Warning: Foul language filters are off!

MwaHaHAHa! My plan on this island is starting to work.

I made a point of befriending some of the biggest motherfuckers on this island. cops, fishermen, bouncers. It paid off last night when I went bar-hopping with my cousin and a couple of friends.

There was this newbie on the island, skinny dude with a reverse goatee (grew the beard and shaved the middle), who kept ordering "loudmouths" and was becoming increasingly so. He kept trying to hump the bar and hollered about getting nekkid. Called himself "Kevin Starfish" (that's okay, I told him some bogus name for me too.) (That guy know my real name? Ewww)

He kept trying to hug me, not hump me thank God, but he was still in control enough not to touch me anywhere that would get him decked. Me? I threw up my detatchment sheild, and basically tuned him out. Through all his bull shit I heard "I'm getting drunk If I get laid, I get laid. If not, I'll be too fucking drunk to care" Everybody else didn't hear that. They heard "WHOOHOO! Starfish wants some ass!"

Repeatedly.

Finally, my cousin and L. caught my little "HELP!" that I gave them and moved in. L. is an ex-bouncer from another bar, and my cousin would have just decked the guy given half a chance. L. wouldn't let her. L. was all looking at me going "are you sure you're okay?" The Starfish was an ass, but he wasn't grabbing mine, so I wouldn't let L. deck him either. But my cousin and I did get a chance to move further away. I stayed near enough, but any familiar face that tried to go past us, I kinda pulled in. M was trying to enjoy her beer, L. was smoking a cigarette to keep from hitting the guy, and I was stacking the decks. Finally the jerk left, diverted(?) by one of the guys that I had grabbed. (The other guy soon left starfish on some unsuspecting bartender, anyway)

Later, at the third bar, I had to leave before the rest. The DJ was playing some shitty hip hop, and it was getting too loud anyway. the moment I stepped out of the bar, Who do I see but Starfish, making a b-line for the bar. I turned to go back in, but found S. standing by the parking lot. Hmm. S. is...a big man. Kinda like I'd think a viking would have been. Blonde, blue-eyed, 6'4 at the least, and all muscle. I walked/ran up to him and asked if I could borrow him before ducking under his arm.

Starfish didn't stay long.

I kinda feel like a schmuck though. I had to hide instead of telling the idiot to leave me alone.

And Mel, this S. is a different one from the one I told you about. Same name, different person. I talk about 3 of them, all different.

I wrote my own version of another's essay.

Service before self- this comes when a person believes in a concept so much that his love of life becomes secondary. Otherwise known as martyrdom. Idealized by many, practiced by few, the "service before self" mind-set is put on a pedestal because the reality of it is that it is one of the most difficult things to do consistently.
Person after person has come to face the realization that they could live longer- and possibly happier- lives, if they had eased up on their "service". Jesus Christ even had to deal with that choice in the Garden of Gethsemane.
Life held so much for that man. He could have stood up and walked away from it all, prophesies be damned. And lived in personal shame for the rest of his life.
More often than not, man can bypass the love of self for service at short intervals. Kurt was an undersheriff in Newton. He quit the force, yet came back to it. He put service before self one night last April and walked into a hostage situation. He was killed, because for a brief moment, self was secondary.

When service before self happens, heroes are born. Some even survive. A. is a rescue diver. He was the last to get out of the water when a boat sank one November. It was a media circus. The guys did their job, what they were trained to do, but you can't say that he and his companions weren't seriously reconsidering their choice of service before self with the waves beating the helicopter in the middle of the night.

stupid blog format

I'm not getting the spacing I wanted, but at least it's not screaming every time I hit Enter.


Seeing you there
My heart didn't tumble,
My words didn't stumble.

Habit held you close to me
It only hurt a little, from
my side.

So, your eyes teary,
And your heart torn,

You said I did everything right.

more

As my thoughts turn towards home,
my thoughts turn towards you.
Why you?
You of all people
I have no quarter with.
Precious decisions, once known
Will bar you from me forever
Should you know now
And get it over with?

Probably.
Will it happen?
I don't know you that well yet.
And I'm too much a chicken.

scratchings

I'll put up a few poems I found the other day.
Typing them is all good, but there's nothing as cathartic as taking a pen to paper. I can still catch my feelings better there than on a flippin' keyboard.

"You are the only woman I ever loved,"
I've heard that one before.
What is it with me?
What makes me so special?
One made me feel like property
The other I struggled desperately not to
strangle.
I think another is coming up
But what will become of it?

I'd ostracize another family I care about, if I haven't already.

Scary movie 3

I could have sworn I'd already seen this movie, but last night I realized I hadn't. Didn't miss much, but I got a few guffaws over it. I tend to have a penchant for the line "Just screwing with ya" , and its variations.

I thing the chickens are hypnotizing the dog. I'm out here house-sitting again, and the chickens are getting out of their coop 3-4 times a day. I wouldn't care so much except: (1)they aren't my chickens; (2) Eagles LOVE the taste of small animals.
Sometimes I think they know what they're doing, much like I know some cows growl. I'll walk out to the coop, open the door, and they walk back in as if they were waiting on it. Cheeky bastards.