Saturday, October 17, 2009

Original Fiction Recycle

Okay - so you know I was a dumbass and deleted my blogs. Well, enter Buelahman (Ray). Who saved my writing ass. He figured out how to send me all of the rss feeds using Google Reader. Google gives aaaaaand takes away. (I still wish they'd give me access to my blogs again, she pouted.)

So here is a rescued post. And here is a big Triple D Cup hug (now you know the truth) and kiss for Ray who really deserves much, much more, but won't except it. And NO, I don't mean sexual favor thank yous. I mean cash money. Or BeautiControl products.

Thank you, Ray. I still owe you big mention in my book, too. I shall not forget. I can't be a dumbass all the time.......

He's a Whiz!
The Secret Service Agent herded Laura, Miss Beazley and Barney into the armored vehicle. "Where's George?" Laura asked, patting her windblown hair back into place.

"We're looking for him, M'am," the unsmiling man in black answered.

George wasn’t there. He'd been out clearing brush when the siren sounded. He thought it was an air raid so he ran to his Gator and pulled out a duffel bag. Tossing his cowboy hat into the vehicle, he quickly strapped on his codpiece and flak jacket. He looked hurriedly around as he strapped on his helmet. Where was everyone and why didn't he hear any planes?

The clouds above were dark, almost greenish. "Dang," he thought, "I shoulda stayed in ta read those reports instead of being out here....heh, heh, heh." He knew that would never happen, but now he was in a real pickle. The winds were picking up and the brush he was cutting starting to blow around. George thought he heard the planes coming with the bombs and looked up just as a branch came crashing down.

When he woke, the brush was gone. The Gator was gone. His chainsaw: gone. George stood up and looked around. He touched his cheek and blood came away on his finger. His shoulder hurt. "What the heck..." he muttered as he unhooked his helmet. Good thing he had it on when that branch came down.

"Hello!" he shouted. Where was he? He stopped. Did he hear something? The Texas landscape had changed. What was going on? He hadn't seen anything like this since he'd given up blow. The trees were orange, pink grass was everywhere. The sky was yellow. Huge blue flowers on read stems sprang up from the ground. A stream of orange water flowed nearby. What kind of hippie nightmare was this?

There was that noise again. George walked toward it. Was that whispering?

A small person stepped from behind a blue, flowering bush. George stepped back quickly, startled. The weight of his flak jacket almost pulled him over. Righting himself, he gulped loudly as he took in the sight before him. The little man was dressed in a red and purple striped suit and he sported a green mustache. “Welcome!” he said jauntily in a cheery, childlike voice. The sound of it made George giggle on the inside. Someone was playing a joke on him.

George bent down and looked the little man square in the eye. “Kucinich, is that you?” he chuckled.

The little man removed a polka-dotted handkerchief from his front pocket and dabbed at the blood on George’s cheek. “Well, Sir, no. I’m the mayor of Peaceville. Welcome,” he repeated.

George sneered. Peaceville. He knew this was some hippie hallucination. “Well, look here, Mayor Guy. Where’s Laura? What’s the joke?”

The small man blinked at him wordlessly.

“Come on. I’m a busy man. I’ve got work – hard work. Where’s my detail? Where’s Laura?”

The Mayor of Peaceville smiled gently at George. Poor man. He’d need the village’s help. He finished wiping the blood from George’s cheek and stood back. “There now,” he beamed. “That’s better. Now, tell me, who’s Laura?”

George stood quietly for a moment. This was getting old and he was not a patient man. He looked around, but still couldn’t see his personal agent. “Mr. Whatever you say your name is, stop playin’ games with me. You know Laura Bush is my wife. Everyone knows that. Now, where is she? Is she in on this?”

The man shook his little head. “I don’t know where Laura is, but I can help you find her,” he said brightly. Let me get my assistant and we’ll get to it.” With that he snapped his tiny fingers and an even smaller man in a green and yellow polka-dotted suit appeared.


The Mayor gestured toward George. “Our guest needs our help. He’s looking for his wife Laura. We need to help him find her.”

The assistant smiled at George. “Of course,” he said. Then he spoke slowly and clearly, enunciating each word with great care. “Where did you last see Laura?”

George was getting really ansty now. This joke had run its course and he was getting hungry. “You know,” he huffed. “She was in the kitchen, reading a book. Look, I’m getting’ hungry. Can we hurry this up? This is starting to feel like a policy briefing and I’m not likin’ it.” He looked across the stream and noticed that a crowd of small people had gathered. There were all dressed like hippies and weirdos.

The Mayor and his assistant exchanged looks. Just then, a loud boom came from across the stream. The little people screamed and scattered. A billow of black smoke rose up from the ground and as it cleared, George could see a tall, painfully thin, blond woman, wearing a tight black miniskirt standing among the scattering of bloody, little bodies.

“Am I glad to see you. I’ve heard about you,” George shouted to the woman who smiled in response as she kicked her way through the dead bodies of little people in brightly colored clothes.

The Mayor and his assistant cowered behind George. “Where’s Laura?” George asked the tall blond as she approached.

The woman made an impatient noise in the back of her throat. Her adam’s apple bobbed up and down as she surveyed the colorful landscape. “God, I despise this place,” she thundered, pushing her straight blond hair behind her ears.

George shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. He realized that his codpiece was starting to chafe him. He shifted from foot to foot. Now he had to take a whiz, too.

The blond glanced at him. “What are you doing here?”

George sighed. Obviously, she wasn’t in on the joke. Back to square one. “I don’t know. I don’t know how I got here. I don’t know where this is,” he pointed to the little people hiding behind him. “These guys call it Peacesomething….”

The blond woman sneered. “Of course they would.” She ran her hands through her hair. Still silky. Still beautiful. Good. “Okay. Here’s the deal,” she said, stepping around George and grasping the Mayor and his assistant by the arms. “You little devils are going to tell this busy and important man how to get back home. Got it?” she growled.

The Mayor and his assistant wriggled to free themselves from the woman’s grasp. The little people on the other side of the stream began squealing and shouting. “Shut it!” bellowed the woman. The little people shrunk back into the shadows.

The woman pulled the Mayor and his assistant closer to her face. “Now.”

The Mayor nodded weakly and the woman placed him and his assistant on the ground. “We can’t help you get home, but we know someone who can,” he said shakily. The woman was tapping the pointy toe of her stiletto heel impatiently. George was shifting around trying to get comfortable in the codpiece.

After a few minutes, George and the woman started off down the yellow brick road. “Do you think that this Wizard Dude can help me get back to Crawford?” he asked the woman.

The woman chewed her lip thoughtfully. More lipstick was in order, clearly. “He’s not the Almighty, so I don’t know. I only trust in the Almighty. But it’s worth a try,” she answered.

George tugged at his jacket. “I’m getting’ hot,” he groused. The blond stopped and looked at him carefully. “Leave the jacket on. You look so strong in it.”

George squirmed. Was she hitting on him?

It was like she could read his mind. “Don’t worry,” she laughed. “You’re safe with me.” This made George feel better, but he still wasn’t sure about this wizard guy. He walked along with his hands in his pockets watching each step carefully. He wished he had his bike. And a tex-mex wrap would be good about now, too.

Suddenly the woman groaned. “Oh, go away!” she shouted. George couldn’t see what she was yelling at. “Who are you talking to?” he demanded.

The woman clucked her tongue. There went that bobbing adam’s apple again. “Of course, you can’t see him. I forgot,” she said, but George was still confused.

“See who?”

“The poor man standing there asking for food and money and health care and shelter. You can’t see him,” the blond grumbled. “True blue-bloods can’t see the poor. Let’s move along. We can’t help him. He has to help himself.”

George looked in the general direction of the woman’s gaze, but still saw nothing. He didn’t see anyone. He shrugged and kept walking. Now the codpiece was really beginning to irritate him, but he didn’t want to take it off and look weak. He was going to have to use some of Laura’s special cream when he got back home. Thinking of Laura and the ranch made his breath catch in his throat.

The blond looked at him. “You okay?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah, okay, just thinkin’”

“Well stop it. You’ll feel better. It’s best not to think.”

They’d taken a few more steps when the woman stopped abruptly.

“What’s wrong?” George demanded.

The woman rummaged in her purse and took out a small, shiny, silver handgun. It fit beautifully in her well-manicured hand. Holding it made her feel a little horny. But that would have to be dealt with later. She aimed the gun straight in front of her.

George stood there stunned. Why was this woman aiming her gun at that pile of purple rocks? The woman grinned at him and dropped the gun into her handbag after giving it a quick smooch. She looked squarely at George and smiled. “That problem’s solved,” she grinned widely. Again with the adam’s apple. George wondered quickly why a hot chick like her didn’t get that fixed….

The woman started walking again. George came back to himself. “Hey, what was that all about?”

“Secularists. They were collecting rocks to keep building their “wall of separation.” She made the quote gesture with her fingers.

“What wall?” George asked, quite puzzled.

“Oh, they think that there should be a wall separating Church and State. They’re sooooo tiresome. And they’re in complete denial. They just need to accept that this is a Christian nation or get out,” the blond thundered.

George was puzzling over why he couldn’t see them, but quickly became distracted when a multi-colored butterfly drifted by on gossamer wings. “Oh, pretty!” he whispered.

The blond reached out with both hands and clapped them around the butterfly. “A scout,” she said as she crushed it between her palms. George stopped in his tracks. This chick was intense.

“I don’t get it,” he said.

“You’re not supposed to,” the blond said over her shoulder as she walked away. Now George was gettin’ annoyed with her, too. Where was Laura? Where was Condi? Where was Dick? Oh, yeah. Undisclosed location. But Condi, Laura…how could they have let him out of their sight? Bar would not be pleased that they’d let this happen to him.

The blond was skimming along on her stilletos. “We’re getting close,” she said cheerily. George was relieved. He wanted out of the codpiece now.

The blond stopped once more. “Oh, no.” she groaned. Suddenly a swarm of the multi-colored butterflies descended from the sky.

For a moment, George was dazzled by the colors. The blond grabbed his hand and started to run as fast as she could in her high, high heels.

“What’s going on?” George shouted over the flapping of wings which was getting louder.

“Duck!” the blond screamed and she hit the ground. For just a moment she was wishing she’d worn jeans instead of this miniskirt. The thought left as quickly as it came. She knew how hot she looked to the right sort of man.

George and the woman lay face down on the ground as the flapping of wings continued. George pulled a blade of pink grass from his mouth. The dirt was blue! “What’s going on?”

The woman smudged what was left of her lipstick on the back of her hand. Oh, how she hated this place. “The butterflies are the tools of the environmentalists. Those tree-hugging, Birkenstock wearing, granola headed hippies must be nearby,” she whispered.

George lay still listening to the sound of his own breathing. “What do they want?” he finally asked.

“Who knows,” hissed the blond. “Regulations, laws, protections, clean air, clean water, environmental standards, whine, whine, whine. They’re completely unreasonable. They think that the little birdies should have a place to live and all that. Lunatics.”

“The little birdies like to live in the brush I clear…” George mentioned offhandedly.


The air went still. The woman moved the curtain of blond hair from her face and peered out from behind it. The butterflies had landed and decorated the trees, rocks, bushes and grass. Slowly, she stood up and dusted off her knees, her flat concave belly, her small, but perfect breasts. George lay on the ground watching her.

“Let’s go,” the blond whispered out of the side of her mouth. “Quietly, slowly.” George stood up slowly. He had trouble because of the weight of the codpiece and flak jacket. The woman bent to help him. She started to help him dust off and their eyes met. She pulled back. “Oh, no, Miss,” she thought. “Not now, not ever. This President would be above reproach, not like that scum Clinton.”

George followed the blond back to the path. They stepped slowing and walked in silence. The butterflies stayed on their perches. George wanted to speak, but didn’t want to disturb them. Finally, the blond whispered. “Just keep walking. Just around that bend there, we’ll see the Wizard’s castle.” This made George smile.

He was still smiling when a long-haired woman, dressed all in green and waving a hand-made sign, stepped into the road in front of them. Quick as a flash, the blond pulled her gun from her handbag and shot the protester dead where she stood. The woman slumped to the ground and the blond stepped over her, her stiletto piercing the woman’s sign.

“Why’dja shewt ‘er?” George asked, stunned at the quick, violent episode.

“We don’t have time to deal with those crazy environmentalists. They’re just like the islamofacsists. The only way to deal with them is quick and deadly. There’s no compromising with them. There’s no need to negotiate. No need for words. Just bang, bang. Problem solved.”

George smiled approvingly. He liked this gal and her straight shootin’ literally.

George stepped over the woman on the ground, but couldn’t look at the blood. He didn’t want to lose his cookies in front of the blond.
Blood was never his thing. And he was glad that she was the one who was doin’ the shootin’. Heck, if Dick were here, George himself might be the one lyin’ dead on the yellow bricks, blood spreading out beneath him. He shuddered and skipped a step or two to catch up with the blond.

Finally, the castle came into view. Why, it looked like Donald Rumsfeld’s place on the River! George became excited and a little nervous. Would Don still be mad at him for firing him?

They approached the castle gate. Suddenly a castle guard stuck his head out of the gatehouse window. “Can I help you?”

“Hey, Scooter Libby! What are you doing here? I thought you were preparing to go on trial,” George was happy to see ole Scoots, but he looked around quickly to make sure none of them photojournalists were around to document it. He wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near Scooter.

“Do you have an appointment?” the castle guard asked curtly.

The blond pushed her face close to his. “Look, this is the President of the United States. He doesn’t need an appointment,” she hissed.

The castle guard pulled himself up to his full height, which wasn’t much. The blond still towered over him. He focused on her adam’s apple as he spoke slowly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The blond stepped back and smoothed her skirt. “Thank you.”

George was shifting back and forth. Oh, the codpiece. What was he thinking when he put it on?

The castle guard closed the window. George and the blond watched him silently as he placed a call on a funny looking phone. He placed the phone back on its cradle and slid the window open again. “The Wizard will see you,” he announced. With that the gates slid silently open and the guard closed his window. As he passed by the window, George realized that the guard was tethered to the gatehouse wall with a chain attached to a special belt around his waist. On the wall behind him was a painting of a young girl in a cage being ravished by a bear.

The blond started through the gate, then stopped. She gestured for George to go ahead of her. He went, ashamed to admit that he was afraid and would have actually preferred it if she went first. As they approached the castle door, it opened silently and they passed through it. The castle was well-decorated, tastefully done. No frou-frou, just good, manly, well-chosen pieces. Probably old family pieces and things collected on someone’s travels.

The blond gestured toward a navy blue curtain and motioned silently for George to approach it. He stood rooted to the spot for a moment and she touched his sleeve to urge him forward. He took a couple of steps and stopped. He looked at the blond and smiled. “It’s Dick, isn’t it?” he said, more than asked.

The blond nodded, smiling.

“George!” Laura kneeled down on the ground next to him.

“We’ve found him, Sir,” a crisp, disembodied voice said.

George started to sit up. Barney was trying to climb on him.

“Down, Barney,” Laura fussed, tugging on his collar. “Why don’t you stay still, Sweetheart, until they can check you out,” she said, touching George’s face.

Yes, that’s good, he thought. “I’ll just let them check me out first. I’m an important man. Wouldn’t be good to have me out of commission.”

“I’m okay,” he said cheerily.

“Well, just in case, they’ve alerted Dick,” Laura said soothingly.

George jumped up. “I’m good. I’m good. Get Condi. Let’s have a meetin.’ What’s going on in Iraq? What’s the good news?”


  1. HA! I remember this. Oh, Chimpy, how I miss thee. How much has the good Ray been able to save? I brought up your old place in The Google Reader and it's in May 2008 and still loading.

  2. Definitely a good post worth saving. Thanks to the friend who came to your aid. Good lukc with rescuing all your works. :)

  3. I wonder if it's in the fine print somewhere's that any writing becomes their property when you do something..... and when you say "yes, I agree" to all the terms and conditions? Poof. It's all theirs. And that is soooooooooooo not right. (You know, Google does some really nefarious stuff, that way.....)

  4. It was my pleasure, Lil Lady.

    We figured out a way for me to go back and "share" all her old posts. Now she can log on to my Google Share page and take whatever her soul desires.

    (And there is a lot of good stuff that I couldn't let go into cyber oblivion without helping).

    Besides, she is going to mention me in her book!!!!!!

  5. I loved the Halloween diddy. I'm sending you something for the season. Hope you enjoy. I guess someone won my Mega Millions $200 million. Another retirement plan bites the dust. Maybe next time.

    Nice Sunday to you and many pumpkins,

  6. Okay if all else fails call the NSA and ask. They have everything ever posted on the net. You may need to fill out a FIOA request though.

  7. So this is what I missed by not finding you until late last year!

    Particularly hilarious since I recognized the Wicked Witch-- I mean, the blond. The blond.

  8. I'll read this loooooooong post later, but right now, whaddya mean you deleted all your blogs? When? Why? :)

  9. Long time, no comment Lisa.

    Don't delete yourself, mmmmmm'k?

    I thought you stopped blogging, period, but I didn't think you committed cyber seppuku.




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