Ye Olde Archive Archived Posts: 2004-2009


Bring Me A Dream

Two of my friends are down in Centralia today, doing some vintage clothes and antique shopping. They decided to go because they had both noticed, seperately, that the shopkeepers at these stores in Centralia are decidedly zombie-esque, and thought they could make a good day of both bargain and zombie hunting.

The names in the story are actually their really zombie-hunting aliases, at least for the day. So in a sense, this is all based on a true story ... almost.

Oh, and I just threw in the robot thing to conform to Brief Lies standards. But I think it worked out pretty well. Also, Lee really does drive a Montclair. It's pretty. On to the story. Enjoy.


Bring me a dream
-Ahniwa Ferrari

Megan looked at the barren town over the rims of her sunglasses, eyeing the shop-fronts warily. A small cloud of dust rose from the street as her partner, D-Rock, pulled the car to a stop alongside the abandoned curb. The door of the Montclair swung open easily, and as she stepped out onto the sidewalk, a gust of wind blew against her face and pulled against the wide brim of her hat. D-Rock swung his door shut and walked up to stand next to her. He held out both hands, offering her a choice between the shotgun and the baseball bat.

“Such a gentleman,” she said, laughing, and took the bat. Today she preferred getting a little down and dirty.

D-Rock lowered his shades and eyed her up and down. Satisfied, he smiled. “Let’s rock this apocalypse.”

Megan gripped the bat, feeling its weight. She smiled back. “Let’s rock it twice.”

Having completed their mantra, they turned to the first antique shop on the street. Though outside the sun was bright like a spaghetti western, through the window the shop looked like it was covered in dusk. Old lamps rested fitfully, clothes hung on rusted wire hangers, and box upon box of old records lined one of the walls. They couldn’t see any movement inside, but that didn’t mean anything. They were used to this gig by now.

D-Rock lined up by the door and Megan stepped in front. As he began to nod to her, her foot was already through the door, cracking the frame and knocking it off one hinge. He raised an eyebrow at her, grinned a little, and pushed it open the rest of the way.

“Not bad for a Viscountess.”

“Yes. Well it’s not all social dancing and finishing school.”

“I guess not. Damn.”

He chuckled as she entered the shop, shook his head slightly, and followed her in, shotgun up and ready as his eyes adjusted to the murky light. They proceeded slowly, eyeing every garment and item suspiciously for movement. Megan sniffed the air, scowling.

“It doesn’t smell like death in here. Something’s wrong.”

“Maybe somebody already came? Did the job?”

“Don’t be daft. We’re the only zombie-hunters in the Northwest right now.”

“What about Dahlia and – oh right … they died.”

“They always were a bit careless. We’re not. Still, I don’t like this.” Megan frowned into the dark, rear of the shop. “This is the Viscountess Megan W. O’Leontiv the Second, and my partner Double Rock Apocalypse. If there are zombies in here, come out so I can knock your fucking heads off.”


“I can’t be a lady all the time. Not in this line of work.”

A sudden movement from behind the counter took them both by surprise. A man bobbed up and down slightly behind the register, the skin on his face half-rotted off. A few broken teeth hung limply from his gums as he opened his mouth and tried to form a word. The only word zombies seemed to know, “B … rrrrrrr … aaaaaiiiiiiiiii … nnnnnnnn … sssssssss.”

D-Rock pumped his shotgun and took aim, but too late. Megan’s bat was a blur as it swung through the air and struck with a sound, slightly metallic “THUNK” against the side of the zombie’s head. The head ripped off from the force, sending wires and bolts flying, and then glass as it crashed through the window and rolled onto the street outside. Sparks sputtered out from the vacuous neck-hole, and metal wires waved about like errant tentacles. Out on the street, the head mumbled another half-hearted "B...rr...a.......iiiii...eeeeeee-" and went silent.

“FUCK! Fucking hell! I knew it smelled wrong, D. It’s one of those fucking amusement park towns, forgotten about and abandoned, and they left all their little gadgets and toys here to rot.”

“So no zombies?”

“Nope. Nobody to zombify. Just a bunch of robots.”

“Well, fuck.”

“You said it. Let’s get out of here. Hey, what are you doing?”

“We’re here, we might as well make the most of it. Hey, check it out, a Chordettes LP.”

“Yeah, great. Bring me a dream. Oh hey, nice shoes …”

Filed under: humor, poetic No Comments

Squared, Cubed, and Tikied

We were scheduled to meet the ladies at the Fenix Underground at 10:15. Being that we had to kick some ass at darts, and then finish our Guinness, and then wait to get money out of the ATM (I had done this before heading up to Seattle, but I guess no one else had thought ahead), we didn't get there until about 10:45.

Fenix Underground is big. Big and in my opinion, pretty classy. Everyone in there seemed to be having a good time, and it wasn't too packed, at least that early in the evening. We entered on ground level, and then went down the stairs. Having never been there before, I just tried to keep someone I knew in sight so that I didn't get lost, abandoned and killed in some Seattle back-alley. Downstairs the music was pumping, there were light shows on every wall, and as people danced their shadows played in the light. It's as much fun to watch silhouettes dance as it is people. We met up with our female cohorts, who had evidently had to put up with some unwanted male advances before we'd arrived, but who'd been having a grand old time without us nonetheless. Still, they were happy to see us, us them, and we immediately jumped out on the dance floor and got our respective grooves on. My groove goes a little like, "Bom-bom-bam-chica-chica-bom-chica-bom-bom-bam-bidda-bidda-bam-bidda-bom-bom-bop". You know, but not in a porn music sort of way, which the word/sound "chica" always seems to invoke. Having practiced "dropping it like it's hot", I shook my bootie, to everyone's delight, and we had a grand time.

I'd never been to a club with a date. I'd never really danced with a girl I liked outside of structured partner dancing (swing, tango, salsa etc). And frankly, I didn't really like club dancing that much, until I had someone to do it with, and it became a whole lot more fun. I can see now how people pair up at clubs, if only because it's a lot more fun to dance WITH someone than by yourself, and the tension can get sexual very quickly. I also think it's the least constructive way to meet people ever, seeing as how you have no idea if you have anything in common other than you like to go grind it every now and then. But I guess for some, that doesn't matter so much as what they got and how they can move it.

We spent a little over an hour at the Fenix, all told, which passed quickly. Then some of the girls wanted to move on, seeing as how we'd payed for an all-club pass, why stay at one? I would have been perfectly content staying there. I figure if you're having a good time, why leave? But we left, anyway, and went to Tiki Bob's. It sucked. The place was packed, so that walking from the entrance to a place to dance took five minutes, threading through hot sweaty people who either looked like they were wearing too much make-up or too much testosterone. Then we tried dancing, but kept getting bumped by people passing through the crowd. All the guys were wearing tight shirts and had very serious looks on their faces, as if by looking constipated they might attract a mate. The girls were, for the most part, in short halter-top style outfits and tight pants, sporting painted-on characterless faces and a frenzied need to exhibit gleaming in their eyes. If you can't tell, I was a bit freaked out by the place, but tried to ignore the surroundings and just dance with the people I was with, which worked to a tolerable extent.

We didn't stay there long, thankfully. Twenty to thirty minutes later we escaped into the crisp night air, breathed thankfully, and bought some really expensive sausages from a vendor set to rake in the dough from all the late-night partiers. We discussed going to another club, something to do with cowgirls (evidently someone wanted to ride the mechanical bull). But feet were sore, people were tired, it was after two in the morning, and we decided to call it a night. But not before we decided we'd hit Denny's on the way home. Something I wasn't ecstatic about, but I had four other people in the car I was driving, and by the time we got there some coffee and sugar to keep me awake was sounding very tempting. Better to be wired than dead on the side of the road, I always say. So we stopped about a half-hour south of Seattle, piled out of the car, and tumbled into Denny's. Our other group met us there, and we sat around for a solid half-hour before our food got to us. You'd think that Denny's management would realize that they're going to get a crowd piling in just after two on a Saturday night / Sunday morning, but they seemed oblivious. So we were stuck with one, not overly competent server (he didn't do too badly, really) serving about ten tables with a combination of about forty people. In a restaurant where everyone wants full coffee all the time, that's not a good combination.

I chowed on my coffee and apple pie a la mode (I told you I wanted coffee and sugar), and felt much more awake afterwards, if slightly loopy. We chowed, we payed, we left, as often happens in Denny's, and made our way back to Olympia without further adventure.

I doubt I'll go up to Seattle every weekend to hit a club, but I did have a blast and I wouldn't mind doing it again. Olympia has its share of clubs, but the best ones are all gay clubs, and sometimes it's nice to get out of Dodge and try something new. Still, the nice thing about partying in Oly is that once the evening has wound its way down, you don't have to drive an hour to get home. Thank god for Denny's ....

Filed under: dance, personal 1 Comment

Pioneer, squared

So Saturday night we went up to Seattle, to Pioneer Square, to go to clubs and cause a ruckus. We succeeded admirably, I feel.

Two of my friends and I rode up together a little late, since I didn't get off work until 6. We got to Seattle a bit after 8:00, and met our gang at the New Orleans for some good company and spicy jambalaya. We had to blow the joint before 9:00 because John Lee Hooker Jr was playing there, and they were charging an exorbitant cover to stay and listen. We had other plans, anyway.

The guys went to the Owl 'N Thistle for some darts and Guinness. Which, of course, was Theo's and my plan (mostly Theo), since we were really the only ones playing darts. I think all the guys had a good time, anyway. So Theo and I were playing a game of 501, and these two guys who had been watching us for awhile came up to me and asked if they could have the board when we're done with our game. I had no idea how to respond, because the nice guy in me wants to get plowed over and say "Hey sure, of course" but really I didn't want to give up the board yet because they only have the one real dart board and we had just started playing. So I stammered a bit, and then turned to Theo and asked him how he felt about trading off on games, and he turned to them and responded, "How about we play you for it." And I was like, ooOooOoh, challenge. So Theo and I finished up our game, let the other pair warm up a bit whilst we sized up their skills, and started with a game of 501.

We maintained a good 50-100 point lead throughout the game, all the way down until Theo dropped us to 6 points and I started mad as hell trying to hit the damned double-3. And so they caught up, and the one guy of the two that didn't seem as good knocked it down to 14 on his first dart, and then hit double-7 and his next. And we were like "W-T-F MATE!?", but instead we said "Good game" and shook their hands. So after that we played a game of Cricket (the darts version, of course). They had a fairly solid lead on us the entire game, though thanks to Theo we managed to close our bulls early, while I caught us up on most of the other numbers. In the end, they had about 87 points, and we had around 17. They only needed one bull to win, and we needed three. The suspense was high. I got one single bull, which bumped us up to 43. We still needed two more. They missed, then Theo missed, then they missed again. My turn up. First dart flew low and to the right, smacking into the heart of 2. No good. I breathed, lined up, let fly, turned around and said "Good game" with a big smile on my face. My dart stuck smack in the middle of the double-bull, bumping us up to 93 and the win. We may not have kicked their asses in a major way, but I can't think of a more satisfying victory.

So yesterday we cleared our garage a bit, moved the drum-set, and are ready to start throwing the darts around some more. We need a new board, and I could use some new darts, but Theo and I were both thinking that it would be a lot of fun to enter some local tournaments, either singles or doubles. My competetive edge likes to stomp opponents into the dust, and all the more if they're strangers. And granted, I'm not that great at darts (yet), but riding off that double-bull win I feel like I could be. Besides, it's fun as hell.

After the game, we finished our Guinness, and went to the Fenix Underground to meet our lovely ladies and do some dancing. Details to come.

Filed under: dance, personal 1 Comment

Fear and Loathing in Colorado

Farewell, Hunter S. Thompson. Thanks for changing the art of journalism. And, as is said here, being in a sense the patron saint of blogging.

You can find quite a bit more info here.

Filed under: news, poetic No Comments

Comicular Hilariousis

Every once in a while, a comic strip comes along and you're like, "WOW!" And then other times, it's more like, "OooOoooooh...".

But sometimes, it's more like "W-T-F Mate!?"

Even so, I say: flippin' hilarious.

Filed under: humor, webcomics No Comments