Monday, December 17, 2007

Johnny Rumble:
"Who are You?"

I am a twenty-something adult. A third year college freshman. Politically savvy, non-voting and politician-hater. I am a punk. I’m poor and broke everyday except payday. I live with my parents. I’m a drunk, a morality whore, ex-smoker, who doesn’t live for tomorrow. Or tonight. I’ve never done drugs. I listen to loud, vulgar music. I sing in the car. And anybody that has seen me will say the same thing. I’m a drivers driver. I love twisty mountain roads, full throttle straight-aways, and there is no speed limit. Only speed suggestions. I’ve nearly died, thrice. I go bridge jumping, Hot-tubing, traveling, cruising, I do a lot of cussing. I’m overweight, and will lie to your face about being okay with that. I work for a great boss, enjoy my job when it goes smoothly, and have named one of my tools “Bertha.” I’ve had three girlfriends, been shot-down more times than I want to recall, and lost my virginity. I’ve been told that I’m an excellent kisser. I’m overly romantic, sensitive, enjoy sunsets, raised by my mother, can give you off-the-cuff fashion advice, and feel more comfortable talking to group full of women than men. I have a best friend, and I miss that bastard something fierce. I’m Icelandic by birth, southerner by flesh, Oklahoman by heart, and Californian by unfortunate circumstance. That part about me singing? I lied. I sing about as well as Johnny Rotten. I am in love with the girl that’s 99% perfect. Perhaps I’m too blunt and realistic.

But all these things describe what I am, not who I am. So who am I?

I am the joy on a small child's face unwrapping Christmas gifts. I am the broken heart of a widowed solders wife. I am the tear of the just engaged, and the tear of the just lost. I am the bravery of the child hero, and the fear of the teenage incarcerated. I am whoever and whatever I choose to be. I am.

Johnny Rumble

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Johnny Rumble:
Johnny's Folly part 5

“What? What are you talking about?” I was panicking in between hard breaths. I hadn’t run that hard in a while.

“Oh now,” the pricks accent was dripping with sneer, “another fucking misfit into the ranks of the Phoenix. Your not local, and you sound like your from that fucking city…umm…”

One of the guys that was holding me against the wall spoke up, “Tulsa?”

“Yeah, yeah, Tulsa. You from that wanker filled town?” Mr. Privileged sneered again. I just chuckled. His stupidity is really amazing. Unfortunately, he took this opportunity to place his fist in my gut. I was already gasping, and that forced what ever oxygen I had in my lungs out. “I asked you a fucking question. You gonna answer it, or am I gonna have to hit you again?”

When I stopped coughing I looked up at him and said, “You asked two, which one was…” His fist came crashing into my jaw. Split-lip, great. “Asshole.”

“What did you say to me?” His accent was really thick now. Must have pissed him off.

“You heard me. I called you an asshole, asshole. And I’ll add weenie to that too.”

From out of know where he pulled out a switchblade and started waving it around. “I should cut you up for that motherfucker. Like a fucking clam.”

“A clam?” My eyes never left his switch. “Your mom’s clam was good last night hombre. Little salty, but…” One of the guys that were holding me sucker punched me other side of my jaw. I stopped talking after that.

“You think your funny? Fucking funny?” He thrust the knife at me, but stopped short of piercing skin. “How’s that for funny? Face all scrunched up ready for pain. You look fucking retar…”

“Yippie Ki Ya, mother fuckers!” A tanned missile came hurtling out from the direction the distinctly Australian accent. Out of no where, James, or I think it was James, bowled the knife wielding ego maniac over with a brick. For some reason, the guy holding my left arm let go. Perfect. I took a shot at the guy on my right and nailed him in the eye.

I saw Paul, Jack, Sam, Danny and the rest come running into the fray and clean house quickly. Paul pulled me out of it and kept me covered. When I next looked, all the guys that attacked me were on the ground moan and groaning, or were plain knocked out. Sam took the opportunity and smashed a bottle over some guys head and little bits of glass exploded about. Mark and Keith were double timing somebody, and Danny seemed to have broken the knife wielding maniac in two. It was over in less than a minute.

“Jesus, where the hell did you guys come from?” was all I could say.

Mark grinned, “From the magical land of Oz. We thought about bringing flying monkeys but…”

Paul interrupted, “What’s it matter? You’re safe now. Here, lemme have a look at ya.” He grabbed my face rather roughly, and took a look at the cut on my lip. “Ah, that’s nothing. You’ll be alright. Come on.” Paul and Danny slapped me on the shoulder and we started walking out of the alley with everybody else following.

We never made it.

Thirty guys blocked our way out and they looked angry. “Alpha, alpha, alpha,” they chanted, over and over again. It was Keith who broke the silence of our measly group of ten.

“So what? You wankers want a go? Then come on you lard asses!” Keith gave them a single finger and told them where to stick it. They responded with several bottles and bricks through the air. I immediately started backing up and looking down the other direction.

“There’s no way out. Right there is only way.”

I turned, “What?”

Paul pointed, “That’s the only exit.” I looked on in horror at the odds we faced and the severity that our wounds will be. I was more amazed when Paul started egging the group as well.

“What the hell are you doing?!” I yelled at him.

Jack pulled me away, “You want out? That’s your only way. You fight your way out. Survival of the fittest. You gonna survive?” He slapped me on the back on the head, “Of course you are. You’re with us.” He smiled broadly amongst the chorus of shouting and jeering. It was like a war zone minus the explosions and gunfire.

“Come on boys!” I heard Danny shout, “Let’s go!”

Jack grabbed my hoodie and practically dragged me as he ran. Our two groups were going full on with a head of steam, and nothing was going to stop us. I did finally catch my feet and was able to get going, but by then it was too late. Rick had committed to a running dropkick, and connected against some poor blokes chest, Danny had smashed his fist into another guys face, Juan and Mark weren’t so lucky and both got knocked down quickly. Jack actually used me as a bowling ball of sorts and hurled me into few guys.

I felt a punch to the side of my head, but no pain. I fired right back and kept going. The feeling of collapsing flesh and broken cartilage under ones fist only inspires him to commit to more, and I did just that. My elbow connected with a neck, my boot with a knee, and my head with a nose. I would have kept going had it not been for somebody knocking knee out from under me. I went down and it gave somebody the perfect shot against my cheek bone. I felt my head whip around and several pops in my neck. Hitting the ground, I saw that Danny had somebody in a head lock and was punching them, James wasn’t in such good shape, as he looked knocked out and bleeding, and Juan was pinned much as I had been and getting abused.

So this is it. This is life on the brink.

Fuck it.

I kicked. I kicked hard. I felt it connect it with something. The victim was howling in pain, and went flying down the ground. I didn’t care. I leapt to my feet and went after the next guy I could find. A kick to the back of knee, a reverse headlock, and an elbow to the chest and I was moving. A broken bone, a sickening snap, screams of pain and misery. A victim of my boots and their face in the wrong place. Blood covered the ground and people lay where they fell clutching what ever hurt the worst.

I liberated Juan from his captivity and delivered a Glaswegian Kiss, one forehead to nose and sent his assailant falling. Juan took care of the rest between wiping blood from his eyes. I picked up a loose brick and hurled it somebody’s shoulder and it connected. Follow through with kick of the chest and they’re toast.

I saw guys retreating, saw them running away.

“Come on! Where the fuck you going chicken shit?!” I yelled after them. I was able to clothesline another guy before he escaped and he fell hard, smashing the back of his head on the concrete below. “Come on! Come on!” I bellowed.

I looked for more guys to beat, and instead saw Danny was the only one of my friends’ still standing, if only just. Paul was slumped over in a corner, Sam was lying on the ground, breathing and conscious, but not moving. Rick managed to get to feet and started tending to James. Keith and Mark pulled Juan up and got him back to the real world.

Danny walked over and threw his arm around my neck, “You are fucking ballistic. What happened inside that head of yours?” he asked poking it gently.

“Nothing. Total space.”

Paul was up and moving by this time. As was everybody else.

It was over. And we were free.

I dreamed about her again. She was angry. Very angry. Shouting words, but I could not hear them. She was crying and I didn’t know what about. Those vibrant colors were back, but no lights were on. Somewhere a door opened and I fell through, and it closed behind me.

My eyes fluttered open and were met with darkness. I heard someone’s feet padding over to the window, and when I looked, the flood gates burst forth. I squinted and saw Paul’s silhouette.

“How you feeling?” he asked.

I lay back down and pulled the covers over my head. “Like I got hit by a Mack fucking truck.” Paul pulled the covers back off me and handed me a bottle of water and bottle of aspirin.

“Take ‘em. Your head will feel smaller. Then get dressed. I’m hungry.”

“Oh yes, always on your damn clock,” I muttered under my breath. I sat up and popped two pills and washed them down. I tried to stand up, and immediately sat back down. Then I took two more pills and tried again. I made it this time and stumbled to the bathroom.

I stood in the tub and turned on shower full blast. Letting the extremely cold water wash over me, I thought, There’s something I’m forgetting here. I went to scratch myself and found cloth in the way. Oh yeah. I took off my boxers, wrung them out as best as I could and threw them over the shower rod. Finally free, I scratched as I pleased and started to rinse off the dirt and dried blood on my skin. I found many cuts and scrapes, and a few gashes, but nothing was still bleeding. My chest and arms were bruised and neck felt it had been snapped.

God damn it. What the fuck happened yesterday?, I thought as I toweled off. Damn it. Forgot my clothes. I wrapped my towel around my waist and walked out for my bag. I found Paul and Danny both sitting at the table reading the paper.

“Jesus Christ Danny, Israel invaded Lebanon. Look, look at this,” he said handing Danny the paper, “Hunting terrorists they say. I tell ya Danny, the worlds just getting more and more unsafe with every passing day. Johnny, you see this? Israel and Lebanon. Jesus.”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard.” I grabbed my bag out of the linen footlocker and walked back to the bathroom. I closed the door, slipped some new boxers on, and looked in the mirror. Two day beard? Or three? I went fishing for my razor, but paused. Fuck it. And fuck the deodorant too. Regardless, I put some on. Stupid habits. I fished out a clean pair of jeans, shirt and socks. I felt cold so I pulled out a cleaner, less torn up sweatshirt that had the word “FUCK” emblazoned it and put it on. Just how I feel. Much better.

I walked back out and put my bag back in the footlocker and pulled on my socks and considered my boots. Too much effort. I yanked out my bag once more and grasped my Adidas. Thank god for slip on. I turned to Paul, “You said something about food.”

“Nice shirt,” he replied.

We ended up at a place called Murphy’s for breakfast. Their menu was simple, and I was grateful for it. Two eggs, wheat toast, and some grilled deli ham with a carafe of coffee to wash it down. Paul, Danny and I were pretty much silent on the way over and it was deafening. I had to break it…after I got another bite of toast. This plum jam fuckin’ rocks!

Between bites, I asked, “So how’s it going guys?”

Paul spoke, “We thought we’d ask you the same thing.”

Yeah huh. “Okay then. I’m fine. A little beat up and bruised and wondering why that is, but fine otherwise.”

“You got in tussle with several men Johnny.”

“Okay Danny, but why is that. Why did we…I get attacked? And who are the Phoenix?”

Paul spoke again, “You sure you want to know the answer to that?” I remained silent and ate my ham, never taking my eyes from his. He sighed. “We are the Phoenix. We are a firm. And you are part of it now too.”

Wednesday, December 05, 2007

First snowfall of the season.

Oi Oi!
So I've actual news. Yes I know it's a shock, but fear not loyal reader(I'm taking it for granted at least one poor person checks this every week for updates)but I've updates that have been a long time coming.

So I've started writing, have this little idea but since its finals coming up, I'll work more on the four hour trip home, but really I think it should be kinda fun, since I've not sat down and wrote in ages. Will admit that it was a bit of a struggle at first but as I sat longer it came back to me, not that it says all that much right?

So I can't remember, but at some point I may have mentioned that I had to do a term paper. Well I finished it and got the grade and I must say that I'm pretty pleased. The grade was a C+, which considering it was the longest thing that I've written, seven pages about northern Virginia traffic(I'm never doing that again).

Today it snowed down at RU, and though it stopped around midmorning, Northern Va got hit a bit, which means schools probably canceled knowing them.

The pictures are of the snow, me, and my hall mate Justin.

Well thats all for now, I shall report again when my first semester of College is done, or if anything interesting happens between now and then. Cheers

OH yah before I forget, John dude last I checked your kicking my ass in yahoo football, but Torres is back and I got babel up top, so let the red machine roll on.

- Does anyone who read this think that french team actually have a chance?

after Beskitas, Newcastle, Porto and Bolton, I don't think so.

and another aside: hull lost 3-0 away to preston, exact reverse of the game at the KC, well the weekend can only be up..positive thoughts!!!

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Come On England.

Hope everyones well, and the holiday goes well.

Alright folks as I write this at 4:37 pm East Coast time, Croatia have just scored, to make it 2-3. As seeing I'm already on pins and needles, this is turning out to be a real good day, what with one of my posts for the teeth implants not sitting, so now I have to wait four more months for it to heal, then put a new on in, which then means another four month wait until a crown gets built over it.


Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Johnny Rumble:
Johnny's Folly part 4

The stadium erupted into a chorus of screams and shouts and uproarious cheer when the referee’s whistle sounded three times to signal the end of the match. The victory drought was over, and Greensea was hoisting the GM Trophy silver over their heads in celebration. The score line had taken on an embarrassing look at the end of the game. Five brilliant Greensea goals to zero from the Pilgrim side.

I was standing on my chair shouting celebrations myself, as were the rest of the 17,000 fans in Independence Stadium. Thirty-eight years of heart ache and disappointment were being worked out of Greensea’s system right now. A few of the players were even leaving the relative safety of the pitch to jump into the stands to party with the fans. Security was having a hell of a time keeping some sort of order amongst the chaos surrounding them. Eventually, the people did settle down and slowly exit the stadium. Our own group met up outside the gates to decide what to do next.

“Hey Mark,” Sam said with a twinkle in his eye, “Why don’t you try and set something up. Mid town. Near the depot.” Mark left the circle and pulled out his phone to make some calls. All the other were visibly excited.

I was curious, as always, about the habits of my new-found friends. “So what are we doing now?”

Sam looked me over like I was a little stupid, sighed and said, “We’re going to go see some people near the bus depot. Have ourselves some of fun. And you’re coming with. Ya might learn a few things.”

Paul slapped me on the back, “Damn right your coming.”

Okay, I thought, some more people to remember and memorize. Should be fun. I looked around and saw hundreds of people. My eyes fell on one woman in the crowd and when she flipped her brown hair back over her shoulder it had purple tips. Her! I stared and once again lost my train of thought. I want to, need to talk to her. She turned her head and searched for something. She found me. Her smile was genuine and sincere, and very, very teasing. Her eyes locked with mine and seemed to say, “Come on, you know you want to.”

I turned to Paul and Sam without taking my eyes off her, “Sorry guys, but, uhhh, something has come up. Meet you back at the pub later?”

Paul turned and followed my eye sight, but didn’t see what I was staring at. “Alright, you know your way around?” I nodded, incoherent. “Okay, just be careful. Listen to me. Be careful.” I nodded again and took off toward the “come-hither” eyes.

Rick turned to Paul when I was out of sight, “You know there were Bushwackers in that stadium. You know they looked us over and sized us up. Hell, there are more coming down the corridor right now. Be here in an hour. And you know that they will go after him if he’s alone. So why?”

“Because this might get him involved sooner and faster than if we dragged him into it. Let him go, and let them follow.”

I ran after her, trying to catch up. Unfortunately, in the rush to leave Paul and the others, I had lost sight of her. I looked around, in and out of the crushes of fans leaving Independence Stadium. I peered down streets and around corners until I caught sight of her. She was walking with a sort of arrogance, hands clasped behind her back, bouncing from one step to the other, as she knew I was there and she was waiting for me to catch up.

I jogged after her, and when I finally did, I fell in step, walked a dozen steps before turning and asking, “What are you doing down here in Greensea?”

Her response was immediate, “I could ask you the same thing. My parents live here, and I’ve never seen you in Greensea before today. So what’s your excuse?”

I turned to her and walked sideways, “Excuse?”

“Yeah, excuse, nobody comes to here with out very good reason.”

“Well,” I paused to put my next words in proper order, “That day in the elevator, that was my last day in university.”

“You graduated?”

“No, I was expelled, tossed out, excommunicated.”

“And that would explain why you look really down the tubes. So why did you come down here?”

“Yeah, yes it would, and I’m staying with a friend until I can get sorted.” I changed the subject, “You said that your folks lived in the here with a hint of disdain. This place isn’t your home?”

She frowned a little, “No, Greensea isn’t my home. After I graduated high school, my parents moved up here from Charleston. I wasn’t excited about it, but it made them happy.”

“Charleston is a nice place, why’d they move? Career opportunities?” The ones that never knock. Every job they of…I cleared the song in my head. Pay attention, moron!

“Yeah, career. His last boss screwed him out of his job, and so he came up here.” I could tell she was getting antsy about the topic, and she did, in fact, change it, “You enjoy the game?”

“Yes, very much so. I gotta say, I wasn’t that big a fan of football until today. My friend, the guy I’m staying with, Paul, introduced it to me. I’m hooked.” We turned down another road that looked like it was the main street of the town.

She turned to me and asked, “You hungry? I haven’t eaten all day, I’m craving some Mexican food, and there’s this small place about two blocks from here.”

I turned and was snared once again by the depth her gorgeous blue eyes. “God, your eyes are beautiful.”

She laughed and poked me in the stomach, “Thank you, but that doesn’t answer my question. Would you like to get an early dinner?”

I thought about for a few seconds and accepted. We continued walking and talking about nothing and everything. I was relaxed for the most part. There was that part of brain that was screaming Get in her pants! but I ignored it. The Mexican place she talked about, named “Mi Madre’s,” really was a small place. Only three tables and they were covered in yesterday’s issue of the newspaper. An old jukebox was sitting the corner crooning out a mix of rockabilly and old Spanish folk songs. It was actually a really nice place.

She walked up to the register and an old heavy-set woman came out from the back, and exclaimed with a thick Mexican accent, “Sadie! I haven’t laid eyes upon you in many days, senorita! How have you been? You haven’t flunked out of college now have you? And who is this bum you bring into my store, huh?” She stuck her chin out at me and smiled.

“Madre, be nice. He may look scruffy, but he’s gentle. Madre, meet Johnny, Johnny Rosita.” She hugged me and kissed me on the cheek like a son.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Miss Rosita, and this store you have has some real character to it,” I said after she released me.

“Oh please, call me Madre. You make me feel so stodgy,” Rosita blushed. She turned back to, Sadie was it?, and asked, “The usual plate, dear? Or should I make it two?”

“Two please, and two cervesas.”

“Oh what,” Rosita turned stern, “I don’t see for days, then you come in here and insult me and my store by asking for alcohol.” Madre waved a finger at Sadie, “You know I don’t have that rubbish in my store.”

“Then tell me, Madre, why do I smell tequila on your breath?”

Rosita broke into a big bright smile, and patted Sadie on the cheek, “Never could get that past you could I? Two plates, twenty minutes.” Sadie grabbed me by the hand, Wow, her skin is soft, and pulled me to a table. I felt a snap of a towel on my butt, and heard Madre saying, “Behave Johnny, I’m watching you.”

Sadie turned and sighed out, “Madre!” She just threw her hands up and walked back to the kitchen laughing. “You’ll have to forgive her, she rarely sees me with a man, and her natural maternal instinct takes over.”

“No, it’s alright, I like her, your mother is cool,” I replied.

“Mother? Oh, no, no, she’s not my mom. Just a very close friend. I help out here when I can, and I just started calling her Madre one day, and it stuck. She pretty much is my second mom though.”

“Ah, okay. Makes sense. But here’s another question. How’d you know my name, Miss Sadie? As far as I can remember, we never properly introduced ourselves.”

Sadie giggled. “How badly do you want to kick yourself?”

“Apparently pretty badly, if I can’t remember such a pretty face.”

She blushed a bright crimson hue, “I’m not pretty, but thanks. I sit about two rows behind you in Economics, and my roommates are all infatuated with you and your… ‘Gentleman Solider’ attitude. And you start singing the Pogues, I’m going to hurt you.”

“I wasn’t, don’t worry. My attitude? They liked the fact that I pull pranks, thumb noses, and…”

“Steal cars?” Sadie poked.

“Yes, steal expensive, bright yellow Italian cars,” I poked back, “So what do you know about that?”

“I know what you did was wrong, but you did it for the right reasons. But I’m still not sure I can support such crime sprees.”

“Well, that was my last one, I promise,” I place my left hand on my heart and the right in the air. Sadie laughed, and was about to say something, but Rosita came sweeping out of the kitchen with two massive plates of food, and two condensation wrapped Coronas.

I looked at my watch because it hadn’t seemed like twenty minutes, and Rosita confirmed it. “Hoolio saw you coming down the street while on completely unhealthy smoke break, and started cooking. Eat up, enjoy, and leave big tips.” Both Sadie and I laughed at what Rosita said as she swept back into the kitchen. Sadie called her thanks after her.

Looking down at my near over-flowing plate, I saw Spanish rice, refried beans, two enchiladas, a burrito the size of both my fists, a pile of tortilla chips and in a separate cup on the plate, flan. My eyes bulged, and I just didn’t know where to begin. It all smelled so good, and my mouth was watering. I heard Sadie’s voice ask me, “Don’t know where to start?” I nodded, and she told me to start out with the rice. Picking up the silver fork, I dived straight in. I was overwhelmed by the taste of everything.

I looked up at Sadie, and she was chowing down on her burrito. I swallowed what I had in my mouth and said, “This is excellent. It’s a foodgasm. I mean, it’s just brilliant.” I took a bite of enchilada and found it filled with seasoned chicken, cheese, and small pockets of diced green pepper. If I hadn’t of already been with Sadie, that would have been heaven right there on that plate.

Our conversation continued between bites and pulls from our beer. I learned that she was hoping to become a doctor, that she could play blues guitar, and that she had an odd attraction to the bagpipes.

“Odd? That’s not odd. Bagpipes have that drone that just draws you deeper into the melody and caress your very soul,” I got lost in what I was saying and started to reminisce, “It’s the type of instrument that if you go long with out listening to it, it calls out to you and drives you mad. To think I stopped playing.” I let out a long low sigh.

“You play?” Sadie asked in amazement.

I snapped out of my thoughts and realized that I had said. Shit, I didn’t want THIS to be a topic. Oh well. “Used to play. Haven’t blown up the bag in three years.”

“Why not?” she asked. Her eyes were glistening with interest.

I sighed again and composed my thoughts. “Three years ago, my sister died. Shot in a 7-11 by a crook. She tried to be a hero and died,” I was delivering a death grip to the fork in my hand, “My parents wanted me to play at her funeral, but I couldn’t. I still can’t play today with out thinking about her. She got me hooked into the pipes.” I looked into Sadie’s eyes and saw that she had regretted asking me about it. “It’s okay. It’s not really something ashamed of, but it does hurt to talk about it.” I drained my third bottle of Corona, placed it back on the table, and covered the mouth with the coaster. My plate was as empty as I could make it and pushed it away from me. I looked at Sadie’s plate and it was completely devoid of food. Where the hell did she pack all that away?

“You done?” she asked and I nodded. “Mind if I have the rest of your rice and beans?”

I gave her a surprised look and she laughed, knowing what I was thinking. “I don’t know how, but I can pack food away like a bear.”

“And just how do you maintain that girly figure of yours?”

“I run. Lots of it. Habitual. I try to get two or three miles every week day and five miles of Saturday.”

“Amazing,” was all I could say, “If I did that much I think I’d keel over and die.”

Once again, Rosita came flying out of the kitchen and cleaned up our table quickly. She quickly pointed at me and asked, “Food good, you going to come back?” I nodded and she continued, “You going to treat Sadie right and be a gentleman with her?”

Sadie reeled and exclaimed, “Madre!”

I chuckled and waved Sadie down. “If the bonnie lassie is willing to give me the chance, yes, I will be a gentleman and treat her right.” I knew Sadie was blushing for the second time.

Rosita seemed satisfied with the answer and took the dishes away calling back, “No charge this time. Treat her wrong, and I’ll beat you with a rolling pin. And don’t think I won’t.” She was gone for less than a minute and she was back out with a to-go box of more rice and beans for Sadie.

Sadie turned to me after Rosita left and asked, “I have a bus to catch back to the University in 15 minutes. Care to walk with me?”

“I’d be delighted to.”

I knew Rosita was probably watching, so I held the door open for Sadie as we walked out. Back out into the sunshine, we hooked a left and walked toward the bus station. “Seeing as how you made a quite blatant Pogues reference in the restaurant, I’m going to guess that you listen to a lot Celtic-themed music. Dropkick Murphy’s, Dubliners, Bloody Irish Boys and the like.”

“You’d be right. But include a lot of punk rock into that list.”

It was my turn to laugh. “I knew it! It’s not an ordinary chicka that dyes her hair and paints her fingernails the way you do.”

“Oh, and what about you, with your worn out hoodie and torn up and faded jeans. Your sky blue hair is quite out there too.”

“Hey! I like my hair! It’s distinctive,” I raved.

“So what music do you listen to?” she asked.

“Oh, punk music mostly. But I do enjoy an occational foray into classical and opera. Wagner’s Die Walk├╝re is a great piece of Viking mythology. And don’t get me started on Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition.”

“Chances are you’re familiar with Holst.”

The Planets is an absolutely amazing set of pieces. How do you know about Holst?”

“Our orchestra teacher in High school was obsessed with Holst. They’d play at least one pieces everyday. Drove me insane.” Sadie pointed toward a building emblazoned with the Greyhound logo. Several busses were sitting outside waiting for passengers and luggage. We walked inside and saw a few people milling about or sleeping on the chairs. I waited for Sadie by the door while she took care of her bus ticket.

It took her a few minutes, but when she got done, she headed in my direction and back into the outdoors. Naturally, I followed her flowing purple-tipped auburn hair to her waiting bus. At the bus door, she turned to me and looked me in the eyes. “Thanks for spending time with me. I enjoyed it.”

I looked into her eyes and responded in kind. I took both of her hands in mine and gave them a light squeeze. “So will I get a chance to see you again?” I asked.

She gave me a mischievous smile, “Maybe. Just maybe.” Sadie let go of my hands, boarded her bus, and waved goodbye from her seat. I waved back and watched the bus pull out and whisk Sadie back to the campus I can never return to. I turned and left the station and started to retrace my steps back to the stadium. I hope I do get to see her again. That would be very, very nice. I whistled the tune to the Pogues, “Gentleman Solider” as I walked. I noticed that there was a group of people in front of me, and I moved to get out of the way of them.

They moved back into my way, and I moved again to get out of the way. I frowned when they, once again got into my way. There were four of them, and they looked like they had a mission. I paused on the sidewalk and thought about turning the other way.

And then somebody threw a bottle.

I heard it crash and shatter behind me as I sprinted away from the group that was keen on hurting me. I heard them run after me, shouting, cajoling. I heard none of it and kept my legs pumping. Down one street, then another, in and out of tunnels, through a backyard or two or six. I lost count. I kept the distance between me and them.

I didn’t see it coming. The two guys waiting behind the corner an alley I was trying to round. It was like I had hit a brick wall of human flesh. Pinning me against the alley wall, the two guys waited for the other four. It was only a short time, and I struggled against the bonds these people had me in.

A guy, who reminded me of the stereotypical privileged suburban white son, strode up to me and sneered in a thick New England accent, “So you need to tell me where that faggot leader is of the Phoenix, or you won't be walking out of this alley."

Johnny Rumble

Monday, November 05, 2007

Johnny Rumble:
Johnny's Folly part 3

“So Johnny, tell me, how many did you let through?”

The laughing was deafening. The whole group was giving me a good bashing about my first football game. I had done ridiculously terrible. So terrible in fact, that I had run out of both fingers and toes to keep track. I was laughing right along with them, so it wasn’t any sort of deal. I had had plenty of fun. The game we played was able to push out all the bad things that had happened recently.

“I don’t know Jack,” I took a sip of my Guinness, “I lost count somewhere around 20.”

The laughs started up again and it gave me a chance to take stock of my surroundings. Our game had ended about half an hour ago, and we had made our way back to the bar to get our own anticipation levels up and going. The bar itself was filled with many other fans of Greensea. People were laughing, chanting, singing, and drinking lots and lots of booze. Our group was seated in a corner booth, drinking plenty of beer.

Paul stood up and raised his glass, “To Johnny! The worst keeper ever!”

Everybody raised their glasses together and shouted, “Here! Here!”

When we sat back down, James grabbed my shoulder and looked me in the eye, “Before the game you said something about having a style before you got kicked out of University? What else did you do to that greedy son-of-a-bitch?”

I laughed. “Oh fuck man. I did every thing to that old bastard. I took a shit on his office chair, saran wrapped his car doors shut, and I think the best one I ever did is when I broke into his office in the middle of the night and took all the bolts, nails, and screws out of his desk. When he came in the morning, I was his first appointment. It took a few minutes to get him angry enough, but when he slammed fist on the desk, it completely collapsed on him.” Everybody had a good laugh at the Deans mis-fortune. I continued, “And there was the time I fucked with his computer. That one was a pure riot. Not even the campus IT could figure it out.”

Juan leaned forward and asked, “How you do it?”

“Well, there are computer keyboards that are known as “ABC” boards. Instead of the typical “QWERTY” set up, I swapped in an “ABC” keyboard and re-arranged the keys into the “QWERTY” set up. The dean couldn’t get any work done for a week,” I drained my beer, “I did loads to screw with him. Perhaps it’s a good thing I’m out of there. Anybody need some more drink?” I asked lifting my glass.

“Yeah man,” Sam said, “Bring another round for the table and a couple of pitchers of beer. St. Paulie’s Girl.”

“And a packet of those cracker like things that you put in chowder,” Mark requested.

“Oyster Crackers?”

“Yeah, yeah, those.”

I saddled up to the bar and waited for Danny. I grabbed a few packages of the crackers that Mark wanted and threw them across the room in his direction. He caught one or two, but the rest fell helplessly on the table, the chairs, or to Juan’s distinct determent, in his glass of beer. He laughed, fished it out, and tossed it at Mark’s head.

Danny had worked his way down to me and asked, “Lemme guess, another round?”

“Yes sir, But not Guinness. St. Paulie’s Girl. And two extra pitchers.”

“You got it,” the gruff barman replied. “You looking forward to the match today?”

“Oh yeah,” I suddenly remembered, “I keep meaning to ask, who’s playing?”

“Greensea versus Pilgrims. Pilgrims are out of Plymouth, Massachusetts. They are one of the stronger League 1 sides out there, so it should be a very good match. Here’s your tray,” Danny handed me a tray with nine overflowed glasses and two pitchers filled to the brink with beer.

Carefully making my way back to the booth, I maneuvered between chanting crowds of fans. Thankfully, I got back without spilling too much of the gold booze. The tray was empty of glasses and pitchers before it hit the surface of the table.

“Hey, Hey!” James exclaimed, “It’s our song! It’s Johnny’s Song!”

Paul threw his empty arm around me and pulled me into the crowd to sing. I didn’t know the words as it was, and the slurring crowds didn’t make deciphering them any easier. Never the less, I tried to sing along with the crowds.

“Where are the eyes that look so mild?
Huroo Huroo
Where are the eyes that look so mild?
Huroo Huroo
Where are the eyes that look so mild,
When our poor hearts you first beguiled?
Why did you run from we and the child?
Johnny, we hardly knew ya!

You had guns and drums and drums and guns
Huroo Huroo
You had guns and drums and drums and guns
Huroo Huroo
You had guns and drums and drums and guns
The enemy never slew ya!
Johnny, we hardly knew ya!
Johnny, we hardly knew ya!”

The crowd started clapping and shouting, “Greensea F.C.,” as loud as their voices could. As people veered off into another song, Paul pushed me out of the sea of people back toward the booth. I grabbed my glass of beer and Paul patted me on the shoulder. Pretty soon, everybody was back and sitting down. People were beaming pride and happiness. I was curious as to what the song was all about so I took a deep gulp of St. Paulie’s and put my question out in the open.

“The song?” Keith asked, and I nodded. “Well, the song is an old Bostonian tune. There’s many more verses than what we sing here. You see, way back in the 60’s, you know, hippie era and Vietnam, well, back then, Greensea had a player by the name of John Hawthorne. Greatest player we ever had,” our group started murmuring their approval, “The bloke was bloody brilliant on the pitch. Unfortunately, the government swiped him out of Wailer Grounds to go fight at Nam Fo in Vietnam. He never came back from that rotten valley. The town was devastated. The team suffered. When his body came back, the whole town showed up at his internment.”

“But what about the song? You said it came from Boston…”

“Hold your horses, I’m getting there. During the 60’s, there was a lot of off the pitch rivalry between the clubs. There were ‘social clubs’ called firms that supported the teams, and they fought each other. At that time, Greenseas biggest rival was Boston A.F.C. The firms fought each other at every game the teams played, and at some games they didn't. It was vicious. Well, after Hawthorne was brought back for his funeral, the entire Greensea firm showed up to pay respects. What we didn’t expect was when the Boston firm showed up. Bad blood was made sourer instantly.

“The two leaders had some words, and nobody knows what was said. But what’s known is that no blows were exchanged. Boston and Greensea stood side by side paying respects to a fallen footballer. Boston sung Johnny’s Song in a low voice, and then left. Since that day, Boston A.F.C. and Greensea F.C. have never had a problem. The club unofficially adopted it as the supporter’s song. We’ve been singing it ever since.”

“That’s quite a history. Really. Amazing actually,” I said between sips of my beer. I noticed that Paul was glancing at his watch with anticipation. “What’s up Paul?” He got up from his seat and walked over to the bar. He stopped at a brass bell hanging from the ceiling, reached up and grasped the rope with his hand. The room quieted down until you could hear a drop of beer hit the floor.

“Lads…I think you know what day it is. Today is the day of the finals. The last stepping stone on the way to claiming the GM Trophy Dash. I want that day to be today. I want a victory that we can be proud of for years to come. Now, unfortunately, we face a club that we haven’t beaten in 38 years. We face the Pilgrims today.”

The bar erupted in a chorus of boos and hisses.

“I know lads, I know. It’s been a long time coming. We want to see that silver hoisted on the shoulders of the mighty Fleet. Today is Finals day. Today is Match Day!” Paul started ringing the bell like there was a fire in Johnny’s Folly, and there pretty much was. The whole place went mad with excitement. People were completely empting their half empty beers in the air, arms were waving everywhere, people were yelling, and it seemed that the whole place became the mosh pit from when Bad Brains played CBGB’s New Years 82-83. Paul shouted, “Let’s get ‘em boys!”

The place emptied out on the streets on Greensea, and the fans were pushing and shoving their way out the doors. Everybody had literally gone mad. Viking mad. It’s must have been Jack that started to gather the troops with song and chant, the French accent was unmistakable, “Do you think you’re mental?”

The crowd responded, “Yes, we’re fucking mental!”

“Do you think you’re mental?”

“Yes, were fucking mental! Yes, we’re fucking mental!”

Jack was at the top of his voice now, “I asked, do you think you’re mental?!”

The amassed human bodies got rowdier, “Yes, were fucking mental! Yes, were fucking mental!” People were slamming into each other, yelling and screaming, and loving every minute of it. I know I would be in there if I wasn’t so stunned at how rabid everyone was. In the not-so-far-off distance I heard a car alarm go off. I just stood and watch from a window in the bar and the fluid movement of the fans causing a ruckus on the streets. Paul came up behind me with his glass of beer in one hand and threw his other around my shoulder.

He took a sip of beer before looking at me, “Rowdy bunch, they are. Every match day it can get like this. Although, I’ve got to say, it’s been a good long while since I’ve seen them this amped up for a match.” He threw his glass over his shoulder and it shattered on the floor. “Come on lad, let’s go have some fun.”

He walked outside, threw his arms in the air and started shouting, “Where are the eyes that look so mild?” The crowd responded by singing Johnny’s Song, Paul took the lead of the mass of fans, and they, we, set off down the street toward the stadium.

I stuck close to Paul’s side and chanted with him where I could. I really was stoked for this match. The energy of the crowd just fed my own fire and zest for life. About three blocks away from the Johnny’s Folly, a few mounted police officers flanked our group and escorted us the rest of the half mile to the stadium. No one seemed to care that somebody with the authority to rain destruction down upon our group was around us. We kept singing, chanting, and shoving each other around, keeping the carefully culled and crafted energy at its peak.

Independence Stadium was a smaller place than what I was imagining. There was only enough seating capacity for ten thousand people, but at both ends of the fields were large green expansive hills for fans to stand or sit on. It really was a small stadium. But what it lacked it size, it more than made up for in character. There were homemade flags being waved by zealous fans, massive seas of Greensea jerseys that flashed dark green and blue. Vendors were hawking merchandise and questionable looking food. Aromas and smells of sweat and stale beer filled my nostrils. Many people were chanting club songs and insults at the visiting Pilgrims.

The cinder block walls supporting the stands were being spray painted with personal messages to the players. One guy had even sprayed in bright florescent green, “Never Forget #13.” I learned later that it was Hawthorne that had worn that number and it had been retired after his passing. From our seats right near the pitch, I could smell the freshly cut grass. If heaven were like this place, I’d join the priesthood right now.

Sam was sitting behind me and leaned over into my ear so that he could be heard, “First game right? Prepare to be amazed, because here comes the Fleet now.” He pointed to a tunnel, and sure enough players started to emerge. Everybody started to cheer and whirl shirts, scarves, flags, whatever they could find. One of the ladies near-by us, I noticed, was twirling what looked like bright pink and lacy thong underwear. I couldn’t help but laugh and cheer right along with her and the other fifteen thousand people in Wailer Grounds.

The players took their positions on the pitch in front of us, the announcer was firing up the crowds even more, the referee blew his whistle, and just like our five-a-side match that morning, the Greensea versus Pilgrim kicked off.

Johnny Rumble

Sunday, October 28, 2007

Johnny Rumble:
Johnny's Folly part 2

*Authors note: This story is set in a reality where the NFL, Gridiron, as a sport does not exist. At all. Ever. Soccer, the true football, is the second most dominate sport in America after baseball and before basketball.*

I had some marvelous dreams that night. In them, I had graduated college, found a very good paying job, hooked up with that girl with the purple tipped auburn hair, and was surrounded by people who loved me and I loved them. But right now, I was traveling through a dark place. No lights at all, yet the colors were still as vibrant as ever.

“Hey Johnny!”

I looked around, and there was no one around me. Somebody had called my name, but I don’t know who.

“Johnny, wake up man.”

I wasn’t asleep. So why did they think I was? Suddenly, I felt like I was falling. Like the floor had given way to a vast empty nothingness. I closed my eyes and wanted to scream, but I hit something hard before I could.

My eyes fluttered open and I was staring at the piles in the carpet. Oh, I thought to myself, I was asleep. Why am I on the floor? I cocked my head to the side and saw the Romanian barman set the couch back on the floor. His voice deep voice boomed, “Wake up time devotchka.” I heard a couple of footfalls near my head. I rotated and looked up. Paul was standing above me.

“Morning laddie. Take it you slept well then? Come on, get up. Go wash up. Big day ahead of us.” I apparently didn’t move fast enough. “Come on! Move! Go, go, go!”

I managed to get on two feet and started down the hallway, but I still got a jesting kick to the rear. Groping down the walls, wiping the sleep out of my eyes, I stumbled into the bathroom and flipped on the lights. The harsh florescent lights caused me to yell in pain and squeeze my eyes shut.

“You didn’t fall in, did ya laddie?” Paul yelled. I heard the barman laugh heartily. Ha ha guys, I thought, real fucking funny. I placed my hands on each side of the small sink to balance myself and looked into the mirror. God damn. I rinsed my hands under the cold tap, and brought then to my face to shock the sleep out of me. I did the requisite morning routine on auto-pilot and thought about what that girl had said to me in the elevator.

“Sometimes our worst days lead to our greatest moments.” What did she mean by that? Damn though…she was pretty hot. I shook my head. No no, can’t think that. Even if she was. Damn it!

Paul interrupted by pounding on the door. “Come on! Hurry up! You’re slower than my ex-girlfriend! Jesus, I let you sleep in cause you were sacked out, and now you’re slowing us down!”

“Yeah, okay, damn, what’s the big rush anyway?” I called though the bathroom door. I flushed the toilet and proceeded to wash my hands.

“It’s Saturday Johnny. Football day. Come on, were already late!” I opened the bathroom door and stood in front of him in my boxers. “’Bout time.” He looked up and down at me. “You could go like that, but the boys will give hell for the rest of the day.” He looked back down the hall way, “Hey Danny, throw me the lads clothes.” My jeans from yesterday came flying down the hall and hit Paul in the face. Wrapped in them were my shirt, wallet, and shoes.

“What, no socks?” I asked. A ball of socks also nailed Paul in the face. Quickly donning the articles while hopping after Paul back to the living room, I found the barman sitting on the couch quite amused with himself.

Paul officially introduced us, “Johnny, the barman’s name is Danny. Danny, Johnny, Johnny, Danny. Can we go now?” I offered my hand in a shake, and Danny’s massive hand enveloped and crushed it. He had a friendly smile on his face, but I was still unsure about him. Paul was holding the door open and tapping his foot, “We’re fifteen minutes late! Let’s go!”

Danny took his exit and I was close behind him. Paul once again punted me in the butt. The creaky stairs seemed even worse this morning, and it looked like the bar had yet to open. Regardless, we piled out the front door and into Danny’s Nissan. Once we got going, I asked from the backseat, “What’s going on?”

Paul turned in the passenger to talk to me, “It’s football day. Today’s game day. Greensea verus Charleston.” I looked totally lost. Paul sighed, “We right now are going to a park to play some 5-a-side games with all the lads. Then it’s to the abbey for drinks, then the match and then back to the abbey till we drop from drink”


“The pub. The bar,” he explained. “Don’t they teach you kids anything in school now a days?”

“What’s 5-a-side?” I must have been looking like a total and complete idiot at that point. Even Danny took the time to give me a “How stupid are you?” look in the mirror.

Paul sighed even bigger this time and hung his head, “You know the basics of football right? Eleven players per side, two goals at each end, blah, blah, blah,” I nodded my head, “Well, 5-a-side is just that. Just like football. Only with smaller goals and five players per side.”

I looked at Paul, then at Danny, and back at Paul, “I, uh, don’t play football.”

“That’s alright. This is just for fun. You know, just so we can laugh at each other and run around and have fun,” he turned to Danny, “You bring the ball and the drinks?”

“Yeah, it’s all in the trunk. What, did you think I would forget it?” Danny shot back.

“You have before, I just wanted to make sure.”

I tuned them out as they conversed. I turned my attention instead to the passing buildings and people outside the car window. I watched an old lady struggle down the street with a bag of groceries, a couple of lovers on a street corner holding hands and a lady with purple hair jogging. Purple hair? I quickly turned in my seat to get a better view. It’s her! That girl! I watched her until she was no longer in sight. What is she doing in down here? Maybe she lives here! Which means that maybe…

“Johnny!” I snapped turned and found Paul looking right at me. “Jesus man, what has got you all big eyed and fidgety? Never mind, I don’t want to know. You said you didn’t follow football right?”

I looked right at him and considered my answer. I shrugged, “Yeah, I like basketball.” I thought Danny was going to bust a blood vessel he was laughing so hard.

“Basketball? You like basketball?” His Romanian accent was really coming through now, “Basketball is for weak people. Weak people who like to play weak sports. People from Hungary like to play basketball. That’s why they are so weak. I crush them with my thumb.” He laughed deeply and both Paul and I just had quizzical looks on our faces.

“Anyway,” Paul continued as Danny kept chuckling to himself, “How much do you know about football? Am I going to have to start from the beginning, or can I skip to explaining other things?” I just stared at Paul with a blank face. He sighed. “Alright, you know the basic rules right?” I nodded. “That’s good. I can move on to the league system. You see, football has leagues at every level. At the very top is the North American Premiership. Both Canadian and American clubs participate. You’ve probably heard of the Los Angeles United or Toronto F.C or Chicago Fire. Well those clubs are top flight clubs. Below that the Canadian system and the American split into their own systems.

“Here in the United States, tier two is the American League. Clubs like Boston A.F.C, Washington United, and Detroit Steel play in that league. It goes down from there. League 1, League 2 and on down to the local levels. Twenty-five tiers in all. Something on the order of 700 different leagues that make up those tiers. What most people don’t know is that all the teams and clubs can be promoted or relegated in system. So like those guys there,” he pointed out the window toward a group of guys in jerseys playing a game of football, “can make it all the way up to the Premiership. And clubs like L.A. United can fall all the way down to the local league in Los Angeles.”

I understood what he was saying, but I really failed to grasp the big picture. I decided I’d figure it out later. “What about Greensea? Where are they?” I inquired. I had never heard of them, so I figured they weren’t a huge club.

“Ah, Greensea F.C. The '9th Fleet' as they are known as informally. They are a League One side right now. Last year we were an American League team, but we got rocked by a scandal and AFA docked us points and subsequently relegated.”

“AFA? Who’s that? And the '9th Fleet?'”

“The American Football Association. The governing body of the leagues. The reason thiey are called the 9th Fleet is that with every manager we've had a distinct and different style of footie has shown itself on the pitch. Greensea is on it's ninth manager since the clubs resurrection in the modern era. Hence, the 9th Fleet.”

"The '3rd Fleet' was best Fleet Greensea ever had," Danny interjected.

“Oh.” I was amazed. I never knew how deep football ran in this country. My country. Promotion and Relegation? That was alien to me as well. Basketball didn’t have that kind of system. “Wow. I never knew about how deep that system ran.”

Paul looked out the front windscreen and said, “Yeah lad, it’s quite a way to go. Correct me if I’m wrong, but basketball doesn’t have that kind of league play, right?”
“No, it’s all franchises set up by the NBA. No lower leagues.”

“Much more interesting dynamic, football. Isn’t it?”

I had to admit it was. And I was hooked. I wanted to learn more. But it was too late to ask any more questions. We had arrived at our destination. Paul said we were going to a park. It looked more like a mowed field to me. There were several guys sitting around drinking what looked like 40 ounce bottles of beer. I recognized a few of them. Namely, the black guy from last night. The gun nut from Los Angeles I recalled. I couple of them shouted greetings at us. One shouted, “Where the fucks have ya been?” I placed his accent quickly as being French. Paul wasn’t kidding when he said that everybody was an exile.

I heard a whistle and my name shouted behind me. “Catch!” Danny chucked a can at me and I caught it. A large Guinness. “Drink up man. We got a game to play!” He slapped me on the back when he walked past me while carrying the rest of the case of stout. I was a little nervous, so I popped the top and took a sip while waiting for Paul.

“Hey Johnny! Here!” Paul shouted. A football came soaring at me from behind the car and I caught that too between my chest and free hand. He jogged up to me, “Good catch. Come on, let’s introduce you to the rest.” I followed him into the field. I noticed what would be the goals made out of a couple of 4 foot tall poles stuck in the ground. Yeah, I guess that would work out.

Paul placed his hand on my back and pushed me forward. “Lads, this is Johnny. He just got kicked out of college and George sent him down to me. Johnny this is Sam,” pointing the black guy.

He shook my hand, “Wha’s goin’ on?”

Paul pointed to another guy, “That one is Jack.”

I recognized him as the French guy when he spoke, “A pleasure.”

I met the rest of the guys and they all gave me their warm greetings. There was Rick from Korea. He was Caucasian but he was born and spent the first 18 years of his life in Korea. There was James from Australia, and Keith from Detroit, Juan from Mexico and finally Mark. Mark was the only one of the bunch that grew up in Greensea, let alone in the south. And his accent was deeply southern to boot.

“Finish up your beer boys,” that was Keith, “We haven’t played a game since Jerry died, and I’m getting itchy to start.”

Rick looked me over and asked, “So what happened that you got kicked out of college?” I noticed that both Paul and Danny had pricked up their ears, and that everybody else had stopped talking to hear what I had to say.

I took a long pull out of my Guinness before I answered, “I stole the University President’s new Lamborghini,” Rick reeled the slightest bit and I continued, “The guy had been jacking up tuition rates to try and get the lower and middle class kids off the campus, leaving only the upper blueblood class. I guess that he was trying to turn the college into an Ivy League school. So I stole his brand-new bought and paid for with tuition hike money Lambo. I sold it to a chop-shop for two hundred large and gave the money to the students that were struggling in debt.”

Sam whistled, “Ya got some balls kid. Wha’ ya did takes a huge fuckin’ pair of ‘em.”

“Why you no in jail?” Juan asked in broken English.

I shrugged, “They couldn’t pin it on me. They knew it was me because it had my style written all over it, but they couldn’t prove it. Nobody was talking, and everybody was laughing. Instead, they kicked me out on one failing grade.”

Danny quickly changed the subject, “Enough of this pity fest over dirty punk.” I smiled at that comment. “We have something bigger to worry about. Like how you guys are gonna get your ass stomped in this game.” Danny swiped the football out of my arms and pulled Juan and Mark out of the circle. Keith and Jack threw their beers out toward where Danny had dropped the case of Guinness. The sidelines I guessed. Those two bottles were followed by everybody else’s. The group had split up into two smaller groups and Paul had pulled me into his group. Sam, Jack and Keith followed as well.

“Alright,” Paul started when our group had gotten together, “Johnny here has never played. Which means he’s going be our star goalkeeper.” I was taken aback and Sam and Jack just snickered. “Sam, you’re with me up front, and Jack and Keith will try to help poor Johnny as much as possible.” The snickering turned into full on laughter.

“Alright, alright, settle down. Danny thinks he’s going to beat us, and he probably will because Johnny’s going to look like a fool out there.” He smiled at me, and I couldn’t help but join in the riotous laughter. Sam had fallen backwards he was laughing so hard. “Okay okay, seriously now. Johnny, just keep the goals to as close to zero as you can. Nobody is going to keep count, and we’ll all laugh about your misfortune at the pub later.”

“We’re waiting, you pantywaists!” Danny bellowed out. He and his team were set to go. I got into my position and readied myself as best as I could.

Jack looked over his shoulder and winked at me, “You ready?” I nodded. “Then here we go.” He turned his head back around and yelled back at Danny, “You sure you want to do this Danny? I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into!”

Danny smiled. The game kicked off.


Monday, October 22, 2007

Johnny Rumble:
Johnny's Folly part 1

"Fuck man, we need to get a van or something. It's brass fucking monkeys back here," I managed to chatter out.

"Hey Johnny," I turned to the voice in the back of pick-up bed, "buy a coat."

The talking weather-head on Channel 10 said it was going to be a cool, crisp, clear night. It was clear enough to see the stars overhead and the craters on the moon's surface. At least it would be, if it wern't for the streetlights passing overhead at forty miles an hour. As to the cool and crisp, it was cold enough to worry the local fruit growers about frost and freeze.

I closed my eyes and bunched myself up against the biting cold. The noise of the roaring tires, the one note song of the pick-ups engine, and the wrapping around the cab to smack me in the face cause me to remince about everything that had happened in the past 6 months. Fights, parties, blood, love, brothers, guns, insanely good football, and lots of beer and whisky. To think, I used to be just a college kid...

"Jonathan Lewis, stand and hear the verdict." I stood and waited. "It is the verdict of this court," The judge paused. Dramatic fucking effect, I thought to myself. "On the charge of academic misconduct..." Another pause. I wanted to scream out, Just read it you twat! I bit my tounge instead. "Guilty. The sentence of immediate expulsion carries. This tribunal is finished." The gavel rapped and in a swirl of tacky black cloth, the judge left the room.

So that was that. My college career was over. One guilty verdict and I was kicked out of Chester University. Out of every university for that matter. Nobody was going to accept an expelled Chester-head. That thought alone made me want to find the cardboard in a case of beer. I shuffled out of the courtroom and into the waiting sunlight. Stopping and lifting my head skyward, I felt the summer breeze on my cheeks.

Fuck, now I want to get really plastered. Placing one booted foot in front of the other, I started back to my dorm. I had to figure out what to do now. No job, little money and what about the parents? Yanking open the door to the lobby, I walked over to the elevators and punched the button. The polished doors slid open nearly noiselessly, and I walked in. "Yeah, what would my parents say about me getting kicked out?" speaking into thin air, "probably disown me or tell me to join the army. Fuck." I spit on the elevator floor and settled into the corner, hands in my pockets, waiting for the doors to close. I got lost in my thoughts.

Or at least I would have, if not for her.

"Hold the elevator!" a female voice called. Instinctively, I reached out and held the door open. What stepped through was not what I expected. She was a punk rock pin-up fantasy in normal clothes. Smiling politely at me, she pushed a few loose strands of purple tipped auburn hair behind her ear and reached out to the button panel. I noticed she wore black finger nail polish with electric purple accents on both hands.

I shook my head and thought, Come on man, you got more important things to think about. Problem was, when the doors closed, I found she was staring at me through the reflection. She saw a washed-up, withdrawn kid in a torn-up and rumpled hoodie, faded and ripped jeans, and black combat boots. Not to mention the sky blue hair on my head. Returning the look-see, I stared right back. Plain light blue button up shirt that was snug enough to show off her curves, but not tight enough to over do it. Wether she meant or not, she had managed to skewer her buttoning job and had it off by one. Wandering my eyes down met with black shorts that were clearly cut for a man. Suspenders were hanging free from under the shirt, and she wore black boots with white accents to top the package off.

I walked my eyes back up he legs, past her shapely hips and back into her watchful gaze in the reflection. Her deep blue eyes held mine and sucked me in. Time seemed to freeze. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a chime went off. Contact was broken when the elevator doors slid open and the reflection replaced buy a snap back to reality. The punk rock beauty took a step out, paused, and without looking back said, "Sometimes our worst days lead to our greatest moments." I cocked an eyebrow an eyebrow and watched her walk down the hall way until the doors impeded my vision. I was alone again.

The doors to my own floor opened, and there stood the requisite campus cop to escort me. That wasn’t surprising. What was surprising was that it was George who was given the job. “Hey Johnny, sorry to hear about the decision,” he carefully stated.

“Yeah, whatever,” I replied. George and I go back far enough that I knew I could crash at his place anytime I needed to.

“I’m serious man. I did what I could to keep you here. Everybody knows that it’s you that keeps this place from becoming another Ivy League dream-killer. But you gotta admit, stealing the Dean’s new Lamborghini and selling it to a chop-shop was too many toes over the line.”

“Hey!” I threw my arms up in mock innocence. “They couldn’t pin it on me. You know that as well as I do. That’s why they nailed me on my one failing grade. Besides, that money went back to the students that are were in debt because of tuition hikes.” I pulled out my keys and unlocked the door to my room. “Standard fare right? Pack my shit and leave?”

“Have you called you folks yet? You got a plan?” he asked.

“No I haven’t, and I figured I’d stay at your place a couple nights.”

“Sorry mate. No can do on the couch. Jill moved in with me.”

“So? I’ll stay out of her way.” Jill loathed me.

“Remember the last time you were at my place?”

I stared blankly at him as I tried to dredge up drunken memories. “Yeah, gotta find someplace else to stay. And by the way, so were laughing so hard you were crying.”

“You took a shit in my sink man! A shit! In my sink!” he belted out.

“Yeah, and? I cleaned it up, right?”

“After Jill beat my ass three ways to Sunday,” He laughed out. “But that was pretty freakin’ funny. Anyway, I got a mate down in Greensea…yes, its three hours away, but you don’t have to call your parents. But he’s got a couch you crash on. Lemme give him a call for you. He owes me anyway.”

“What, did he defecate in your sink too?” I chuckled.

“Jackass.” George pulled out his cell phone and started punching numbers. “You got some paper?” I pointed in the direction of the desk, and started to shuffle stuff around looking for what he needed. Somebody answered, because George started talking into thin air. I was too busy throwing my clothes into a duffel to hear the words. When I heard his mobile snap shut, I turned around. “Here, that’s the address to meet him at. It’s a pub called, oddly, Johnny’s Folly. Ask the bar keep if Paul is there. He should point out the way.”

“Okay George. And thanks. I owe you one. Just one,” I raised a single finger. Throwing my duffel over my shoulder, I started to walk out.

“Hey, what about this stuff?” George pointed at the still messy desk.

“Won’t be needing it,” I called back.

I found the place easily enough. It was a quaint and mostly quiet place. No flashy neon, no loud music and right on the corner of Green Road and Wycombe Way. A small, simple painted sign identified the place. “Johnny’s Folly,” it read, “Members Only.” Great, I thought to myself, this should be interesting.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and went in. The air was heavy with smoke, and a few people were milling about. A pool table sat unused in the corner. The whole place seemed to be the darker and more insidious set of that TV show Cheers from back in the 80’s. The barkeep was at his station behind the bar and seemed to pull double duty as the bouncer as well. His voice backed the theory up.

“You, pissant!” he barked, pointing at me, “Members bar! Fuck out!” He pointed at the door right behind me with a finger that was bigger than bratwurst. Mmmm…bratwurst, I thought. My stomach rumbled and I didn’t move. “Hey dickhead! I said get the fuck out!”

“I was told by a friend to meet a…”

“You want me to throw you the fuck out then?” he interrupted and started to walk out from the bar. All the eyes in the barroom were now on me. I sighed.

“Meet with Paul. Told to. Where?” I rushed out before I get interrupted again. The barman/bouncer paused.

“You Johnny?” he growled.

“Yeah, I was told to…” His bratwurst finger now moved toward a booth in the corner.

“He’s over there. And you speak like that to me again, I will throw you out,” he menaced.

“Thank you.” I nodded my head in his direction and he sneered in return. The booth the anger-management-issued barman pointed to was occupied by a single man sipping a pint of beer. Stout judging by the dark color and a Guinness I’d have to say, judging by the downward flowing bubbles. Can’t knock a man with good taste. I softly stepped my way over and took stock of the features of the man named Paul. White collared shirt, untucked, and a nice looking pair of grey slacks. His shoes were an odd choice though. White Adidas shell-toes. He reminded me of Leonardo Di Caprio. Only rougher. That has to go down as the gayest observation I’ve ever made.

When I got close enough, he stood and greeted me with an out-stretched hand and some words, “I’ve got to admit, you’re the first person I’ve ever seen stand up like that to Bradley,” he motioned to the barman. “Don’t worry though. He’s softer than a tabby.” Paul ducked as a piece of ice came winging its way from the bar amidst some drunken laughs. His own accent threw me and Paul must have seen it on my face. “Yeah, I’m from England. Newcastle to be exact. Exiled. Brad there is from Romania, and he’s,” pointing at other men in the bar, “he’s from Germany, that guy there is Swedish, and that black man there is from Los Angeles. He’s a big gun nut and sometimes we tease him about being from Somalia.”

“Los Angeles?” I asked.

“Come on, this is North Carolina. In Greensea, L.A. is like a whole ‘nother country. So yeah, were all exiles here. Speaking of which, sorry about you getting kicked out and all that bollocks. You should fit in nicely here with that under your belt.” He looked me over and at my bag. “That all you got?” I nodded. “Okay, come on, my flat is upstairs.”

I followed him to the back of the bar and through the tiny kitchen, up a rickety, dimly lit flight of stairs and to a door that looked it had been shot full of holes. Apparently there was no lock, because Paul just pushed it right open. The place was small, but well laid out. There was a kitchenette off to the side and a nice living area in the middle. A huge flag dominated the one wall that wasn’t taken up by furniture.

“That’s Greensea A.F.C. right there. You follow footie?” he asked.

“Can’t say that I do. More of a basketball kind of guy.”

“Now THAT’s a damn travesty. Anyway,” Paul pointed toward the single hallway, “bathroom’s down that way, sheets and pillows are in there,” pointing at a footlocker, “I apologize in advance if you hear me banging around at five in the morning. I like to get a good run in before breakfast. You’re welcome to join me if you wish.”

“Oh, I’m not much of a runner, but yeah, that sounds good. That is, if you don’t mind slowing down a bit.”

Paul laughed, and I smiled at him. “Yeah, I’m sure I can go slow for ya. Besides, it’ll give a chance to get to know each other. Now, it’s ten o’clock, and I’m going to bed.” He walked down the hallway toward the bedroom. “Goodnight Johnny.”

“Night Paul, and thanks for opening up your sofa.” I called after him. I grabbed a pillow and blanket out of the footlocker and fell toward the couch.


Saturday, October 20, 2007


Oi Oi, hows the readership going? You lot, whom ever reads this really needs to start leaving comments. Outside of the one dude that John knows, I think I'm the only one who comments...So stat commenting damn it!

On that note, I'm a bit ticked since John is beating me in fantasty football, and I really want to know who his striker is, that or your defense is rock solid. Though granted Torres is injured then he will comeback and own the league. See this is how it breaks down, John and I got a fantasy footy tourney on yahoo, just us two for bragging rights, and I set out with a good team, and his was alright.

The problem was my good team was under the assumption they would play, his was medicore players(ok some not all) and they all did play, and were consistent- unlike my team high profile stars. The problem was they were either A) injured, or B) not in team's plans. So joe cole who now appears to be alright wasn't getting games(so I dropped him, have to check his price again). The problem was I left him in the spot and he didn't get me any points, so I just dragged myself down deeper.

The long and short of this is that johns up 399 points and I'm at 369. Which really doesn't help much. Oh well drastic measures this week. Sice Now I'll have to take Terry out, cos he's injured. Now to replace him with..John lets see have you any ideas?

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Mid Terms

so i just finished my mid terms.... and well i think i did okay on my math and i think i kicked ass on my psycology and the rest of my classes i dont have any tests in. so im done with school till next monday!

Saturday, October 13, 2007

Long but Short

Sorry I havnt posted in a while i'm trying to keep up with school... im taking 21 hours, working 20 hours monday - friday and 12 hours on the weekend... so im pretty busy, mid terms this week and fall brake!

Went to an awsome resuraunt called Pop's. Its in Arcadia Okla, on Rt 66. Very good and amazing selection of bottled cokes.

My Birthday is comming up to!!!

Johnny Rumble:
All Quiet On The Western Front

I've truely got nothing to report.

Our rental house is being "open housed" today, and while we are pulling for the realtor and the owner to pull off a sale, it will mean that we once again have to find new accomidations. Not good.

Recently picked up three new cd's. Might as well right a quicky review for them...

Dropkick Murphy's - The Meanest Of Times
I've been a fan of the Murphy's for a while now, and I must that lately I've not been happy with the progessive sound that has been coming out my speakers the last album. That kind of changed with Meanest. It's definatly not a pure "punk" album, nor would have to say that Murphy's are pure punk anymore, but Meanest just seems to hit that riht chord once my brain accepted the fact that the Murphy's arn't writing the working class material that they used to. That being said, it's not a bad album. Addicting like caffiene I would even venture. Good songs, good lyrics, good riffs. But not for those that prefer the Murphy's pre-Warrior's Code.

The Casualties - Made In NYC (live)
The drums are over miked, Jake and Rick can't sing to save thier testicals, and I can't stop getting enough. It may seem odd for me to say this concidering it's really one of the crappier sounding live cd's I've listened to but, this is really the best one I've ever heard. Jorge turned over the mic to an audience member for thier rendition of "Blitzkrieg Bop", and Jake acctually turned over the guitar to some punk on "For The Punks." Never, ever, have I heard of any band going that far to get the audience involved. And better yet, you can see it too. The cd comes packaged with a DVD of this live set. I haven't watched it yet, but I have no doubt that it will be just as good as the album.

Black Snake Moan Soundtrack
Sometimes a person just needs to break out a blues record. And this one is mine. My only too. For now. I can't really say much about it concidering it's a soundtrack compiliation, but if you enjoyed the movie, you WILL enjoy the album. And I think that Samuel L. Jackson should really concider learning to play the blues guitar and put on some performances down in LA. His voice is oddly that good. A solo album, maybe not, but I'd pay to see him perform live.

My writing has taken a back seat right now. I should go out and buy a spiral notebook to write in and (eventually) transfer on to here, but I'm too lazy to do that.

Picked a copy of FIFA 08 for Playstation 2. It's a repackaged FIFA 07 with some added features, but having the completely updated transfer lists is worth the money. The control scheme also got changed around a little, but it's nothing that a days worth of playing can't get used too. Oh, and the greatest addition? Custom formations. I can't tell you the amount of times I've wanted to alter where a player's positioning is on the pitch. This game allows you to do that. Finally.

I think I'll go get that spiral.

Johnny Rumble

Friday, October 12, 2007

Right on!!

Ok so Ive gotten lots of neat food in care packages, which is a plus. Now Ive gone and but Fedora 7 on my other computer. It has no trace of Windows on it and I think we're(Randy and I- He is chief user of that machine) doing quite well. My current mode calls for trying out Ubuntu 7.10 . However I'm not sure I want to mess around with Compiz and Beryl. Just give me GNOME or KDE. Thats the other item, I can't decide which I want. I will probably move to KDE once Version 4 comes out.


Sunday, September 30, 2007


Yes John, I'm still here, now I got my exams back...pretty damn good too.

Intro to religon 16.5/18
Cultural anthropolgy 80/100 but I lucked out. Thank God for multiple choice
History before 1650: 91/100

So my mom came down this weekend, that was nice, and I went home last weekend. THen parents weekend is 7 October, so I'll see my dad, yay.

OH yeah Mike actually gets his license soon, so he can come down too.

I'm socializing breaking out of my stupid shell- ok well mostly


Saturday, September 29, 2007

Johnny Rumble:
News On The War On Homelessness

I'm going to the hospital on Monday. There's a lump on my wrist from when I wrapped it around an I-Beam in Somerset. I think it's just a pocket of puss that needs to be drained out.

Oh...and I'm coughing again. I remember the time it took something on the order of 2 months to get over a cold or flu or whatever it was. That was fun. Ataxia kept beating the snot out of me for not going to the doctor to get checked out.

We found a home finally. After 70+ homes looked at and what seems like months of searching, we finally found one and put out signatures near the X's. Centex Homes rocked. Especially the Centex Agent there, Mr. Stock. He flat out rocked my face off with his deft maneuvering around his own bosses to get us in our house. He's a rock god among agents.

Morrison Homes, on the other hand, pretty much sucked a long hard one when it came to what we wanted. The agent there was clearly on our side on the debacle, so no ill will toward him. But the builder flat out refused to work with our demands and our desires. That and he fucked around with the house beyond the scope of the original plans.

Anyway...we take possession of our house in late December. I honestly can't wait till then, because that's when Ataxia is supposed to come out and visit.

Right now I'm sitting in the Beale AFB Library using thier computers because we don't have internet access from our rental house. And it sucks. That's why there hasn't been any posting on here since the 16th. Eh. Whatever. So he site goes dormanit until about January. Travis should still be on here somewhere keeping up with the events of the East Coast, but he's got college and all the assossicated crap with that.

I think I've decided on a couple of new clothing projects for myself. One is going to be a patch work kilt, so that should be quite an interesting article.

The second is much more contrivesial. A motorcycle style jacket (black or white leather) with 3801+ little crosses on the back framed by the words, "IRAQ; How Many More?" On the front will be the lyrics to Street Dogs song, "Final Transmission" on the left and The Pogues song, "If I Should Fall From Grace With God" on the right. I'll prolay leave the sleeves blank. All of this will be done in white and black paint. Any constructive idea's? This is particualar project I'm still one the fence about considering the overall cost in time and money it would take to complete, but it's a definate possibility.

Johnny Rumble

Saturday, September 15, 2007

College Update

So lets see, what do you care about?
*School: Lessons are going well, having to struggle a bit to stay focused, but today I made progress..I tried writing some of my history essay, and got a third of the way done. I figure half, of it to 2/3 can be slogged through tomorrow. See I don't just watch Footy on Saturday.

*Going Out: Still not done it, I don't feel comfortable out and about by myself..Maybe I'll do it when Mike and the boys come up.

*Social Life: This being different then 'Going Out' and I would like to say that yes I have a social life. Admittedly not the best, otherwise I wouldn't be here at 10:09 on a Saturday night. Yet I didn't feel good today so def not going out.

*Not acting like a dork: unfortunately I have bad news to report on this front. Actually it's good news in that I finally figured out something. Sort of profound coming from me. Not allowing myself to be uncomfortable. Granted this is in context, if I was somewhere crazy then duh uncomfortable is a good thing.

I'm referring to stupid normal things. Like going out to a movie with people I only met the week before. Past Me would have gone, nah I'll pass thanks. Instead I went, movie was alright, and then had a nice time out and about; instead or sitting in my room sleeping.

*Homesick: Yes sort of, not so much for the physical space, mainly cos I like my dorm room fine. What I'm missing is people. Family friends. Oddly enough I miss talking to my cousin in England. I've grown used to talking to them every couple of days, and if they don't get on I start wigging out. Seriously- I mean I can call my Dad, Mom, sister, grandparents, but the only way I can talk to anyone in England is skype. I like how I can talk to them all, lee, Maria, and the kids without anyone pestering me too much. I mean they'll ask how lessons go, and then we talk, generally about England, and their chance for qualifying for Euro 2008. Not that I don't enjoy talking to my parents and such, but I feel pressured to talk about stuff, which is annoying because I shouldn't feel so pressured.

So yeah I'll post another update when I get my Exam results back.


Johnny Rumble:
Picking A Fight

I was in my favorite spot. Lying on the cold hard concrete of the garage floor. Tucking myself under my car, I was trying to get a Mitsubishi 4G63 stuffed under the hood my Chevy Cavalier. And for the triple dose of insanity, the aim was also to retrofit the All Wheel Drive system under the J-Body as well. This whole build has been nothing but a pain in the ass, but I was able to pull it off, it would put all the Honda-heads and Toyota-geeks to shame.

But I gotta tell you, I hate working on this J-body. Makes me long for the days of working on my Saturn. Give me a set of wrenchs and a ratchets, and within the day, I can take any Saturn right down to the space frame. So easy and uncomplicated. J-Bodys? Fuck them.

So why was I flat on my back, working on the one platform I despised? To shut the traps of all the nay-sayers. It was different. And it was difficult. That's why.

But right now, trying to fit these Driveshaft Shop half shafts was really causing me to have an aneurysm. Nothing was fitting properly, bolts weren't sliding in, and pins were misaligned. My hands were filthy, as they should be, and were aching from holding objects. Not to mention all the times I've hit my head on the frame rails multiple times.

snap, clunk, bang

I lied there clutching my face and pounding my fist on the cement. The half-shaft popped out of the transmission and, almost comidically, in pure slow motion, I watched it come falling down on to my face. I was really angry now.

I hadn't been in a good fight in quite a while. I needed it. Verbal, phsyical, any fight would do. I needed a good fight. The fight and whatever consquences that came with it. I dropped my tools and crawled out from under the car. Grasping the towel, I wiped the blood from my face and felt around for the cut. I pulled off my shirt, pressed it to my bleeding skin, went in the house, and looked to pick a fight with my wife.

Johnny Rumble

Thursday, September 13, 2007

Johnny Rumble:

It was Thursday. The smell of the coffee I couldn't drink obliterated all my other sences. That and the fresh smell of burning tobacco. The women I was with smoked. Camels to be exact. It was in the air along with the words of conversation being played out like some episode of Hee-Haw that had the wrong speech track.

Beethoven's Fifth symphony cut through all of that like a gun shot. Almost immediately, I went diving into my pants pocket to fish around for my moblie. I knew who it was before I even answered it. Her ringtone was different.

"Oi Oi." Standard greeting no matter if it was a bum or the President of the United States. Either way, something was wrong. Sobbing and tears. Dejectedness in her voice.

"I did something I regret Johnny..."


I applied a death grip to the arms of my chair. Under my fingertips I felt the painted wrought iron. The bumps, the imperfections, and the over-sprays. In my heart I felt nothing. In my veins, red blood cells had been replaced with pure rage. The other six sins be damned, a fanboy of rage I had become.

A small rumbling had worked it's way up from the bottom of my lungs, amplifed by my vocal cords, and out of my mouth into a screaming roar that would have a lion bowing down to my will. I screamed at her memories, cursed at her name, yelled obscenities across the parking lots of the local strip mall. I loathed her every fiber of being. I imagined killing her in several torturous ways.

I loved that girl, and I held out for that girl. I had made damn sure I wasn't drunk enough around any girl that I found remotely attractive just to make sure that I didn't make a mistake of cheating on her. It all went for naught.

Not once, or even twice. She had lost count of the number. She said it meaningless and that she wasn't in her right mind she was so overcome with lust and desperation.

Whatever we had, it was over. Whether or not I forgave her and what she did no longer mattered. I had kicked her out my life as if I had kicked her out of a vehicle doing 120 miles per hour on a back country gravel road.


One of of the women I was with turned and asked, "Who was on the phone?"

I slid the phone back into my pocket, calm and collected. "Nobody."

Johnny Rumble

Wednesday, September 12, 2007


Hi Ya'all !!! im still alive just really busy with school and stuff

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Johnny Rumble:
Married? Aw F*ck...

I'd strangle her, but then I'd kill her. And that would make me very sad.

That's only the tip of the iceberg though. The underwater tip, but the tip nonetheless.

Some of you know that I'm without home right now. My father has officially retired from the Air Force. Consequntely, so did I. I put my twenty thank you very much. So this post is coming from the EconoLodge of Highway 99 in Yuba City. At least it's a roof. For the next week or so, the whole family minus the cat (not travel friendly) will be on the move northward deciding where to go and what to see with last minute decisions that hopefully won't end up with us in a car crash.

We settled on a house today. We put in an offer on the house with some major adendums. Seeing as how the house is yet to be finished being built, we were able to make some choices and modifications to it, barring Morrison Homes willingness to deal.

I think I've finally decided what the hell I'm gonna do for the rest of the year. Work my ass off. Get lots and lots of bank notes and then blow 75% of it on re-building my car. I've already got the ball nudged a few inches closer to the downward slope infact. I emailed TEIN Suspension about manufacturing a custom Coil-Over kit for a Saturn as they do not offer a kit currently (if ever), and found out that they will have a program very soon that will allow for such custom kits. I did a happy dance in my chair for about 30 seconds.

I could sit here and bitch about my love and all the drama that's been occuring lately in it, but I'm not gonna do that....I don't kiss and tell to the public. Maybe to a few select friends...but not to the public.

To one person in particular...If you move back here, that very well might happen.


We were lying there, cuddling as usual. It had been several long months since we were able to afford that luxury. Living away from each other is hard. Anybody can say that, anybody can expirence it. Few can actually make it work. It almost didn't happen that way for us.

I could feel her stirring in my arms, sturggling to roll herself over so she could face me. I wouldn't let her. I whispered into her ear, "Not right now. I'm not ready for that." Her body went a limp as a ragdoll, and her aura felt near the same.

"Why not? I've waited and waited and fuck knows you and your teasing didn't help me at all..."

I cut her off very quickly, "Because you've not yet satisfided my emotional needs enough for me to satisfy for phsyical needs."

That bed went cold quicker than beer hit with a fire exinquisher. I plowed ahead regardless...

"Not like that Nikki, and you know it. It's been so long since we've had this oppurtunity that I'd rather enjoy it. This moment right here is like a very fine Cypriot wine. One does not simply gulp it down and get drunk on it..."

I held her closer and tighter, forcing her to move closer to me and bringing our clashing auras together.

"... instead you must savor it. Sip at it slowly and feel it trickle down your throat. Inhale it's smells and examine it's color. Savor. What I need right now isn't what you want. I need to breath in your perfume, feel your skin against mine, and savor the moment for a lifetime. I need this Nikki. I need to be right here right now, with no rush to get drunk."

She nestled in tighter to my body and started to exchange warmth again. Being next to her, I could feel my head getting light and my eyelids getting heavier. This is perfect, I thought as I dozed off in happiness.

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble:
Six Years Ago Today

3000 people died in a terrorist attack 6 years ago today. Those who care raise your hands please. Now put them the fuck down. At least that many people die from malnutrition, disease, and homicide every fucking hour. The people that died in the towers were all well fed and well cared for. Know, because of this, I have to put up with the NSA and CIA listening to my phone calls, spend even MORE time at the shitty ass airports, watch what I say and do else I be branded a terrorist, and have an overall feeling like the government is bending me over and fucking me in the ass deeper than ever before. Fuck That Shit.

A poem dedicated to 275 million American fuck heads:

I Wanna be an American

I wanna be an American
I wanna support the war on terrorism
And hate the jews and gays
Everything in between

I wanna be an American
I wanna see Patriot Act power expanded
And Invade countries on a whim
Watch the Effiel tower fall the ground

I wanna be an American
I wanna send my people off to die
And manipulate the media
To see only my point of view

I wanna be an American
I wanna sing Hail to the Chief
And watch as the prisons go up
Send the Japanese to jail

I wanna be an American
I wanna see my veterans’ poor
And pass laws against GLAAD
Making being gay a Federal Offence

I wanna be an American
I wanna see the bill of rights shredded
And my freedoms given up
For national security

I wanna be an American
But first I wanna die
Before I become an American

Fuck You All:
Johnny Rumble

Thursday, September 06, 2007

Johnny Rumble:
Maybe It's The Geek In Me

But I completely agree with this. And I can't stop laughing.

Johnny Rumble

Sunday, August 26, 2007

Bloody Hell this took to long to write.

Travis Arnold
26 August 2007UNI. 100

So as seeing this is assignment was confusing and I tried many ways of going around, I tried a letter, I tried stream of consciousness and the best I could come up was this interview format. Hopefully this does justice to the assignment and myself too.

“Mr. Arnold, why don't you start today by describing yourself. Then we can go from there.”

“So in eighteen years on this planet there are few things that I am sure of. I can count on my family and close friends. I can say for certain that I am special, I'd have to be to survive. How many people do you know who were born three months premature? By the time I was thirteen years old my medical file was more extensive then the average healthy male. Childhood was normal in the classroom and on the playing field, Well except for getting picked on.”

“Picked on, when you say picked on do you mean verbal abuse, taunting its ilk, or physical? Punching and kicking?

“Verbally, there was never any beating thrown around, not in school at least in regards to me. In the neighborhood, that was different. As we got older once every couple of weeks, Josh and I would thrown down in his yard. It would start by slinging our book bags at each other. Then progress to grappling with each other, more wrestling then anything else. It stopped if blood was drawn, more to keep it contained at scratches. It never escalated, yet with in that, it did get bad. Well if by bad we were all tired and annoyed at each other.

“So it was just scrapes after school to blow off steam?”

“Correct. We all hung around, but Rob was two years ahead, starting to drift apart going on dates. Which we thought was funny, stupid but funny. Yeah and now look at us all. Ah to be young, young with video games. Seemed like all we did, video games and football. One year there was street hockey, but nah didn't last more then a summer.”

“Did you enjoy playing?”

“I was the kid who everyone lets play, because he was your friend. How do you think I felt? But did I have fun? Duh, who doesn't like running to some degree. I'll be the first to tell though, that I sucked. Absolutely rubbish. Given the ball, and told to run. Just another game of keep away. It sucked, I hated keep away. No one else ever lost the ball, it was always me. Make me run around and have a laugh.”

“Travis, would you say that you were happy?”

“Definitely happy, with out a doubt. This cynicism has only really come about since my parents divorce.-”

“Your parents are separated? How does that make you feel”

“Divorced.....duh, did I stutter? I said divorced did I not. And Dad got remarried a couple of months ago. Of course to say that everything was peachy would be a lie. I had to work very hard in most subjects, multiplication comes to mind- I was two weeks behind the class in learning my times tables, and you could forget division. My teacher would give me special assignments, until I got comfortable, and once I would get up to speed, money I was money. It still troubles me though, which does wonders for my confidence.

What about your friends? Did you ever had trouble there?

“I also had a hard time keeping friends. If I'm no good at sports, that pretty much means I'm screwed in the friend department. Actually let me back up, since I also had a problem meeting people in the first place. I'm relatively shy, which is not my outward appearance: one of singing and boisterous noise. Yet for all the singing I do, it hides the fact that I don't want to open up to people or even deal with people, unless I have throughly vetted them out and I like them.”
“Honestly I could not tell you when someone passes the test, or even what the test is, only that it is when I feel comfortable around them. I tend to not make many friends, or want to go out and meet people. Once I find my friends I tend to be very loyal. I had no problem driving at midnight to pick my friend up from a party; yes I was mad, but of course I would never be able to live with myself if something were to happen to him. What else is there to do? To me it was a clear cut choice.”

“Thank you for the long summary. Now I would like us to digress a bit. What are you interests? Do you like sports, play any?”

“I enjoy soccer, or as a good chunk calls it, football. I'm passionate about that. Love watching it at home, and am gutted that there is no place here that I can watch the matches. The only recourse is to to get on skype and talk to family, get updates. The skysports score centre on the Internet is useful beyond mention.”

“what soccer teams do you support then? Do you have a favorite one? Or can you not decide?”
“I support Hull City AFC, the mighty Tigers, as well as Liverpool FC. Chelsea is a close second. All three are teams in England with City playing in the Championship division(one lower then the top), Liverpool and Chelsea in the top division, Premier League. The 07/08 season started three weeks ago. Liverpool have gotten off to a good start, lying third in the table, and Chelsea is on top, with Manchester United in the middle, far off the top. What is possibly the best news is that City won 2-1 at home yesterday. Yeah tells you a lot doesn't it that last sentence? That I procrastinate yes. Thats the surface. Other then that I had a huge amount of writers block, been at my computer almost the whole day.”

“Just got up form a nap actually. Thats when the writers block broke, and I've been pecking away at the computer. Sports, you wanted to know about sports. Other then soccer I don't follow much, my fried is a Red Sox fan, so if They're playing I'll keep an ear tuned to that so I can talk to him about it. Baseball doesn't do much for me though.”

“As for playing sports, well thats kind of hard to do when your lungs don't work as advertised. Its not like you can send 'em back to the shop to get a new set. Even if you could, its not the pair, just one. Since I was born premature, they both formed but one struggles a bit, not as developed in capacity as I should. Plus I think there is some medical name wrong with them that I could never be bothered to learn about. Nothing serious, just keeps me from running a lot. I do enjoy a good informal five a side set up, now and again. Really though, I'm rubbish, no one would ever probably pick me. I just enjoy it, and really what else is there?”

“Is there anything else you think would be pursuant to our session? Else we can stop for the day and continue this at the next session?”

“Yeah I want to talk about music. How that can help unify people, and introduce people to each other, who wouldn't normally meet. I am open to music, but I really like punk. I'm a fan of the Casualties, along with hardcore punk band the Unseen. I enjoy singing and have no problem singing walking to class, or at any other time for that matter. Why should I not express myself, yeah I'll shut up during tests, or on planes, studying too Other then that no, I think we can be done for the day. I figure within the next couple of weeks there will be plenty of brain picking and questions galore.