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The Vengeful Sniper

January 23, 2015 Leave a comment

A two bedroom apartment suited Denny Attish even though he was living alone. He had one bedroom for sleeping and one as an office and workshop. The living room and dining room were small, but big enough for his needs. He watched television and read books in the living room. He ate in the dining room because the kitchen was too small for even a two-chair table. It was little more than an alcove off the dining room.

The building manager had the whole place painted refrigerator white after the previous tenants moved out. That suited Denny because he preferred to add colour to his environment by hanging many pictures and framed posters of famous artworks. He had been working toward this situation for almost three years, since his beloved Diane had been killed.

He finally acquired a position which he could fill while working at home, on line. He had state-of-the-art hardware and software that enabled him to do the kind of mechanical drafting for which he was well trained. The Kingman Corporation chose to save on office space by designing a system wherein only the senior engineers had to be in the office. Support staff and drafting teams were able to work from home. That suited Denny Attish’s needs perfectly.

There was a sofa-bed in the office room as well as his computer equipment and workbench, if friends or relatives wanted to sleep over. The bathroom was surprisingly spacious, with the oversized tub separate from the glassed-in shower stall. It could be accessed from the living room, and through a separate door from the master bedroom.

Each day, after finishing his assignments, Attish went to the workbench he’d built to suit his specific needs. It had a hinged top that he could pull down from the back wall and cover the projects he had underway on the bench-top. He didn’t want anyone, even close friends and relatives to see his personal project. When he was alone at home, the workbench was exposed. It revealed a variety of mechanical parts, steel pipes, nuts, bolts, screws and gleaming billet steel tools.

He used a magnifying lamp through which he peered at the small hunting pellets which he was modifying. He drilled tiny holes in the point of the pellets. Into these holes he inserted sharply pointed needles of the type used in sewing machines. He cut them in half and used just the hard, sharp-pointed end projecting out of the nose of the pellet. He hid these along with the other materials on the workbench. It was better that no one, not even close friends and girlfriends had any idea what he was doing.

Gradually, the mechanism he was building began to take shape. It was what used to be called a ‘zip gun’. It was uniquely powered by CO2 capsules. It was fitted to a mount that enabled Attish to keep it in his sleeve, out of sight. The sharp pointed hunting pellets were treated with Beta-selinene cyclase. Anyone pricked by the chemically treated needle point would soon become miserably ill and quite possibly die a painful, lengthy death.

When all was ready, Denny Attish parked his white minivan outside the home of Sergeant Gordon Lawrence. He was the police officer who had so severely beaten Dennis’ late girlfriend while raping her that she was in a coma for three weeks before she passed away. He was never suspected of the murder/rape by his collegues.

Sergeant Lawrence exited his house with his wife and daughter. They walked past the minivan towards their car without a glance at the van. Dennis released a pellet with its treated needle projecting out of its nose. It shot out with hiss and struck its policeman target on the side of his neck at the Carotid Artery. Gordon Lawrence first slapped at it, thinking it was an insect bite. He felt the pellet and pulled it out and looked at it. Before he could realize what it was, he staggered and fell to the sidewalk.

He began to twitch and convulse, vomited and wet himself. His wife shrieked and his daughter began shouting ‘Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.’ Satisfied, Dennis started the minivan and drove away, unnoticed by the frantic woman and her daughter. He glanced in his right-side mirror and saw Mrs. Lawrence frantically punching 911 into her cellphone.

Appreciate Your Youthfulness

January 18, 2015 Leave a comment

If you are fortunate enough to be young, you should realize that it’s a wonderful state in which to be. It will not last forever, and age hurts. It slows you down and makes you sick. If you’re really wise, you’ll lay off the alcohol, smoke grass not more than once or twice a day, and never touch the chemicals at all. They’ll set you on a path to premature agedness.

Your complexion, now smooth and glowing will eventually turn to creases and wrinkles. We can be proud of our creases and wrinkles. For one thing, it means we have survived for a fairly long time. That means – for most of us – that we have acquired a good deal of wisdom. Don’t think you know so much now, because you don’t. You’ll find out a decade from now that you knew nothing, comparatively speaking. The decade after that will again make the preceding decade seem empty by comparison, and on it goes.

If you think of how much you learned from age ten to age twenty, you have no reason to think that this intellectual growth will stop at thirty or fifty or whatever age. Some people, of course, learn nothing much after they’re nineteen. They decide that’s the limit, and so they limit themselves. Personally, I fill my mind with more wisdom, more information, and more details every day, and I’m closer to eighty than I am to seventy.

One of the most beautiful women in the world in her time, Elizabeth Taylor said that she appreciated her silver hair because she believed each hair represented a lesson learned, an experience experienced. We can age, and if we’re lucky, we don’t mature too much. I still find delight in simple things, in things I learn day by day. At the same time, I have lived a productive life, honoured all my obligations and responsibilities, raised a family, earned money, paid mortgages and everything a productive person does.

I never stopped having fun. I was out clearing snow this morning on my Kawasaki ATV.
When summer returns, my Honda GoldWing will come out to provide some fun. Just remember that you will never look better than you do now and you will never feel better than you do now. Don’t squander it. Live, love, play, work and study because your time is now.

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I Learned A Lot While Becoming Old

January 14, 2015 Leave a comment

If you are not already old, you have a lot of incoming information ahead of you. I don’t mean your courses or your formal education at all. I mean life. If one thinks for a moment of how much was learned about life between the ages of thirteen and nineteen, imagine how much you’ll learn in the next ten years.

You’re comparatively untethered now and can make many decisions on your own. There are some huge differences between types of people. The slow and steady ones do have a very good chance of coming out ahead in the end. If we’re talking about stability and safety as well as a decent livelihood, the steady, conservative person might well win in the acquisition of property and security.

If we’re talking about a life filled to the brim with adventures and experiences, then the secure person gets a taste of adventure and experiences, but does not enjoy immersion in the richer parts of life. One is not better than the other; it’s just a matter of which one suits the individual. In my own experience, I put double or triple energy into my life and had a hell of a time.

I figured: all we’re really given by life is time, so the more I can put into that time, the more life I can take out of it.

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Love Affairs Don’t Matter

January 10, 2015 Leave a comment

When a brilliant man or woman in public life has an affair with another person, it has nothing to do with the ability of the man or woman to perform their professional duties.
The ridiculous grandstanding done by Ken Starr against Bill Clinton is unforgivable. He subjected this great man of genius IQ and wonderful diplomatic powers to enormous humiliation and stress over a simple blow job. Both Clinton and Monica were fully dressed as shown by the President’s DNA on Monica’s clothes.

In less childish societies, such as France and Italy, it would almost go unnoticed. In the United States of America it is reason to defile the presidency. And Starr and the assholes behind him knew very well that it didn’t matter to his professional performance except for the fuss his enemies made about it. I’m damn sure they were all doing the same thing, one way or another. Starr looked to me like a guy who’d happily present his behind to any man that would like to enter it.

Now it’s Petraeus. He’s a war hero and a man who has served his country heroically. Now he’s ruined ‘cause he screwed his biographer. I wonder what she is going to win for having blown the whistle on him herself – she the ‘other woman’ and all. A more sensible society would put that where it belongs – nowhere that matters. If he shared any secrets with her, he needs to suffer the problems. BUT, if he just enjoyed sex with her, it’s no fucking business of anyone in his professional life.

People are people, and one lover in life is almost unnatural for men or women. We have to deny our natural animal instincts as much as we possibly can to have a civilized society. But when a man or a woman changes lovers, or takes more than one or two lovers, it’s nobody’s business but the participants. It should not reflect on their professional acumen.

David Died Last Month

January 8, 2015 Leave a comment

I just found out. My first wife saw an obituary in the newspaper and told my daughter so my daughter told me. I haven’t seen Dave in about fifteen years. Before that, I saw him every week but before the every week time I didn’t see him for about five years. We were as close as brothers for some time. When he was thirteen, I was sixteen. Our family homes were across a side street from each other. It was a ‘T’ junction with my home on the south corner facing west and Dave’s home was on the north corner facing west. Our back yards paralleled each other with the side street between us.

When we were young, so were the hedges that edged our yards. They were only about a foot high, so we each stood in our yards and tossed the hardball back and forth over the street. There was very little traffic. Dave sometimes referred to himself as ‘high strung’. I don’t know what that means, but it sounds like something to do with a guitar or violin, not a person. He was not ‘regular’, that much I can tell you.

It seems like David was ‘emotionally disabled’ if such a thing could exist. He lacked tenacity completely. If some activity became frustrating, Dave simply gave it up. He had no fight in him to struggle to achieve his goals. Even a difference of opinion on a neutral matter was difficult for him to overlook. If a friend was a fan of a given team, let’s say the Detroit Red Wings, and Dave was a fan of a different team, let’s say the Chicago Black Hawks, Dave became furious about it. He would tell the friend that he had no sense at all. How could he favour the Red Wings over the Black Hawks?

Each spring a large ravine a block away filled with water. David and I would build a raft and try to float around without tipping or sinking. We never succeeded. We had to hurry home soaked and cold every time. We tried rolling cigars out of oak leaves – another failure. We once spent a New Year’s Eve together and celebrated by eating a whole quart of ice-cream each, right out of the container.

Perhaps I will share more of my memories about Dave another time. There’s too much rushing back to my consciousness now. In spite of the negative description I’ve given, he was actually a terrific guy. He was nice looking and many girls were attracted to him. He loved horses and was a very skilled rider and horse manager. The best thing about David was his humour and his wonderful gift for sharing humorous stories. We’d gather at his place, about half a dozen of us, and just talk and smoke and talk. We all did pretty well in the story-sharing department, but David was a master.

I’ll gather more memories as they come to me and perhaps tell more about him.

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