Friday, February 29, 2008

Johnny Rumble:
Johnny's Folly: Part 7

Authors note: Some things have been changed around since I last wrote a part. Stuff might not make sence till you go back and read the other parts for changes. Things weren't lining up like I wanted it, so I changed it. That's the problem with writing in parts, I guess.


Sadie had occupied my room for two weeks now. She had made herself quite comfortable, while my spine was once again suffering the viciousness of the couch. Oh well. I had noticed that Paul had routinely been absent from his own apartment during most of this time, and when he was here, he was very careful not go back toward my bedroom. I didn’t think much of it.

Since that dreaded night in the alley way, Sadie and I had grown closer, and we did, in fact, share my bed romantically one or six nights. Things have started to blur together since I left Chester University. On the whole, I was a much happier person. Violence has that kind of effect on a person.

We aren’t made of glass, and once a few punches have proven that, I find that I’m never truly happy unless I was pushing myself to my limit of endurance and pain; and the pain…intense, brutal, screaming sometimes. I loved it, started to live for it. I was addicted. A bruise was a morning wood, a busted lip became slow painful sex, and deep cuts the orgasm of a lifetime.

My dreams were still weird. Lots of screaming and angst. I never understood why.

“Hey, Johnny!” I heard Sadie call from the back. Well, heard may not the be right word. More like vaguely understood. Ridiculously loud Punk music blasting away in someone’s ear buds tends to drown out every one else’s complaints.

“Johnny!” she called again. I heard her that time and smiled. I sat up part way on the couch to wait for her to get frustrated enough to leave the confines of her self-made prison cell.

Soon enough, Sadie came poking her head from around the corner of the hall. She quickly scanned the room for me, and finally locked on with those gorgeous eyes the color of the deepest sapphire. I could get lost for days in those eyes, and Sadie knew it. She played that card whenever and wherever it pleased her most.

She broke the trance she had on me, walked over and laid down on top of me and rested her head on my chest. Almost immediately, I started to twirl her long her in my fingers. Reaching up, she plucked the left ear bud out of my ear and placed in hers. Then she stole my mp3 player and changed tracks. Flatfoot 56’s Load Gun…interesting choice. I closed my eyes, and unconsciously started to mouth out the lyrics.

They Say, I hate your colored skin
We say, We’re all the same within
They say, You’re the scum of the earth
We say, we can only see your worth.
Hey, hey this is my loaded gun, gun.
This is my loaded gun.


I felt a tapping on my chest, and I opened my eyes just enough to see Sadie wearing a huge grin of amusement. Sticking my tongue out at her, I swiped my mp3 player back from her and choose the next song randomly. Banned in D.C., what is this? Subliminal message day? I switched the player off, Sadie made a face at me, and I just looked at her right back.

“Go get dressed,” I told her.

“Why?”

“’Cause most people don’t consider MY boxer shorts, which really bring out your butt by the way, and a white undershirt appropriate outerwear.”

“By people, you mean you,” she sneered back. I sighed and pointed to the bedroom. She stuck her tongue out at me again, but moved regardless. “Where are we going?”

“For a walk. You haven’t been out the apartment for two weeks, and you need to get out into the sunshine.” I got off the couch and moved into the kitchen to get a glass of water while I waited.

It was all of five minutes maybe, but when she came out, she had on a pair of my jeans cinched up tight with my belt and had my old torn up hoodie over my undershirt. “What, not wearing my shoes either?”

“Funny.” She swiped the glass out my hand much like she had done with mp3 Player. Just when she had gotten taking a large gulp out of it, the front door opened and Paul walked in.

Without looking he started to say, “Hey, where’s Sa…” They had locked eyes. It may have only been a few heartbeats, but I could instantly tell that the blood in Sadie’s veins turned ice cold and yet boiled with hatred. My brain told my body to move away quickly, but I ran out of time.

The glass she was hold bulleted toward Paul, and he narrowly avoided it himself by using the door as a shield. The glass shattered into a cloud of water and slivers, and I took whatever time needed to find cover myself in case Sadie found more objects to throw. What the fuck is this?

In a flash, Sadie had jumped over the counter separating the kitchen and den, and had started to use her fists against Paul. Being the gentleman he is, he didn’t fight back, only parlayed her fists as best has he could.

“You asshole!” she screamed, “Why?! You could have stopped it!!! You bastard!!!” Between her punches, I could see tears streaming down her face and the glass of both hatred and significant sadness in her eyes. I took me a few moments to recover from the shock of the violent display, but I was over the counter soon enough, and tried to restrain Sadie. My first attempt failed, and she squirmed out of it and continued her assault against Paul. I tried again, and was finally able to lock my hands against her chest, effectively pinning her arms at her sides.

She was still struggling mightily, yelling, “Let me go! Let me go!” I spun her away from Paul and placed myself between him and Sadie. She responded by getting right in my face and hissing, “You fucking bastard, you absolute fucking bastard.” Her fist came to bear once again, and it stuck gold against my cheekbone. I staggered a couple of steps backward, and took a moment to recover. This is no longer about Paul.

Sadie was visibly breaking down, and she collapsed to her knees, holding her head, fighting the tears back. I moved to her side and tried to lay a hand of her shoulder, but she shook me off rather violently, and ran crying out the door and out of the apartment. I tried to follow, but Paul placed an arm across my chest and held me back.

“Sadie, wait!” I shouted after her.

“Don’t do it…don’t go,” he hissed in my ear.

When her steps were down the stairs and through the kitchen of Johnny’s Folly, Paul let me go. I took a couple of steps back and breathed deep to try regain a bit of calm. It failed miserably. I pointed at the door and angrily asked, “What the hell was that all about?”

Paul tried to lay a hand on my shoulder and say something, but I pushed him away and shouted, “No, fuck you! What the fuck was tha…” I didn’t finish because Paul’s fist came crashing into the same cheekbone that Sadie had hit. Only his fists were much more devastating, and I was knocked to the hard floor. Even though I didn’t feel it, I knew my head had bounced off the hardwood, and my vision turned black. Before I totally lost it, I heard a scream of anguish and the sound of breaking glass from outside, and I thought Wonder if she saw the bar sign. Then nothing.
_________________________________

My eyes fluttered open and the pain in my head was immediate. It felt like somebody had smashed my head on a railroad track, and then drove over it with a 300 car freight train. Worse still, the conductor was driving over my head.

Paul was kneeling next to me and placed a cold pack on my cheek where both he and Sadie punched me. “Can’t say you didn’t deserve it Johnny,” Paul said. I just groaned in response and placed my hand on the cold pack. “Want to sit up?” I shook my head. “Alright, then stay down.” He held his hand in front of face before moving back into the kitchen.

“Bet your wondering what the hell just happened,” Paul’s voice floated over the counter. I groaned something back that I hope sounded like a confirmation. “Do you want me to start from the beginning for just skip strait to part where she knocked you good?” I held my arm up over the counter and made several flicking motions with my hand and wrist. Paul chuckled and moved into the living room and sat down on the couch. He made himself comfortable before sighing and diving into the story.

“You remember that first weekend you were here, and I took you out to the field to play some five-a-side?” I nodded. “Remember when Keith said something to the effect of ‘Not playing a game since Jerry died’?”

I searched my brain for a minute before I zoned into that conversation. I nodded again.

“Jerry was her brother.”

Paul let that sink into my brain a few minutes. Her brother? She never said anything about a brother. I never even got an idea she had that kind of pain. Not even when…damn it, MY fucking sister.

“Yeah Johnny, you are dating a girl that has a massive hatred against firms. Jerry was our tenth man. Damn fine bloke, and a damn straight fighter. You remind me of him sometimes. But he got in over his head one night. Somebody did him in with a brick to the head. We have no idea what really happened, but Sadie blamed us for leading him into the violence, and blamed us and firms in general, for her brother’s death. And I’m numero uno on her ‘hate list.’”

I thought this over and Paul’s behavior suddenly became very clear. “That would explain why you’ve been avoiding the backroom, and your apartment these past couple of weeks. Hell, it explains a lot more too.” I touched my cheek symbolically. Oh yeah. That feels good. Shouldn’t bruise up though.

“Got yourself in a bit of a fuck?” Paul asked.

“Oh yeah. This should be fun.”

“Well, rest yourself. In two weeks, it’s off to Boston.”

“What, no match this week?” Paul offered his hand to pull me up. I accepted.

“International break. No matches anywhere.”

I sighed. Damn it. This whole episode got me all cranked up too.

Monday, February 18, 2008

Johnny Rumble:
Fred Phelps

Oh dear, dear, Fred Phelps, what ever shall the world do with out your uplifting and emotional speeches?

You preach against the tolerance of homo-sexuality, against the evils of sodomy, and constantly tell us how we are all correctly condemned to hell for our sins of supporting homosexuality, and supporting those governments like Sweden, Canada, and Ireland, where openly gay people live, work, and hold government office. Your air tight 3 word argument, Priests Rape Boys, against the Catholic church is a gospel sent from the heavens itself, and we should all bask in the glory of your gospels.

We will never understand we so many people despise your truths, and hate your very god sent existence. Could they be right though? Could God love everybody? And not just all those that follow your divine path to righteousness? After all, why should we mourn the loss of every single solider that laid his or her life on the line to protect our freedoms of not getting a royal boot fucking? We should we idolize a flag that clearly allows those filthy homosexuals to commit sodomy and trample on the name of the almighty?

God gave us our freedoms, not the governments, and clearly God did not give those same freedoms to those who support homosexuality and Pagan orgies around cloth and caskets of the dead.

Oh Fred Phelps, how I long for the day where I can finally meet you face to face and kick you in the teeth like the fucking moron you are. Your consistent hate speech against the nation of your birth, and the nation that freely gives you the freedoms for which you now protest is yours alone. Thank God for 9/11? Thank God for Dead Soldiers? Thank God laws and police protect you from the boot party and broken bones your so richly deserve. You’re an abomination of humanity, an outcast, and a mutant of intolerance. Eat a bullet for me Fred Phelps. Eat a bullet.


Johnny Rumble

Trav:

Yo all So here is me bing a bit of a dork..oh school is well, I think I annoyed the Itech professor when I corrected her on the GPL and the BSD liscense-- nothing big really other then that there are more then one. Now if she already knew that, then oh well but she certainly didn't tell the class that...mainly just gave it lip service like it was weird, though she totally ignored the fact that Mac OS X is based off of freebsd source code. I win :)

Trav

Trav:
Happy Days

Hello loyal readers, whomever you actually are. Yes I know its beena while, I got a life, well ok your right, nah ive done practically nothing but read , and go to class. I also wanted to finally end(I hope) my Linux experiment, with an actual conclusion....I know took me long enough right?


So I've found that I really like Fedora from the Icon set, to the Menu Layout-defualt gnome here-and yum at the command line. I liked openSUSE but found that at the end of the day I couldn't get to grips with YAST and found it too clumsy and difficult with so may options..take a look at the install softaware screen, I mean how many ways can one had a community repo? On the other hand I did really like the fact that the xterm had a red line when working as root- and the log in and splash menu's all look good. If there was a distro that provided the mp3 and dvd support out of the box with yum like command line tools(since I'm familar with that at least).


So yeah I've now got a little brother, born a month ago. When I go up I'll of course try to get a picture of him but honeslty will you care? but yes I'm so stoked to ya know do brother stuff like play video games and stuff. Though I must say the first 6. 7 years will probably be a bit dull since I won't know what to do with him other then read to him? I wonder will kid's his age read when they're 19? He will If I have something to say about it.



Friday, February 15, 2008

Johnny Rumble:
Breaks the Politcal Silence

To say that I am a political anything is a bit of a stretch. My dis-love for politics can actually be traced right back to my earliest days pre-school. Without all the back story, the teachers learned that I am incredibly hard-headed with a completely unwavering sense of what is right and what is wrong. I have always been this way. Because of this, the view that all politics is inherently bad, inherently evil, and completely self-serving became my own.

However, I do know where I tend to be on the political spectrum. I am an anarchist, but not in the traditional sense of the word. I like the idea of government. Of fresh government. Untainted by the years of corruption and bigotry. I view anarchy, not as THE system of government, but as the carrier for change in the system. I full accept that true anarchy can never be realized. People will always have their set of moral values that they will hold to. As for choosing a certain political view out of the choices offered, I am all of them. There are some issues where I can agree with conservatives (strong military and strong drug interdiction policies), liberals (conservationism), socialism (limited healthcare, National energy), and libertarianism (Legalization of marijuana, little to no government oversight into personal lives).

Frankly, High school jaded me to politics and I just stopped caring about what's going on in Washington anymore. I've started to live my life how I want to, with little regard for the rules that others impose upon me and will continue to do so until I either go to jail or die.

Johnny Rumble

Wednesday, February 06, 2008

Johnny Rumble:
ABC Peom about Guinness

Arthur Guinness can be called many things. A
Back-stabbing Irish Unionist, a sex addict (and with 21
Children many won’t say otherwise), but what he’s best known for is
that cold pint of
Draught. Surely, there can be nothing better than watching
Every downward flowing bubble, enjoying that extra-
Frothy, extra creamy head, poured to the perfection so richly deserved.
Oh

Guinness Stout, how many of us do long to find a glass or ten in your
Hedonistic pints of bliss. Combined with
Irish Whisky and some Bailey’s crème, a car bomb is sure to
Jolt the stupidity into any meager soul not already
Killing the night away at the local house. American
Lagers with their rice and corn and cheaply
Manufactured shit that should have
Never seen a bottle, much less the
Open pit some alcoholics call a mouth. Making beer is simple
Process of five steps and sufficient
Quantities of yeast, Barley, Hops and Malt. What separates Guinness is
the dead

Rats found floating at the bottom of the original vats.
Shuttering away my friend’s cabinets full of nasty Milwaukie
Tempered and sanitized horse piss, I revere my private stash of the
Undisputed king of Stouts and reach for the
Very special bottle opener, plated in chrome, and victim of many
Wiget erection jokes. It’s only because of this dear bottle that my
kidneys are the

Xenolith of my body. The local apartment tenets and even
You know the truth,
Zane Grey rolls in his grave every time I shout “Kiss My Irish Ass!”


Johnny Rumble