular he said, “Give me the keys. I’ll get the car going.” Not likely. So Corey is standing there with me, Steven is talking to the lady, and I’m <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDgpi1CVF2-RJJD7NTi73o3FQavd4Xx4XyNTxpQqNk30cIvBkPWHWMZEepNluNlHW3NM4xyydbxRO-3m2pMeW8deArqW8NodRSd2lr5lnEXBn2dt4fNoB8X9UqioRijdXhxiPSNc_9sePb/s1600/heather4.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDgpi1CVF2-RJJD7NTi73o3FQavd4Xx4XyNTxpQqNk30cIvBkPWHWMZEepNluNlHW3NM4xyydbxRO-3m2pMeW8deArqW8NodRSd2lr5lnEXBn2dt4fNoB8X9UqioRijdXhxiPSNc_9sePb/s400/heather4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572493710130941746" /></a>debating going back inside to meet Heather. I finally told myself, <I>“Self. If you don’t at least say hi to her you’ll end up regretting it.” </I> She’s very tiny. When I put my hand on her waist to get her attention I could almost touch from the center of her back to her belly button. I stammered something about seeing the previously mentioned video. She replied back about how she did that video while she was hyped up on too much caffeine. I said I just wanted to meet her. She smiled and said thank you. Done. <br /><br />During the show Corey was being his usual rude drunken self. It’s one of those traits that you either hate, or learn to love. When I get outside he’s part of a large group of people. Steven is still talking to the girl, so I go and get the car started. It’s about that time I hear raised voices and Steven is giving me a look of “Shits about to get real.” How do I put this? We will call Steven’s lady friend A. One of A’s friends was part of that large group of people. Corey had mixed in with the group (he’s a social butterfly) and asked if they wanted to see a card trick. A’s friend replied back “No we don’t want to see some stupid card trick. Take that shit somewhere else.” Now this might just be me, but if a harmless drunk person asks if I want to see a card trick, I’m not going to be rude. Humor me. However, Corey being Corey responded back with “You don’t have to be a fat bitch.” Her <B>boyfriend</B> seemed to take offense to that. I see pushing going on. People are yelling at Corey to apologize. “A” is telling Steven, “I think this started because your friend was <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEink9nUlYVwz14MoPFOdMVa19aycgEIa5-9CQ_xEBeMUgydqi2_8bEXOsp0n4TsHr4vo89nzqYQWAcElZKkRokUF_vB9FSfhOJVHuuHo-W3KRCFZU_C1sPtRMIv6xqoo7BIvcwyugE-epTY/s1600/heather3.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 246px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEink9nUlYVwz14MoPFOdMVa19aycgEIa5-9CQ_xEBeMUgydqi2_8bEXOsp0n4TsHr4vo89nzqYQWAcElZKkRokUF_vB9FSfhOJVHuuHo-W3KRCFZU_C1sPtRMIv6xqoo7BIvcwyugE-epTY/s400/heather3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572493715950341026" /></a>rude to my friend.” And Steven is REALLY looking at me now. The boyfriend is getting in Corey’s face and shoving him. <br />“Did you say something dick to my girl?”<br />“No.”<br />“No?”<br />“No.”<br />“You didn’t call her a name?”<br />“Oh did I call her a fat bitch? Yeah, I did call her a fat bitch.”<br />This is when the guy starts swinging. Now, the boyfriend had a buddy who was standing on the edge of the group of people. When he started swinging his friend made a move like he was going to join him. He was a fairly large dude, but I put my hand on his shoulder and said “no.” He quickly calmed down. I have no problem with two people going man to man. I get upset when people decide to jump in. I was perfectly content to let Corey and the boyfriend slug it out. Then I feel a hand on my back and Steven is pushing me, “You’re big enough to do something.” Thanks Steven. So I get in between the two of them. I pull Corey away, boyfriends friend pulls him away. The shit talking get’s started. I drag Corey to the car, Steven is right beside us, and we haul ass out of there. <br /><br />Onward to Gravity. As soon as we walk in the first thing we notice is that the place is quiet. In fact, the owner and bartender are playing Fallout: New Vegas. There’s a dude who is passed out at the bar, who Corey quickly wakes up. That guy then stumbled to the bathroom…where he passed out. He’s also the same guy that started puking on the floor. The bartender had gotten stuck in a mountain in the game. That provided for hilarious conversation the rest of the night. Corey eventually got out of the mountain, and was then killed by the Geico Gecko…twice. I got out of the mountain, killed two of the Gecko’s and was killed by a third. Then it was the bartenders turn again. <br /><br />End with a trip to Krystal’s. That was a Thursday night.DeistBrawlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208558981915537789noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1274732308027449129.post-27680066818003850442011-02-03T21:49:00.000-08:002011-02-03T21:52:32.363-08:00CBIII: Book #3: The Girl Who Played With Fire<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPB-My4-c9f5r6X8WkepoAxdqajDhC52y_WanU2CDoAXtbkQMqbpZXt3MvnVZCAg245Je2ZuHt5oZ2WrUIGHwHOnXoL0sUn_bLg6hPM5jaf81EGeys7MgXxm6ys2qAWL-g9VmdbFckywdl/s1600/pajibacard.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 314px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPB-My4-c9f5r6X8WkepoAxdqajDhC52y_WanU2CDoAXtbkQMqbpZXt3MvnVZCAg245Je2ZuHt5oZ2WrUIGHwHOnXoL0sUn_bLg6hPM5jaf81EGeys7MgXxm6ys2qAWL-g9VmdbFckywdl/s400/pajibacard.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569707640812385506" /></a><br /><div>What can I say about <i>The Girl Who Played With Fire</i>? That Salander is all growed up! She’s even fucking teenagers! Wait…what? Yup. In the beginning of the book I believe the guy she’s sleeping with is 16. </div><div><br /></div><div>So how does this book go about? Well, it begins by stating that Salander hasn’t been home in a year. She’s been traveling the world. She’s tan. She has breast implants. She’s taken out most of her piercings. She even got the Wasp tattoo removed from her neck. Also? She buys an apartment with 10 rooms and a great view, and sits around in the bath a lot. Basically, she’s become a whole new person. </div><div><br /></div><div>The plot? It begins with Salander saving a woman’s life and effectively killing her husband. She’s also become obsessed with math…which doesn’t come into play until nearly the end of the book. Salander is framed for the murders of 3 people. One of which was working on a story for Millennium about the sex trade <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7bhnzvYRdXv5VmMO757zPu4bK_r48hayCHG7BTRAP1wOrZUOeCgJpFk_pdEYkLGa2ztcFcRAsZItkC56f-bWqCbM5K3iC1EzK4XF7vgssESI8mz6oQCyUbPTMHyuNvrgAiV7h0eGm0mD6/s1600/played-with-fire1.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 274px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7bhnzvYRdXv5VmMO757zPu4bK_r48hayCHG7BTRAP1wOrZUOeCgJpFk_pdEYkLGa2ztcFcRAsZItkC56f-bWqCbM5K3iC1EzK4XF7vgssESI8mz6oQCyUbPTMHyuNvrgAiV7h0eGm0mD6/s400/played-with-fire1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569708095047247842" /></a>industry. When Salander becomes the primary suspect Blomkvist sets about trying to uncover the facts and prove her innocence. Along the way we discover a <b>twist</b>…that…well…that actually turns out to be kind of fucking boring, and bikers…there‘s bikers. We are given more of Salanders back-story, primarily her childhood and teen years. Including an incident in which she lived with an older man, who took care of her, in return she just had to walk around him naked. After learning that she’s actually trained as a boxer I saw her more as Noomi Rapace and less as Rooney Mara. Mainly because Rapace is rather muscular…even while being thin. Where was I?</div><div><br /></div><div>Salander kind of disappears through the middle of the book and we are left following Blomkvist and the detectives in charge of the case. No one we are presented with is actually interesting. Except for Roland Niedermann. The <i>Giant Monster</i>. He’s German, 6’7”, 300+ lbs, muscles of a pro-wrestler, and impervious to pain. How can you NOT like that character? Seriously…Larsson should have just wrote the whole book about him. He doesn’t talk much (Bonus! He has a Mike Tyson voice! Did I mention he cuts people up with a chainsaw?!), but I could have easily read an entire book of people trying to beat him up, failing, and him kicking the shit out of them in return. </div><div><br /></div><div>Like <i>The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo</i> Larsson still makes mistakes. He includes a whole bunch of new characters that don’t really matter much. However, with the cliffhanger ending we are given in <i>The Girl Who Played With Fire</i> I would assume some of these characters might play more prominent roles in the next book. </div><div><br /></div><div>Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to eat my pizza and watch the movie. </div>DeistBrawlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208558981915537789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1274732308027449129.post-31555351579266292762011-02-03T13:49:00.001-08:002011-02-03T13:51:04.734-08:00I Hate Your Shit!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; color: rgb(68, 68, 68); line-height: 19px; "><p style="outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px; margin-top: 0px !important; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-right: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">One of my favorite criticisms I’ve ever received about my writing came about 4 years ago in my advanced creative writing course. This is it. </p><p style="outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px; margin-top: 0px !important; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-right: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ON73SozNNP02j8Zc0ARDVCsJKblhJJoCY2m5VF_q-me6IA7Eb7JPsTgC8RVex81j3EXEg9Neo8fu3QlVZLUK95bnG0zfI7jZfMeB2H6VY-CDISiYLDBxuGRwypVLvGsuPGl_6twxKfUG/s400/n525813407_2698511_3566772.jpg" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569583863985003506" /></p><p style="outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-right: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">“The subject matter of this story is highly offensive. And it is due to this fact,</p><p style="outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-right: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "> that I have very little to say regarding ‘A Different Perspective.’ I could not read past the first two pages [of a 52 page story]. The abundance of profanity was distracting. The lewd and crass topic is severy detrimental</p><p style="outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-right: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "> to your work. I say, detrimental, because any idea or concept you were attempting to express, was lost. If your ultimate point was something of great significance, you smothered it, poisoning it with your choice of language and subject matter. If your primary purpose was to shock readers, then you have succeeded. But in shocking this reader, I will never know if you had an idea worthy of serious consideration.</p><p style="outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 0px !important; margin-right: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">As a writer, story-teller and creator, you undoubtedly reserve the right to express yourself in any manner you wish. It is entirely your choice whether to use profanity or to write a story about vulgar sexual escapades. But, in doing so, you risk offending your readers, reducing accessibility to your thoughts, your ideas, your expression and your potentially inf</p><p style="outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 0px !important; margin-right: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">luential art. Also, you sacrifice the beauty of the written word. I am sorry but this story was a bit too much for me to take. Good Luck.”</p></span>DeistBrawlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208558981915537789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1274732308027449129.post-23614879878295943902011-01-31T13:35:00.000-08:002011-01-31T14:27:34.576-08:00CBR-III: Book #2: The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsFUsQylHzXgiA9WT3gBTP7S4h28Kv4lZSOSbsbWpFXvow2nmz45P7grGTHEup1c9WPGaxNqog-wCXzFLrMZxVBQFCXnUonDZE2OnG8dw9vpw6zJCaTcdfA77eV6kcIE2yCVEM4rr_oaR5/s1600/pajibacard.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 314px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsFUsQylHzXgiA9WT3gBTP7S4h28Kv4lZSOSbsbWpFXvow2nmz45P7grGTHEup1c9WPGaxNqog-wCXzFLrMZxVBQFCXnUonDZE2OnG8dw9vpw6zJCaTcdfA77eV6kcIE2yCVEM4rr_oaR5/s400/pajibacard.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568478888646589282" /></a><br />How exactly does one go about writing a review for <i>The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo</i> without reiterating what countless others have already said? How do you bring a new or fresh approach to the table? I hopped on over to <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%E2%80%9C" com="" book_reviews="">Pajiba and read Prisco’s review</a> from the glory days of 2008 and one line in particular stuck out to me: <i>It commits so many errors that would normally piss me off, but it’s got such an interesting cast of characters, and such a disarming narrative structure, you drift along madly with the story. </i><br /><br />That…that…is total truth.<br /><br />Plot: We follow a recently discredited reporter, Blomkvist. It begins with a battle against Wennerstrom, delves into the family life (and search for the killer of a presumed dead girl) of the Vanger’s, and goes back to Wennerstrom. Along the way Blomkvist is joined by a detective/hacker named Salander.<br /><br />The real star of the story is Salander. I wonder if Stieg Larsson intended that when he wrote the books (there’s a trilogy)...well, this book in particular. We can’t really ask him, because he died right after he turned the manuscripts in. I honestly don’t think so. I have a feeling he probably wished he was Blomkvist. In many ways he (Larsson) was as a political journalist who was known to receive many death threats because of his own work. Blomkvist is not only this fascinating 50-something journalist, but he’s also in good shape and quite the ladies man (he has 3? 4? Sexual partners in the course of the book). I have a feeling though, that when writing it, he realized who the more interesting character was. A lot of times when I write fiction (I don’t know if this is the case for everyone) I have a character that I determine is the lead. That character is my main character whom I love. However, as I write, I create another character that is wholly more interesting. They are more fun to write and rather fascinating. I fall in love with them. I got the impression, through the progression of <i>The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo</i>, that this is the case. In the beginning of the book we are really only given sharp snippets of Salander. As it progresses these are expanded until she is almost on par, face time, with Blomkvist. Picture it this way, when filming <i>American History X</i>, the film was supposed to be about Danny (Edward Furlong)…and ended up being more about Derek (Edward Norton).<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEPVXsHMr4vvQq6LZBwxPLfOcpylZIg7Kkpot9ulTxw84FH12XaETRk9zSRHwVE_gRlHdRYSJD1iypsvxmUgSR28f6bALhXEWUjBVQuaYp01bdN8dg8R4DHFPQo_igKs5E1rdQoJ4f7Shh/s1600/the_girl_with_the_dragon_tattoo-large.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEPVXsHMr4vvQq6LZBwxPLfOcpylZIg7Kkpot9ulTxw84FH12XaETRk9zSRHwVE_gRlHdRYSJD1iypsvxmUgSR28f6bALhXEWUjBVQuaYp01bdN8dg8R4DHFPQo_igKs5E1rdQoJ4f7Shh/s400/the_girl_with_the_dragon_tattoo-large.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568479069336157490" /></a><br />Salander is 4’11”. She only weighs a little over a 100 lbs. Close cut red hair that she dyes black. She has tattoos, piercings, and for all due purposes is Goth. She is anti-social. Troubled. Despite being in her early twenties she is still considered a ward of the state. She’s also ruthless, cunning, and highly intelligent. Add to the fact that she’s an incredibly accomplished hacker, somewhat independently wealthy, and has ties in the underground…she’s dangerous. And hot. So hot.<br /><br />My problem with the book was this…<br /><br />The beginning is exceptionally boring. So much so in fact that I’ve actually talked to several people who stopped reading it…because the beginning is boring. If you can actually manage to get past it…woohoo…the book picks up like a bolt of lightning. It’s going to die again towards the end, but only because he tries to tie everything up into a nice little bow in about twenty pages. Until the very last few pages of the book. Those leave you…sad…yet optimistic.<br /><br />Other than that it was little things. Like a guy who would compare prison to a vacation. Now, I’ve never been to prison…but I’ve been to jail…and jail was nothing like a prison. I can only imagine what prison is like, and I don’t care to imagine that.<br /><br />Or a sexual relationship that ends on one page…picks up on another…and then ends within a few more. Too fast and rather unnecessary. Plus, I can’t understand why women fall in love with an asshole. Blomkvist…is an asshole. Then again this seems accurate to real life.<br /><br />I also couldn’t understand why a rape victim would sleep with someone so soon after being raped. I can understand the need to portray Salander as a fucked up person. However, that seemed a little too fucked up. I felt she was stronger person then to convey herself through sex. In fact, given her standoffish nature and personal life…I considered her more of an anti-sexual person. Every time it mentioned her having casual sex I felt a little pinched. Here’s why. Look around you. Name one loner computer geek you know (male or female) , who spends most of their time alone and staring at a computer screen, who prides themselves on not letting anyone near them and always has their guard up…who gets laid…on a frequent basis. A person who is that anti-social simply does not have the necessary skills to get laid. On most occasions it seemed like Salander would just walk up to someone and say, “Let’s fuck.” Done. Game over. No questions asked. Granted…she’s a tiny little hot thing…but I’m not buying it. Also, the fact that he made her bi…it’s just…I really liked the character…I just couldn’t <i>believe</i> the character. <div><br /></div><div>I will admit though...I'm looking forward to reading The Girl Who Played With Fire.</div>DeistBrawlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208558981915537789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1274732308027449129.post-41883151938642231942011-01-25T12:55:00.000-08:002011-01-25T13:14:15.667-08:00A First Time For EverythingThe other day at work I got in a conversation with a coworker on the topic of “firsts.” It’s amazing, looking back, at how much we can actually remember. I for one, can remember my first erection. <br /><br />I’m not talking about morning wood. Morning wood was more of an annoyance as a kid. It isn’t until we become an adult that we actually realize the benefit of morning wood. Morning sex. My first erection, actually, was in 7th grade. I think I was a bit<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP-VSChpjvyTMvSsW7vY2fzh4EaeFqRxwiclm-UXcw9r90BQDNlNF4L71RvaRE6QACKcwy_5bi_K-qQtNk7Re24Ec69SwycN2qd5voKmGSO0zI54ALBq3sfKvZ49HVJp5XFQYeY8ytzMvu/s1600/morning_wood.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 343px; height: 322px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP-VSChpjvyTMvSsW7vY2fzh4EaeFqRxwiclm-UXcw9r90BQDNlNF4L71RvaRE6QACKcwy_5bi_K-qQtNk7Re24Ec69SwycN2qd5voKmGSO0zI54ALBq3sfKvZ49HVJp5XFQYeY8ytzMvu/s400/morning_wood.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566232846214095826" /></a> of a late bloomer. I say this because every morning at football practice I heard the guys in the locker room talking about a whole bunch of shit that I didn’t even know about. Jerking off, making out, fucking, etc. I mean, I knew about it, I just didn’t <I>know</I> about it. I was also one of the only boys running around without pubic hair…before we grew it out and then actually started shaving it off. Anyway, one day on the way to practice my dad stops at the gas station to get cigarettes, or cigars, or maybe just breakfast. So, I’m sitting there like always when this lady walks out of the gas station. ZING. I instantly looked down with this no doubt quizzical expression of <I>what the fuck</I> and said out loud…"shit." I thought I was broken, that something was wrong, and I panicked. Then it dawned on me. <I>This</I> was what the guys in the locker room are always talking about. I…have a <B><I>hard on</B></I>. My glorious moment into manhood faded when I realized my father was going to be coming back to the car. Quick. What do I do? I punched myself in the dick. That didn’t really work, but I tried it again anyway for good measure. I tried tucking it, but that hurt more than punching it. So…I simply crossed my legs…and prayed for the best. <br /><br />I can still remember what that lady looked like to. Early twenties, shoulder length, straight, blonde hair. She was wearing blue jeans, flip flops, and a semi tight t-shirt. Ahhhhhh. The beauty of growing up in a college town. <br /><br />He (the coworker) then told me the first time he got that boob grab. His was with the neighborhood slut. That older girl in the neighborhood that will let you feel her up…if you steal some of your parents alcohol. Hell, if she flashed you that was even better. Honest to god boobs, in front of your eyes. Without having to wait for that 28.8k modem. 30 second clip…3 minute download. <br /><br />I honestly can’t recall which was my first boob grab (at least from memory, I can’t recall anything in my life that occurred before the 5th grade), it was either my 6th grade girlfriend JB, or my best friends (at the time) sister. If it was JB it was likely one of those instances where I kept crawling my hand up her shirt and she finally said, “It’s ok if you want to grab my boobs.” If it was the bf’s sister…well. Let’s just say the bf’s sister liked to have pretend sex. Which basically involved her sitting on top of me and grinding the holy hell out of my crotch until my dick was sore. We never kissed. No clothes were ever shed. There was no biting, or licking, or sucking. There were a lot of hands though, not on her part, on my part. I was constantly having to readjust, for one, so the same spot wouldn’t rub a hole in my cock. I can also distinctly remember my hands on her hips, feeling the motion…and the boob grab. She was easily an a-cup though, so I might have actually felt more if I grabbed my own chest. But goddamn’t…those were girl boobs. <br /><br />Kiss? My first kiss? That was probably the single most romantic experience I have ever had in my life. It was actually with the bf. I was 15. 15? 15? I know some of you are probably saying…shit…I was already bone deep in some pussy (or handing out blowjobs like candy) by the time I was 15. Like I said, I was a late bloomer. Also,<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBB0_7FlKGoXeKA-k0eVq8_x40L76p5kKKSILyJgLESgloIJaUzLPxzKOef3FsuoVOw2GRKGlctVX3_RsOM3NLrzEH5U9nNFIxSgaesOshwRmXk6pWg0MzSox1FGEjW0AU3WFudQh59-3-/s1600/first+kiss.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 309px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBB0_7FlKGoXeKA-k0eVq8_x40L76p5kKKSILyJgLESgloIJaUzLPxzKOef3FsuoVOw2GRKGlctVX3_RsOM3NLrzEH5U9nNFIxSgaesOshwRmXk6pWg0MzSox1FGEjW0AU3WFudQh59-3-/s400/first+kiss.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566232857376468002" /></a> like I’ve been known to attribute to myself time and time again, I’m not exactly a ladies man. Anyway, where was I? I was 15, she was 16. We were at a park about a half-mile from my house. The park wasn’t secluded, but it kind of felt like that. It was around dusk. There was a slight rain falling. She was sitting on the back of her car. Glory be. I remember time standing still. Like there was no one else in the world but the two of us. I remember sliding my fingers along her wet face, tracing them through her slick hair. I remember the drops of rain splashing against my cheek, and it soaking my shirt and weighing it down around my shoulders. Her legs around my waist. I didn’t want that moment to end. Ever. <br /><br />But it did. <br /><br />We are not counting the little girl I apparently chased into the girls bathroom when I was in first grade and held down until she agreed to kiss me. At least, that’s what I’ve been told I did. Like I said, I can’t remember anything before 5th grade. <br /><br />This is about the time we come to my first actual touching of a vagina. Here’s the thing. No matter how much porn we watch, no matter how much we brag as men, I don’t know a single man that probably fingered his first vagina properly. I was 16 this <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGvS7K9BQV-12pw2D6dRmmKIg167DhfF1haTAf8LaNUmZJ_RSC3fzPcLMQB9KKl2KXowy9GJj6X_KBpTVnbGq8Mb4heKy4tXBAENyQIhpIhQz4z1uZwSbmm56RhDb0kRmDF8DJEXWiArxo/s1600/handdownjeans.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGvS7K9BQV-12pw2D6dRmmKIg167DhfF1haTAf8LaNUmZJ_RSC3fzPcLMQB9KKl2KXowy9GJj6X_KBpTVnbGq8Mb4heKy4tXBAENyQIhpIhQz4z1uZwSbmm56RhDb0kRmDF8DJEXWiArxo/s400/handdownjeans.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566233669282459378" /></a>time, the day before I came to GA. This encounter killed everything but my first blowjob and first sexual penetration with a penis. I got to see boob, I got to feel boob, I got to bite boob. I got to finger a vagina. Finger…is probably not the best term. Prodding is more accurate. I got to prod a vagina. The first time my fingers crawled down the pants of a girl I was so goddamn excited I’m surprised I didn’t rip out her internal organs. My internal monologue went something like this:<br /><br /><I>Pubic hair! It’s soft, much softer than mine. Goddamn’t why won’t these pants give, I can barely get my fucking fingers down there. Wait. Wait. I think I’m touching vagina. I’m totally touching vagina! Where’s the goddamn hole? Finger search, finger search. There’s the hole! Isn’t it supposed to be wet or something? Isn’t that how people always describe it? Wet? Isn’t that what I always see in porn? Anyway. Fuck it. Slide the finger in and out. In and out. In and…wait…wet! Awesome! </I><br /><br />Then it consisted of me…I don’t know…prodding at it with varying speeds for the next hour. I remember thinking, <I>What the fuck! It takes me 3 minutes to jerk off. Why the fuck is this taking so long?</I>. Ahhh, the ignorance of youth. She was a good sport though. I can’t remember if my penis ever even left my pants. <br /><br />My first blowjob? I don’t even want to talk about it. Likely the most disappointing sexual encounter I’ve ever had (and likely the reason why I don’t like oral now) unless you count…<br /><br />The first time I ever had sex? This…I…I don’t even know where to start. She was a whore, for one thing. Not a literal whore, mind you, I didn’t have to pay for it. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHJ0qS0mXjkcuPJGN0gZMBDKoUmJhyJqfe57Hg0p5TV-macqjx7O0ez3qVPgluZ1YHldKkEMGYBne0wzW_Uy16QF8n2B-E2FYXLewaXlgiR5Awhil6S9-xw0lg_3sY9Wt_GaylfKu-2K-2/s1600/virginity.png"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHJ0qS0mXjkcuPJGN0gZMBDKoUmJhyJqfe57Hg0p5TV-macqjx7O0ez3qVPgluZ1YHldKkEMGYBne0wzW_Uy16QF8n2B-E2FYXLewaXlgiR5Awhil6S9-xw0lg_3sY9Wt_GaylfKu-2K-2/s400/virginity.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566232849673330866" /></a>Unless you count that half a bottle of Ritalin she stole from me. It wasn’t until later that I found out I lost my virginity, at 19, to a girl who had already lost her virginity…to 27 men. Yeah. There’s not much to say really. I didn’t get off (which I still haven’t), so no 15 second man for me. However, I did get to penetrate the pussy, therefore technically losing my V-Card. Woohoo! What a fucking waste of time. <br /><br />So…there’s just a few examples of my firsts. I’ve been given the thought of doing this again in a less raunchy format. Something more along the lines of First Crush, First Love, etc. I might do that. <br /><br />Anyone of you have any embarrassing/awkward firsts?DeistBrawlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208558981915537789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1274732308027449129.post-2330646811525000932011-01-15T11:44:00.000-08:002011-01-15T11:50:58.049-08:00CBR-III: Book #1: Full Dark, No Stars<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSyNcrBup_H8t_qJemd8iUNQGExl0pAK7nx7y6rli9Z_dqlcHTzEH1GT1BOEtjJncPLyHD-zpuGQnOjGquqz99eccdPkUMfkJXCqzP_RBBX7rt7pP8CWGIwnA4iBZ0pumYeZwnG96Avp-0/s1600/pajibacard.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 314px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSyNcrBup_H8t_qJemd8iUNQGExl0pAK7nx7y6rli9Z_dqlcHTzEH1GT1BOEtjJncPLyHD-zpuGQnOjGquqz99eccdPkUMfkJXCqzP_RBBX7rt7pP8CWGIwnA4iBZ0pumYeZwnG96Avp-0/s400/pajibacard.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562501276632544818" /></a><br />I finished the book three days ago. <br />Everyday I come home I know I should write the review, this review, but I dread it.<br />I dread it because I’m a huge fan of Stephen King. <br />I dread it because I’m a huge fan of Stephen King…and I’m about to tear him to fucking shreds. <br /><br /><I>Full Dark, No Stars</I> is a collection of short stories. Four, to be exact. “1922,” “Big Driver,” “Fair Extension,” and “A Good Marriage.”<br /><br />In the afterword King says, <I>“The stories in this book are harsh. You may have found them hard to read in places. If so, be assured that I found them equally hard to write in places.”</I> See, the thing is Stevie boy…they weren’t harsh. <br /><br />I hate to say it (because I love the guy), but I think the King is done. He says the stories were harsh and hard to write, yet none of them had the detestable qualities of <I>Desperation.</I> They didn’t have the soul crushing agony of <I>It</I> or <I>The Long Walk</I>. There was no mystery like in <I>Christine</I>. No macabre horror like in <I>Misery</I>. No suspense like in “The Ledge.“ Instead, what I was treated with, was a bag of cliché tricks. <I>Full Dark, No Stars</I> brings absolutely nothing new to the table. You can see the plots of the stories coming a mile way, some of them even recycled. The characters fall flat and are genuinely uninteresting. Sure, he gives us our little hints into the King world that the fans understand and appreciate…even then I almost felt cheated. I devour King’s books…it took me two days just to finish the last story. <br /><br />“1922”<br />The story takes place in 1922, on a rural farm. Cue the typical family. The hard working, loyal, dependable husband. The former rich girl wife who hates her simple life and dreams of bigger and better things. Their teenage son, who makes good grades, does as his father tells him, and respects his mother and God. When the wife’s father dies she is given his land, adjoining land to our poor farmer, and a lot more of it. He wants to tack it on to their property, give themselves a bigger spread. She wants to sell it to a rich company, take the money and run to the city where she can open a shop. You can imagine how that works out. And, ala <I>Dolores Claiborne</I>, somebody ends up down a well. Soon the poor farmer becomes convinced that his wife is tormenting him with rats (“Graveyard Shift”), shit goes down hill. The tale was boring, really, because you couldn’t even care about the main character. The son? At first he’s just a whiny little bitch, then he’s just the annoying anti-authority teen. His story, however, is the only slightly decent aspect of “1922,” so I’ll leave that one for you. <br /><br />“Big Driver”<br />I really wish you could have just heard my audible sigh. “Big Driver” is a revenge story. Plain and simple. Tess, a mildly successful writer, mid-30’s, attractive, single woman, is raped one night after a speaking engagement and left for dead. Does she go to the police? No. Despite being an intelligent person who actually writes detective stories (albeit a freelance detective knitting circle group), she decides to get revenge on her own. Why? Because she wants the satisfaction, and she doesn’t want to have to deal with the public humiliation of being raped. You heard that<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuvRLCJjmGzqm6qudx5d_97hpVIn6m8r9_g7BT0bLig47lnXwoUkZh-gom8JNGVFNVh7e-wqJ2sDxPwFW8FYZKrBzViu6i_ng3uMbocYdbiFivYDWeZBgkyBz8NFEi_EHvkkq7PfM6q6Ec/s1600/king.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 263px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuvRLCJjmGzqm6qudx5d_97hpVIn6m8r9_g7BT0bLig47lnXwoUkZh-gom8JNGVFNVh7e-wqJ2sDxPwFW8FYZKrBzViu6i_ng3uMbocYdbiFivYDWeZBgkyBz8NFEi_EHvkkq7PfM6q6Ec/s400/king.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562501337457953410" /></a> right. A semi-celebrity…who could actually do some good by coming forward…doesn’t want to embarrass herself. So she tracks down the ginormous dude who raped her. It’s cliché. King even mentions <I>The Brave One</I>, the movie with Jodie Foster, in the fucking story. Tess watches it for “research.” Once again characters fall flat. You can’t care for Tess. Because of who she is and how she handles things, I never really adopted any sympathy for her. I mean, for fucksakes, the lady stumbles to a gas station after the rape and calls a goddamn limo to come pick her up. The plot seemed more of a ploy to show that King, who is notoriously technology retarded, decided to show that he’s figured out these things called gps and the internet. <br /><br />“Fair Extension”<br />Dude dying of cancer sings a deal with the devil to extend his life. Using a kind of “pay it forward” principle, getting rid of the cancer means he has to give it to someone else (oh, and he has to give the devil a percentage of his yearly income). Who does he choose? His best friend. Why? Because his best friend is the guy that got everything. The high school stud, the college success, the guy who became filthy rich, had the amazing children, and the trophy wife. Oh right, the trophy wife who <B>used</B> to be cancer dudes girlfriend. So…go ahead and tell me what happens. The best friends life falls apart (really badly. I totally would have killed myself), Cancer-Free dudes life moves on the up and up, and through it all…Cancer-Free dude never gives a shit. Totally. The entire time he was happy to fork over that yearly percentage, and happy at seeing his friend decline and lose everything. Boring. <br /><br />“A Good Marriage”<br />The story asks this question: If you’ve been in a loving, successful, idealic marriage for 25+ years, and you find out your husband is a serial killer, what would you do? Let me just say, like Tess in “Big Driver,” Darcy (the wife) can’t stand the thought of what this would do to the kids/her if it broke out to the world. I’ma leave it at that. <br /><br />I think you’ve lost it Stevie. You no longer have that inventive world. You no longer have characters that I can believe in, characters that I want to love. You’re not surprising me anymore. Worst of all? You’re not scaring me anymore.DeistBrawlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208558981915537789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1274732308027449129.post-61232015171034508952011-01-05T17:53:00.000-08:002011-01-06T19:26:37.645-08:00My Top Ten Films of 2010They may not be the "best" films of 2010. They may not have grossed the most amount of money. They may not have received the most critical praise. But I <I>remember</I> them. That's a key to me. To look at the list of all the movies I've seen from 2010 and go...I liked that movie. A hat trick to <I>Valhalla Rising</I>. It almost took over <I>Easy A</I>'s slot. Like I said, the movie might not have been that great, but at least it was memorable. *Edit. You'll notice <I>Easy A</I> is gone too. That's because I watched <I>127 Hours.</I><br /><br /><B><U>My Top Ten Film Picks For 2010</B></U><br /><br /><B>1)</b><I> Inception</I><br /><B>2)</B> <I>How to Train Your Dragon</I><br /><B>3)</B> <I>The Killer Inside Me</I><br /><B>4)</B> <I>Remember Me</I><br /><B>5)</B> <I>Perrier's Bounty</I><br /><B>6)</B> <I>Shutter Island</I><br /><B>7)</B> <I>Scott Pilgrim vs. the World</I><br /><B>8)</B> <I>127 Hours</I><br /><B>9)</B> <I>Black Swan</I> <br /><B>10)</B><I>Blue Valentine</I>DeistBrawlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208558981915537789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1274732308027449129.post-64272062391793350672011-01-04T23:38:00.001-08:002011-01-04T23:50:09.459-08:00Christians In Porn!Who doesn’t like porn? <br /><br />Nevermind, I know several people who don’t like porn, but I can’t understand these <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw81nOvjpkkBm8q0zzxf__vbUEgwAGFqAsaW6x8FFuCznuU6kKRz0-5G0vCPyDkUcZCWn7_3lve9YEIg0F-xqHEDXnLHqx50uNoaAdEvReGRKwnpzrtEXaBCa302Bx8mL3aSlBdeGCEfCR/s1600/CrossPornBlog5.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 222px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw81nOvjpkkBm8q0zzxf__vbUEgwAGFqAsaW6x8FFuCznuU6kKRz0-5G0vCPyDkUcZCWn7_3lve9YEIg0F-xqHEDXnLHqx50uNoaAdEvReGRKwnpzrtEXaBCa302Bx8mL3aSlBdeGCEfCR/s400/CrossPornBlog5.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558603022386278850" /></a>people. <br /><br />I personally don’t like some porn. I’m not into golden showers, two girls one cup, beastiality, or anything else that involves shit, piss, or vomit. However, I like porn. <br /><br />What baffles me, however, are crosses. <br /><br />Seeing a cross in porn instantly makes me laugh my ass off. Especially when it’s not in a role playing type of porn. I can understand the symbolism of it in porn that involves nuns, priests, etc. I can’t understand the people (in particular women…I couldn’t find many crosses in gay porn) who would keep their cross on while getting rammed from behind by a ginormous cock. Are they praying that they don’t get torn? That they survive the penis pummeling? Let’s take a look at why I find this humorous. <br /><br /><B>#3</B><br /><I>Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God In vain; for the Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh his name in vain.</I><br />The bible doesn’t flat out define this in particular. Over the years it’s been inferred as encompassing symbols as well. The cross…totally fits in the symbol category. By wearing a cross while Jimmy dumps a load of hot, gooey, semen on your face, well, that’s taking the Lord’s name in vain. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t approve, the Lord that is…Jimmy would totally approve. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3rMJ849vDCAoq0o6Y0aJO5PgucavTiZv1gCgsKX2PWn0Ei24Fi_JG0XwVjvbLUfDf-vA6zv9z018KZysPwJ57nV4XxFT2hDqvo_xcn7QZVGaDxK1G0rIemH7X75Xzdt18pEHATa6rH9RR/s1600/CrossPornBlog2.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3rMJ849vDCAoq0o6Y0aJO5PgucavTiZv1gCgsKX2PWn0Ei24Fi_JG0XwVjvbLUfDf-vA6zv9z018KZysPwJ57nV4XxFT2hDqvo_xcn7QZVGaDxK1G0rIemH7X75Xzdt18pEHATa6rH9RR/s400/CrossPornBlog2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558603329018332722" /></a><br /><B>#5</B><br /><I>Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.</I><br />How many parents love the fact that their children are in porn? How many of them would approve? We’re going to ignore porn stars like Sunny Lane…whose parents actually work as her agent. Or the fathers that are happy their daughter is in Playboy. I wouldn’t want my hypothetical daughter in Playboy. Why? So I can go to the office and have my buddy say, “Hey Joe…Cindy Lou there is looking all growed up.” No thanks. Or Deb, talking to Janet at the water cooler. “I’m so proud of Mary Beth, that gonorrhea cleared up so fast!”<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4T2k1lC8yPkLa0kQmWYIGa5KRadfS2H_ZgJC8iShZPYzW3tOSAzfrcz522jI7le9XwZGInqy_9E500xEvtzKQJ1Tdhr5a1bbKTkz4eSneMMKe5Pla2pV3QWibyNQdbzKV_VhRoOrnSiTy/s1600/CrossPornBlog1.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4T2k1lC8yPkLa0kQmWYIGa5KRadfS2H_ZgJC8iShZPYzW3tOSAzfrcz522jI7le9XwZGInqy_9E500xEvtzKQJ1Tdhr5a1bbKTkz4eSneMMKe5Pla2pV3QWibyNQdbzKV_VhRoOrnSiTy/s400/CrossPornBlog1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558603514512970626" /></a><br /><B>#7</B><br /><I>Thou shalt not commit adultery.</I><br />Do I…do I really need to explain this one? This now, apparently, also includes lust. So, I guess that means every time I masturbate to porn I’m breaking this one. Oh wait, every time I’m masturbating I’m technically breaking a sin right? Isn’t there something that goes along the lines of, “He knowing that the children should not be his, when he went in to his brother's wife, spilled his seed upon the ground, lest children should be born in his brother's name. And therefore the Lord slew him, because he did a detestable thing.” [Gen. 38, 8-10] Ok, wait a minute. So in that time if a man died his brother was supposed to marry the new widow and have his “brothers” babies? So this has nothing to do with masturbation? Whew! Glad I found that one out. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK-GWUJhN0e0zy9u4HoJpNrAjGrewuLl3EDLQRrbxHB-pUgsokBcINdAwWulAkS4oMEHoLU2v3HGvAPe2N8bO5bzhLbYIqv56buEsxEPPIdc8dDndALTcfNKxtUMph0UlnHrhmVvOZlPUM/s1600/CrossPornBlog4.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 352px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK-GWUJhN0e0zy9u4HoJpNrAjGrewuLl3EDLQRrbxHB-pUgsokBcINdAwWulAkS4oMEHoLU2v3HGvAPe2N8bO5bzhLbYIqv56buEsxEPPIdc8dDndALTcfNKxtUMph0UlnHrhmVvOZlPUM/s400/CrossPornBlog4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558604129483644130" /></a><br /><B>#10</B><br /><I>Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor any thing that is thy neighbour's.</I><br />Heh…ass. What? Oh, right. Over the years this too has come to involve a wide variety of things. Basically you shouldn’t want anything that someone else has. So Bill’s iPhone? You better not look at that fucking iPhone and want it. Or the fact that Lilly over there has a 42” flat screen TV? Yep…you better not covet that shit either. So Ashley Blue? Yeah, you better not covet her either. Even though she only takes it up with the ass with other men, she keeps her vagina for the man she’s with. That girl that can deep throat a beer bottle? Do not look twice at her. That dude with the 14” cock…don’t even drool. Not even a little. <br /><br />So why do I find crosses in porn hilarious? Well, there you go. You can not seriously consider yourself a good Christian if you’re spreading your ass for the camera and letting Cockhammer stick it in there using spit for lube. Can you really think the Lord is on your back while Ramajam is on your back…and Dingading is underneath you? Can you think that God loves you…while the thick gob of 8 men drips all over the cross from the bukkake you just received? <br /><br />I tried to find it in gay porn…I really did…but you would not believe how many images I had to go through just to find the five you get to look at. No idea. I find this one lesbian shot…which simply just cracks me up. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ__gH5YXPkODTw8-LtyaJjad4qSAowb769kvMFeAJFNC94uPb_ZHxLrODWziLSySAQVOI4ngpJwPTPv-xPgZGZXPb6lAIJoYYBVA_Ipioxloc0TEwjp3D3KiTgnU7sI3Trs_YRj6cWFqx/s1600/CrossPornBlog3.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ__gH5YXPkODTw8-LtyaJjad4qSAowb769kvMFeAJFNC94uPb_ZHxLrODWziLSySAQVOI4ngpJwPTPv-xPgZGZXPb6lAIJoYYBVA_Ipioxloc0TEwjp3D3KiTgnU7sI3Trs_YRj6cWFqx/s400/CrossPornBlog3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558603774238255906" /></a><br /><B>Leviticus</B> <br /><B>18:22</b> <I>Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination.</I><br /><B>20:13</B> <I>If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them.</I><br />There is only one reference to lesbians being bad, apparently, somewhere in Romans I. <br />So now…be gay and wear a cross in a gay porn? Well…well…well, that’s just fucked up. You done just fucked everything up. Way to go Amber, fucking Kayla like that. You don’t even have a penis. <br /><br />Remember that thing I said about not liking beastiality? Well that shits in the bible to!<br /><B>Leviticus</B> <br /><B>18:23</B> <I>Neither shalt thou lie with any beast to defile thyself therewith: neither shall any woman stand before a beast to lie down thereto: it is confusion.</I><br /><br />What’s the moral of this story? Of this tale I’ve weaved for you?<br /><br />It’s a damn good fucking thing I’m not Christian. Or any religion for that matter that follows some code of conduct. So you wear your crosses you evil doers of porn! I will continue to laugh…while I masturbate with fervor. Such a good Christian you are.DeistBrawlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208558981915537789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1274732308027449129.post-62836660193604838132011-01-03T14:43:00.001-08:002011-01-03T14:54:07.649-08:00Fuck You 2010, Hello 2011.<div>How was New Years Eve? Well, my New Years Eve lasted three days. </div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL7ZAzFMc5jKyWv3ME8eAyIiW_dCr_13Wrg-8zeQW57pen8Al_vCzQuBulYdA5TIDPuhXYcd8bM2ZI-xsz-PbtVo12Kgs2dehHkdFU2iG-K1h62wI4F8vYgGGIZ4kkUgsX4hhzKjVj_xO6/s1600/me.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL7ZAzFMc5jKyWv3ME8eAyIiW_dCr_13Wrg-8zeQW57pen8Al_vCzQuBulYdA5TIDPuhXYcd8bM2ZI-xsz-PbtVo12Kgs2dehHkdFU2iG-K1h62wI4F8vYgGGIZ4kkUgsX4hhzKjVj_xO6/s400/me.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558095840008314162" /></a><br /></div><div>On Friday I headed down to Atlanta to meet up with Steven and a few of his peeps. Got there around…5? I think. Anyway, we drank a little at the house before heading out to pick up some more people, and the first bar of the night. </div><div><br /></div><div>Mass carpool to Trader Vic’s. It was my first time at this bar, and might I add…we were certainly out of our element. Expensive. For one. We were by far some of the youngest people in there. Also? We were certainly dressed…different. On the plus side I got hit on by two of their hula dancers. I guess that is a reason to be one of the young people there. </div><div><br /></div><div>From Trader Vic’s it was a cab ride to Flatiron. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0FLUBAkxjp-zadgmR-YZ7g7v72aSYjsCQLvLCUOe_sfa3senA3QslfAfZ44vn_s1ngTJv69MlYDQJisI5g71BAxD22Ow9oOirKoHHhZZTFRdBG51ADQYwEcRHXHV1UM5_ITgxMWAqr3xi/s1600/cabride.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0FLUBAkxjp-zadgmR-YZ7g7v72aSYjsCQLvLCUOe_sfa3senA3QslfAfZ44vn_s1ngTJv69MlYDQJisI5g71BAxD22Ow9oOirKoHHhZZTFRdBG51ADQYwEcRHXHV1UM5_ITgxMWAqr3xi/s400/cabride.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558094584249234962" /></a>Bonus for the cabbie? No one was paying attention to who was paying for the cab ride. So, everyone started throwing $20’s at him. $47 cab ride= $100 for the cabbie. Midnight hit here. Drinks were spilled, shots were consumed, and we were off to Gravity.</div><div><br /></div><div>I…don’t remember Gravity. Like…any of it. The only part I remember is leaving. It appears Steven was trying to round everyone up so we could leave. However, as often happens, every time he left one group to get another…the first group would disperse. I remember standing outside, holding on to his roommates murse (which has a gun and combat dressings) and two of the drink bowls we confiscated from Trader Vic’s. His roommate was searching the parking lot for his car…which wasn’t even there. People were yelling. I was alone. So I did the only thing I could think of. I walked. Apparently it’s not far from Gravity to Stevens place…only a few miles…but I walked in new boots, with a gun, and a drink bowl, through East Atlanta. They arrived later to find me sitting on the steps. More drinks were consumed. Cue unconsciousness. </div><div><br /></div><div>Saturday. We wake up and three of us, Mr. Brian L. Murray, Steven, and <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg50CuIBt2pM1FsiHbDHoMjmVqmgpvUSdU1ZVko50Mha9j5v_Wngxk7ZPNCnK04qqdaVTXVggPJHpW0F454mlpSvRrzwwW7vL0mBiiQRntEPgp0aQ1u2IuDibqVjsdu7LSQJod8OJ7Qo5p-/s1600/church.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg50CuIBt2pM1FsiHbDHoMjmVqmgpvUSdU1ZVko50Mha9j5v_Wngxk7ZPNCnK04qqdaVTXVggPJHpW0F454mlpSvRrzwwW7vL0mBiiQRntEPgp0aQ1u2IuDibqVjsdu7LSQJod8OJ7Qo5p-/s400/church.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558094772634769474" /></a>myself, hop in my car to go see if we left tabs open the night before. What turned into a simple mission, kept the party alive (Thank god it was cloudy on Saturday. I think the sun would have killed us.) . Lunch and drinks at Flatiron, then to The Earl for more drinks, then to Gravity for more drinks. Mr. Murray up there decided to DD, so we were off to “Sister Louisa's 'Church' of the Living Room and Ping Pong Emporium.” Yup, totally, that’s the name of the bar. It was just the 3 of us for awhile, drinking on $3-24oz PBR’s, checking out the artwork, playing in the Confessional, Steven trying to climb shit. We went and got food, then came back. Pretty much the entire crew from NYE came out again, and the debauchery began again. When everyone was nicely fucking drunk we headed to Corner Tavern for some karaoke. I think Skip wanted to sing (Skip, btw, is HOT…a tattooed pinup. Her boyfriend, has a most epic beard.). I don’t remember much of Corner Tavern. I think I had one drink, that I didn’t even finish. I also want to say that I kept hitting on a cougar (likely there with someone), and then an Asian girl. I’m sure my flirting was fantastic. House…unconscious. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sunday it was sushi, chilling at the house, a little pre-game drinking,<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio53I5eQU0Ehh3ekuuzSOHVo-QzgBut2TgzuUNpu-7g-rJJUyBx644UbaC3zKJqnkZlkTH1aQecuxbIjIcSq9C3Iau0gsOju-NxrDfX9-NQ8X9ghGKJpTNuYBq7UHNqDMX7YQMClhMWviD/s1600/southerncomfort.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio53I5eQU0Ehh3ekuuzSOHVo-QzgBut2TgzuUNpu-7g-rJJUyBx644UbaC3zKJqnkZlkTH1aQecuxbIjIcSq9C3Iau0gsOju-NxrDfX9-NQ8X9ghGKJpTNuYBq7UHNqDMX7YQMClhMWviD/s400/southerncomfort.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558095383767704242" /></a> and then Southern Comfort, with Murray, Steven, and Ramona. It took me awhile, and a few shots, to get in the mood, but then we were flying. All systems go. Green lights. Back to the casa (which garnered me a new rear-view mirror adornment. A bra), stayed up till about 6, then left. Coreys (Steven’s roommate) dog, Lt. Dan, would not quit laying on me. A three legged, deaf, dog. Very loving. When I was sleeping on Steven’s floor he would spoon with me. </div><div><br /></div><div>So I was home around 6:30am. Took my first shower in two days. Spent a little time checking up on the internet. Then passed the fuck out. </div><div><br /></div><div>All in all I would have to say it was a fantastic way to start the New Year. I may be extremely broke (which is totally the truth), I may or may not still have a job (I find out in a week). I have little gas in my car. I have no clean clothes. But…I’m happy…really happy. </div><div><br /></div><div>So Happy New Year motherfuckers. Keep your fingers crossed that this happiness becomes a trend. </div>DeistBrawlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208558981915537789noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1274732308027449129.post-1842457366499619882010-12-22T21:28:00.000-08:002010-12-22T21:36:14.663-08:00Losing Hope<span style="font-weight:bold;">*prepare yourselves...it's a long one*</span><br /><br /><br />I was one of those rare kids that loved school. Because of this, the highlight of my year was always the first day of school. When most of my friends were lamenting the end of their summer break, dreading the next semester, I was silently happy. I loved having to get school supplies, loading up my backpack for the first day. I loved the anticipation of getting my schedule. Of comparing it with my friends in the hallway to find out if we had any classes together. A lot of people look back at high school and wish they could erase that part of their life. I wish I was still back in high school. I knew who I was then. I was the A student. One of those few freshman who were in honor choir. The singer that could bounce between any male vocal part. I was the one in junior level classes my freshman year. The kid that got kicked out of typing class on the first day because I was “too fast.” The kid who didn’t groan when there was an essay assignment. <div><br /></div><div>When I got out of sports the start of my freshman year I lost a good amount of my friends. Those friends who I had played football with since 5th grade. I was bitter at first, but then I found my equals. The smart kids who dressed weird. The ones who were smashing pumpkins on Halloween. The ones that only lived a few streets apart. </div><div><br /></div><div>My goal was to get a girlfriend. I wanted girls to pay attention to me. Before I started high school I had been a jock, a prep, a kicker. When none of those worked I just started being me…and that didn’t work…but at least I was comfortable. </div><div><br /></div><div>I had dreams of going to college, of starting my career in writing, getting married, having children. Then I moved, the middle of my junior year.<br /><br />I changed.<br /><br />My first few months in Georgia I slept on a couch because I didn’t have a bed. I woke up looking at my own breath because of how cold the basement was. </div><div><br /></div><div>Going to high school here I changed again. I was still the A kid, but instead of hanging with people at lunch I would skip lunch and go to the library to write. I was the one who got to school early so I could work on the newspaper. I was the kid who sat in the back corner of the room and kept to myself. The one without friends. The one who lost himself in movies and books. The only time I ever skipped a class, I was technically going to another school to help with their newspaper. Even then I felt like a rebel. I quit choir. I quit riding the bus. I dressed even weirder. I made sure to somehow stand out…and blend in…at the same time. </div><div><br /></div><div>By my senior year none of that changed. Only now when I thought about college I thought about moving away. Going to another state. </div><div><br /></div><div>I still tried to find a girlfriend, but again they never seemed to pay attention to me. I can’t really blame them. I was the big, fat, shy, weird kid. </div><div><br /></div><div>About halfway through my senior year I actually got a friend. He was one of the “outcasts” of the school. One of the ones that people tended to avoid in the hallway. As much as I try to look back on my life from that point on with fond memories…I don’t really have any. </div><div><br /></div><div>I graduated with a 3.9 gpa and close to a 1200 on my SAT. I was accepted to UGA, Emory, Texas A&M, and Kennesaw State University. I was accepted to every school I applied to. I chose KSU. Mainly because it was close to home, my only friend…and I could afford it.<br /><br />I changed.<br /><br />With my new group of friends…guided by the friend from high school…I got into drugs. A shit ton of drugs. My entire life my grandparents had given me savings bonds for Christmas. I cashed those in to a tune of $8,000. I spent it all in three months. </div><div><br /></div><div>Now I work a job where I’m lucky to break $12,000 a year. </div><div><br /></div><div>I lost my virginity at 19 to a fucking whore. Not a literal whore mind you…I never paid her. However, if you had drugs, she was all yours. So much for love.</div><div><br /></div><div>I failed every class…every class…my first three semesters of college. I never really bounced back from that. Then again, college wasn’t what I expected.<br /><br />My dream of college was huge auditorium classrooms. Teachers who liked to be engaged with their students. I heard tales of advanced philosophy classes that met at a bar. Of parties like you wouldn’t believe. I thought I would find people…just…like…me. Instead I was greeted with classes that felt like high school. I went to one college party…that a friend took me to. I didn’t find this feeling of “free love” that I’d always expected. Movies ruined college for me. Life ruined college for me. People ruined college for me.<br /><br />That kid that always loved going to school now hated it. The kid that never skipped was now skipping all the time. The kid that paid attention and always made the grade was now falling asleep in class and getting put on academic probation.<br /><br />My last semester…what was even supposed to be my last semester…I tried to get that spark back. I was getting excited to go back. I’d been out for a year. I’d cleaned myself up. I was going to do this. It took two weeks before I started skipping again. Two weeks before I found myself falling asleep in class. Two weeks before I found myself wondering what bar I was going to go to when I got out of class. By now you should already know the outcome…I missed graduation by two classes.<br /><br />I waited two years to try and petition to get back in. I wanted to give myself time to clear my head. I wanted to refocus. I didn’t get back in.<br /><br />Now I’m lost.<br /><br />All those dreams I had are gone. All those plans I made are shattered. I’ve thought about trying to get into another school…but I am so <i>disillusioned</i>…so…<i>frustrated</i>, with what college was, that I don’t know if it’s even worth it. What’s to say it won’t take two weeks again before I’m back to my old ways?<br /><br />I’ll be 29 in three months. 29.<br /><br />For the last, almost 9 years of my life, I’ve been a cook. What job can I get? What job am I qualified for? Am I destined to be in fucking manual labor the rest of my life? I’m 28 years old with no degree and no experience. </div><div><br /></div><div>Every dream I now have involves money that I can never achieve or see. </div><div><br /></div><div>I haven’t even been on a fucking vacation…by myself or with friends…in 4 years. <br /><br />I have no drive. I have no motivation. I have no willpower. I’m a writer who can’t even fucking write. I don't even know what I want to do.<br /><br />How does one accomplish regaining that? How can I get back to the person who wanted to make something of themselves? Everything just seems so out of reach…so far beyond my grasp. So…pointless.<br /><br />It looks like the start of this year will be the same as last year. A 28 year old unemployed, living at home, piece of shit.<br /><br />That great birthday trip to the Bahamas? Yeah. Doesn’t look like that’s going to happen. I never even got my passport. Even if I did, what money am I going to go with?<br /><br />For the first time in my life…I’m actually in debt. Because of medical problems.<br /><br />What is my future?<br /><br />I’ve lost hope.<br /></div>DeistBrawlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208558981915537789noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1274732308027449129.post-86117982330175026012010-12-20T07:19:00.000-08:002010-12-20T07:21:31.717-08:00A Conversation With My MotherA text conversation with my mom…<br /><br />[this first part ended up on http://whenparentstext.com/]<br /><br /><B>Mom:</B> Give me the name of some of the good transformers.<br /><I>Me:</I> Optimus Prime, Bumblebee, Jazz…<br /><br /><I>Me:</I> ?<br /><B>Mom:</B> Drunk lady at party wanted to know.<br /><I>Me:</I> Hahaha. Wow. <br /><B>Mom:</B> The drunk came over to your dad just before we left and rubbed up against him and said ‘Tought I’d come over here and see if you want to make me your bitch.’<br /><I>Me:</I> Sounds like my kind of lady.<br /><B>Mom:</B> I was sitting right next to him! He was shocked and not impressed.<br /><I>Me:</I> What did he say? What did you say?<br /><B>Mom:</B> He said I’m married, have been for 37 years. I’ve never cheated and don’t plan to start now. I said time to go home.<br /><I>Me:</I> Hahahaha. Oh man, I wish I had been there. <br /><B>Mom:</B> Apparently she asked if I’d want to swing. You would have rofl.DeistBrawlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208558981915537789noreply@blogger.com0