Observations on life and other stuff

[Govt-man]

Porn for the people

Had to pull this one! It was pointed out that children might read this.

 

[Govt-man]

Had to pull last post...Thanks!

 

[Govt-man]

Sex ed.

Sorry about that last post, I didn't realize that children might read my stuff, so no more porn.
But the whole the thing got me to thinking about my children OS and YS. And how utterly unprepared I am discuss sex with my sons. And OS is getting to be about that age. He is only 11, but already has the hint of the mustashe, wakes up, as one journalist on this board puts it, with "morning wood". He flies into fits for no reason. So he is suffering from Testotrone poisonening.
What I want is for him to be a sex positive person and enjoy a full and fullfilling love life. But also to not be a irresponible man slut that his father was in his teen and twenties. And I might add MLW has already told me that this whole facts of life thing is on me, being a man and since my sperm produced the two man children we have.
How do I explain the whole complicated and beautiful world of sex, love, relationship with women, and yet how dangerous it can be, both physically and emotionally? All without turning him into a celibate.

Okay how about some advice. All you people with children, a little help.

 

[Govt-man]

Uh?

Well okay, folks...Its official. I'm going deaf. Doctor did all the tests and said in about 2 or 3 years all have to wear a hearing aide. There is a genetic element and a "didn't wear my fucking hearing portection when I was in the Army" element and hey your not a teenager anymore element.
Good news is, I shouldn't go profoundly deaf, just become hard of hearing, but hearing aides should correct the problem to within about 90% of normal hearing.
So it is what it is...I'm not happy about it, but could have been a lot worse...
so...UH? what did you say, sonny!

 

[Govt-man]

9-11-2001

I was at work. One of my co-workers came in and annouced she had heard about the first plane on the radio. I went to the officers break room snatched the spare TV and plugged in the antenna to watch the fuzzy images.
My boss came in watched the TV for a second then left. A retired E-8, Vietnam Vet crying his eyes out. I just sat down in shock. Then called MLW and told her to turn on the TV. Then just sat in silence with the phone in my ear, listening to each other breath.
The boss came back in and said we had a choice. We could go home or stay and work. I chose to stay and work. Pulled out the programs of instruction for our Mobilization courses and started to up date them.
I figured we were going to need them.
I like Jpuck kicked around the idea of rejoining. I was only 39 and had been in two mercifully brief wars. When I got home that night I told MLW what I had thought.
"Bullshit, Pat. You're too damn old and broke dick to re-up. Besides I'm likely to be recalled so who is going to take care of the boys.'
Well she was right on both accounts. Within 3 months she was recalled to active duty. And so like so many women had done for centuries, I watched the kids and kept the home fires burning while my spouse went off to war. It was kinda weird to do that.

 

[Govt-man]

inspired by Sugar Snit

FUCK YOU
Perhaps one of the most interesting and colorful words in the English language today is the word "fuck". It is the one magical word which, just by its sound, can describe pain, pleasure, love, and hate. In language, "fuck" falls into many grammatical categories. It can be used as a verb, both transitive (John fucked Mary) and intransitive (Mary was fucked by John). It can be an action verb (John really gives a fuck), a passive verb (Mary really doesn't give a fuck), an adverb (Mary is fucking interested in John), or as a noun (Mary is a terrific fuck). It can also be used as an adjective (Mary is fucking beautiful) or an interjection (Fuck! I'm late for my date with Mary). It can even be used as a conjunction (Mary is easy, fuck she's also stupid). As you can see, there are very few words with the overall versatility of the word "fuck".
Aside from its sexual connotations, this incredible word can be used to describe many situations:


1. Greetings "How the fuck are ya?"
2. Fraud "I got fucked by the car dealer."
3. Resignation "Oh, fuck it!"
4. Trouble "I guess I'm fucked now."
5. Aggression "FUCK YOU!"
6. Disgust "Fuck me."
7. Confusion "What the fuck.......?"
8. Difficulty "I don't understand this fucking business!"
9. Despair "Fucked again..."
10. Pleasure "I fucking couldn't be happier."
11. Displeasure "What the fuck is going on here?"
12. Lost "Where the fuck are we."
13. Disbelief "UNFUCKINGBELIEVABLE!"
14. Retaliation "Up your fucking ass!"
15. Denial "I didn't fucking do it."
16. Perplexity "I know fuck all about it."
17. Apathy "Who really gives a fuck, anyhow?"
18. Greetings "How the fuck are ya?"
19. Suspicion "Who the fuck are you?"
20. Panic "Let's get the fuck out of here."
21. Directions "Fuck off."
22. Disbelief "How the fuck did you do that?"

It can be used in an anatomical description- "He's a fucking asshole."
It can be used to tell time- "It's five fucking thirty."
It can be used in business- "How did I wind up with this fucking job?"
It can be maternal- "Motherfucker."
It can be political- "Fuck Dan Quayle!"

It has also been used by many notable people throughout history:

"What the fuck was that?"
- Mayor of Hiroshima

"Where did all these fucking Indians come from?"
- General Custer

"Where the fuck is all this water coming from?"
- Captain of the Titanic

"That's not a real fucking gun."
- John Lennon

"Who's gonna fucking find out?"
- Richard Nixon

"Heads are going to fucking roll."
- Anne Boleyn

"Let the fucking woman drive."
- Commander of Space Shuttle

"What fucking map?"
- "Challenger," Mark Thatcher

"Any fucking idiot could understand that."
- Albert Einstein

"It does so fucking look like her!"
- Picasso

"How the fuck did you work that out?"
- Pythagoras

"You want what on the fucking ceiling?"
- Michaelangelo

"Fuck a duck."
- Walt Disney

"Why?- Because its fucking there!"
- Edmund Hilary

"I don't suppose its gonna fucking rain?"
- Joan of Arc

"Scattered fucking showers my ass."
- Noah

"I need this parade like I need a fucking hole in my head."
- John F. Kennedy

 

[Govt-man]

I'm a pretty average guy. But I'm not a mechanic. I can handle simple repairs on most things. If I can see the problem, I cam mostly figure out how to take it apart, replace what is broken and make it work again.
Well, MLW car came to a total halt on the way to store on sunday. I tried to jump it and it couldn't make it go. So me and young cop pushed it off the side of the road and then I had it towed to the dealer.
Collant leak in manifold. Wreaked the fuel system, coolant system and etc.
Now this is of course my fault since I didn't use my magical male mechanical sense to discover this problem before it happened, and by the laying on of hand repaired it.
It crap ladies. A professional maechanic took 3 hours with hi tech shit to discover the problem and tell us how it needed to be fixed.
I as an average guy could not have discovered and fixed the problem no matter what!

Oh by the 1500 dollars is the repair bill...I am loving Detroit today.

 

[Govt-man]

Big Al

Big Al was an amazing guy. When I was in college Big Al lived on the floor in my dorm. He dated Alex a good girl friend of my Girl friend Julie.
Now Big Al was about 5-4 around 140 Not big...well after a small party all 4 of us ended up in the bedroom and I discovered why he was know as Big Al. He was freaking HUGE...like 12 inches and 5 inches around...Alex and Julie were both very sore girls the next day..
What I want to know is how little guys ended up with such a huge unit!

 

[Govt-man]

CHAPTER ONE

Preston Michaelson stood in the damn hot Georgia sun and waited for the wheels of the bureaucracy to grind on. He waited right at the deadline, while the sharpshooters in the guard towers eyeballed him, like he was going to make a break for it with five minutes to go. Bulls never change, from the first day to the last, he thought.
His jeans were loose in the waist and tight thru the hips and thighs. Five year of prison food and working out two hours a day will do that for a body; even a forty-year-old body like his. The blue t-shirt was snug and already sweat stained, the sweat stink covered the musty storage smell.
What was taking so long? Press thought. But after his nickel he was good at waiting.
The Fat Man finally waddled his way out of the guard station, bearing a clipboard and a sour expression. He huffed his way across the open 10 yards of red clay and practically staggered to a halt in front of Press.
“Sign here.” Fat Man held out the clipboard and pointed to a line on the top sheet of paper. On the paper was a line with his prisoner number, his name, crime and sentence, then a note that said “Sentence Complete, Good Behavior, 5 out of 8 years.” Fat Man’s pudgy finger indicated the last spot in the row. Press took the attached pen and signed neatly.
The Fat Man turned and shouted: “Pressman Michaelson, going out!”
The big gate opened, making a loud grinding sound like it hadn’t been oiled in a century.
Press shouldered his bag and passed out of the gate and breathed free.
Across the two-lane black top under a huge old elm was the bus stop bench. The closest town was about three miles away, an easy twenty five minute run for Press, but he decided to not to jog. He crossed the rode and sat on the bench. It was much cooler in the shade.
Press pulled the pile of paperwork he had been handed when he was released. In the sheaf were copies of his prison and education records. He opened the folder and scanned the record.
As far as prison sentences had gone, his hadn’t been too bad. Press thought of it as Purgatory rather then the 9th circle of Hell.
His first week in Population one of the hard cases tried to make Press his bitch. A broken nose, ruptured testicle and set of broken ribs later; the hard case was persuaded to not pursue his affection for Press. He had spent a month in Isolation for that. After his release from the IU, he had found that he was respected and maybe even feared. He was a man that “knew something”. Being well educated, Press had been given a job working in the prison library, helping the other cons get their education. Press had quickly come to the conclusion that most of the prisoners were right where they deserved to be, in lock-up far away from civilized society.
The real problem with the pen was boredom. There was nothing to do. So Press had studied. He got his second masters, on-line, this time an MBA. Not like an ex-con was going to be able to go back to teaching, or for that matter, work at the management level of a company, but it did fill the time. He had helped some of the cons get their GEDs and even some their advanced degrees. He had done his job and generally been left alone.
A dark blue Lincoln Town car pulled up in front of the bench as Press was putting the papers back into his carryall.
One of the Atlanta Mafia must be getting out too, Press thought.
A man got out of the passenger side. He was tan, tall and slim; he wore gray slacks, and jacket, with a white collarless shirt, a bulge under his left arm showed he was armed.
The man sat down on the bench.
“Mr. Michaelson?” He said.
“Yeah.”
“I am Paul Larson, I work for Gil LaDeux and he has a job offer for you. Would you please come with me?”
Press looked at him, shrugged and stood up.
Larson stood also followed Press to the car and then opened the back door for him. Press slipped into the backseat. Larson got in the front and nodded to the driver. The driver put the car in gear and drove.
The car was loaded: soft leather interior, a small bar and TV/VCR set up.
Larson turned in his seat. “You know about Mr. LaDeux?”
“Sure, a billionaire, owns lots of companies; cable TV stations, mining, manufacturing, information technologies, ranches. Started out with a small advertising company and built from there. A real self-made man.”
“How do you know so much?”
“The lead article in ‘MONEY’ magazine 3 months ago was about him.”
“You read ‘MONEY’?”
“I read everything,” Press said tight lips.
“Make yourself at home,” Larson said as he turned back around. “Its about a two hour drive.”
Press pulled out a bottle of water from the mini-bar and sipped it and watched the farmland roll by.

 

[Govt-man]

CHAPTER TWO

LaDeux lived in the penthouse condo of his headquarters’ building. The building was 40-story glass and steel box near the statehouse and stadium in Atlanta. The traffic was typical Atlanta awful. It took as much time to cover the distance from the outer loop to the headquarters as it had from the prison to the outer loop. The driver pulled up in front of the building, let Larson and Press out and then drove off to park the car.
Larson lead Press passed the security desk with nothing more then a nod at the uniformed guard. The pair when to an elevator, Larson inserted an electronic keycard into a slot and the door opened.
The elevator car was lushly appointed with lots of brown leather. There were only two buttons: a “P” and “L”. Larson pushed the “P” button. The car rose quickly and smoothly and deposited them into a shiny black marble vestibule.
A huge young man sat at a tiny desk and stared at Larson and Press as they stepped out. Larson nodded at the young man and guided Press to the door on the right. Larson opened and motioned Press thru the door. A bank of three desks filled the room, three woman, all in there early thirties, brunettes, dressed very professionally, looking enough alike to be sisters all looked up at the same time.
“You’re late,” the one in the middle announced.
“Yeah, traffic was hell.”
She smiled and nodded. “Go on. He’s expecting you. Mr. Michaelson, you can leave your bag here.”
The secretary on the left stood and held out her hand for the bag.
Press nodded and handed it over.
Larson stepped to the door right behind the middle desk and opened it.
“Mr. LeDeux, Mr. Michealson.” He announced and held the door open for Press.
The office was nice, but surprisingly Spartan: just a desk, table and chairs, it had a well used, real working place feel. Files and stacks of paper cluttered the desktop. Two computer monitors sat on one corner of the desk.
LeDeux looked like his pictures: deeply tanned, silver hair, bushy mustache, about sixty, but a healthy sixty. His tie was pulled down, his collar open and sleeves rolled up.
“Have a seat!” LeDeux pointed at the conference table. He got up and joined Press and Larson at the table.
“Mr. Michaelson,” LeDeux shook Press’ hand.
Press nodded his greeting.
“Let me come right to the point,” LeDeux looked Press right in the eye. “I have a job for you, it could involve some illegalities and no doubt some physical danger as well. But I will pay you well and you will be doing something worthwhile. In fact I’ll pay you two thousand for signing a confidentiality agreement and listening to our proposal.”
Press had all of five hundred dollars in his pocket; five years’ slave wages from the state, but those was all his ready assets. Two thousand dollars sounded damn good to him.
“All right, I’ll sign and listen,” Press said after a moment.
Larson went to the cluttered desk and came back with a manila folder. He opened it and put it front of Press and handed him a pen. Press quickly scanned the one page document. It was in lawyer speak, but basically said Press could not reveal anything about his conversations or activities with LD Enterprises or he would return all pay and could be sued.
Press signed and took the attached cashier’s check and put it in his front pants pocket.
“When was the last time you were in Hoyden County?” LaDuex asked.
“Fifteen years ago when I buried my grandparents.”
“Well things haven’t changed much I’m sure.”
“I’m sure.” Press said. Then asked: “What is this about?”
“Platinum.” LaDeux announced.
“Platinum?”
“Hoyden County sits on one of the mother loads of platinum in this country. My surveyors discovered it. But I can’t get at it.”
“I’m not a mining engineer.”
“The problem isn’t anything like that, it Sheriff Willy Boyd.”
“That bastard is still alive?”
“Sorry, Willy Boyd, Junior. Senior died a few years back.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“Very well. Simply put. I want that platinum and I’m not going to pay bribes to get it. At every turn we have be obstructed, harassed and so on. Our people arrested on trumped up charges, buildings and equipment vandalized. Cost of the mining rights suddenly triple what I should pay.”
“I’m still not sure what you want me to do about it.”
LeDeux took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.
“We want you to go into Hoyden and do what it takes to get me the mining rights. Also you should consider this a test, if you will. If you do this, other, similar opportunities could come your way.”
“Well thanks, but no thanks. I don’t feel like going back inside anytime soon.” Press stood.
“Wait a second, to make this more worth your while, we have something very else to offer.” LeDeux motioned Press to sit.
Larson went to the desk and pushed the intercom. “Send in Ms. Sotherlyn.”
A gray haired, stylish woman of about fifty marched in the door, followed by a large black man, carrying a briefcase and wearing a well-tailored suit. LeDeux and Press stood.
Donna Sotherlyn was the State’s Attorney General.
“Do you know me?” The woman asked Press as she sat at the table.
“Yes.” Press said.
“I was never here, this meeting never took place.”
Press nodded.
“Hoyden County and the Boyds have been a pain in mine and this state’s ass for years. And we want it to end, ASAP. Johnny!” She held out her hand to her associate.
The man withdrew from the briefcase a stiff piece of cream-colored parchment and handed to the Attorney General. She looked at it and then handed it to Press.
It was a pardon. Made out in his name for all crimes committed in the state. The date was blank.
“This pardon has already been filed, but thru a clerical the date has been left off. Congratulations Mr. Michaelson, you’ve been pardoned and all your rights as a citizen have been restored. Your criminal record has been expunged from every database we can reach. ”
“The pardon is yours, if you take the job, not whether or not you succeed.” LeDeux added.
“Before I answer, can I ask some questions?”
Both Sotherlyn and DeDeux nodded.
“How’d you find me and why did you pick me for the job?”
“Long story short,” Larson answered. “Some of our people from the county remembered you and how you stood up to Willy Junior. Also how your Grandfather had stood up to the whole corrupt system there. Of course, Ms. Sotherlyn remembered your legal troubles. I did some asking around with my sources in the military. They told me was you were: ‘mission oriented’ and very determined. Plus, you have the prefect cover: hometown boy returns after stint in prison to put his life together.”
“How much money?” Press asked.
“One thousand a week, plus expenses and fifty thousand on completion.” LeDeux didn’t even blink.
“Bribing Willy Junior would be cheaper.” Press offered.
“Think so?” LeDeux stared at Press. “Where will it stop? First it is this, then its something else. Yeah, I’ll make a tidy profit from the mine, but the jobs and development would help all the people in that county. Better jobs, better schools, better lives. I won’t see it feed that corrupt jackass. Also, do you really think the Willy Boyd will let another group become powerful in that county? The mine will bring in strangers. I’ll have to import managers, skilled workers and the like. Those people will want a say in how where they live is run. Do you think Willy and the redneck mafia will let them have that say?”
Press stared back, then nodded. LeDeux was right.
“I’ll do it.”
Sotherlyn, LaDeux and Larson all shook his hand. Larson produced another paper from the pile on the desk. It was a contract, describing Press as “a consultant”, that his work was totally confidential, and listing his compensation. Press signed it. Then LeDeux signed.
“I want you to understand something, Mr. Michaelson. None of us want or expect you to go into Hoyden and kill everyone that gets in your way. We can shield you from phony charges and protect you from some things. But we cannot protect you from murder or other major felony charges, if you really did do the crime. Nor would we, even if we could. Are you clear on that?”
Press nodded. “I don’t have any kind of plan, but I wouldn’t kill anyone, unless they were planning on killing me. I’m not a cold blooded murderer.”
Southerlyn gave a thin smile, turned on her heel and left the office.
“Paul,” LeDeux said. “Take Press over to the hotel and put him up in the suit. Get him anything he wants for tonight and tomorrow we’ll get him briefed up and set up with what he think he needs.”
Larson motioned for Press to follow him. They left the office.

 

[Govt-man]

CHAPTER THREE

LD Enterprises kept a penthouse suite in the local Sheraton. An underground walkway connected the company headquarters and the hotel. The two men walked thru the tunnel.
“So what would you like?” Larson asked.
“A huge steak, baked potato, salad with some nice beers.”
“No problem. You want to eat alone?”
Press looked at Larson.
“You know two biggest things about prison?”
“Yeah, you’re always bored, and you’re never alone.”
“Where were you?”
“Lansing, 18 months for assault with a deadly weapon.”
“So give.”
“I was working private security in KCK: Body guarding, keeping stalker at bay for the local ladies, protecting wives from abusive husbands, the usual stuff. It was a good job, had a nice wife and great daughter. Pedophile grabbed Sara, my daughter, off the street, and raped her. She was only 10. Cut her up her face some, too. The cops caught him, but the DA blew the case. The bastard only got two years for criminal sexual abuse. So I hunted him down while he was out on bail and blew his balls off with a thirty-eight. He didn’t die.” Larson shrugged. “A good citizen call 911 and the ambulance got to him in time.”
“The wife blamed me for it all, you know. If I’d been there when it happened, it wouldn’t have happened. I wasn’t supportive of her afterwards. I kind of felt that way myself. Then the same DA that prosecuted the son of a bitch drew my case and he blew it too. He had me on attempted murder. I copped a plea to ADW and took the time. When I got out the wife was gone, my daughter didn’t know me anymore. So I bugged out and landed here.”
They arrived in the lobby of the hotel. A quick word with the manager got Press the key to the penthouse.
“Company after dinner?” Larson asked as they rode up the elevator.
Press thought for a moment. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”
“Anything in particular?”
“Surprise me, but someone that I can talk to. I’d like to talk to a woman, not just fuck them.”
Larson smiled. He knew exactly what Press meant.

 

[Govt-man]

CHAPTER FOUR
The room was huge and lush. Occupying half the entire top floor two bedrooms, a living area, and a wet bar. Everything was sparkling clean. Earth tones in wood and leather dominated the décor.
“Get a shower,” Larson said. “I’ll get your dinner. How do you like your steak?”
“Medium well, pink but not bloody. And load up the potato.’
Press tossed his bag down and walked into the bedroom on the right. Larson picked up the phone and ordered dinner.
The bathroom was luxurious, marble and chrome, the bathtub was like a swimming pool. Press undressed and got in the shower. He turned on the water as hot as he could take. He stood in the powerful spray and soaked. The prison had shaved his hair down to a short burr. He washed his hair and body, scrubbing hard to get the five years of stink off of him. When he emerged his skin was pink and clean. Press didn’t bother with his clothes; he slipped on the fluffy bathrobe and walked back into the living room.
Larson was sitting at the table eating a shrimp cocktail.
“Dinner is served.” Larson announced.
Press sat down and started to eat. The steak was a huge rib eye, so tender he could almost cut it with a fork. The potato was covered in butter, sour cream, chives, bacon and shredded cheese. Two Sam Adams ales sat in a bowl of ice. Press attacked the meal with ill concealed glee.
Larson stood. “Here is a company credit card. Get yourself some new clothes and anything else you need. I have called a friend and she should be here in about an hour. Enjoy yourself. I’ll be back at nine tomorrow to take you back over to the HQ.”
Press nodded. “Thanks, Paul.”
“You’re welcome, Press.”

After he finished dinner, Press reluctantly got dress in his old clothes. First order of business was new clothes.
The doorbell buzzed. Press opened it.
She was stunning: Long red hair, pale skin with just a dusting of freckles under her clear blue eyes. She was nicely curvy and rounded, in her mid-twenties with all the energy of youth.
“I’m Jen Wallace. You must be Preston Michaelson. Paul asked me to meet you.”
She walked passed Press. She was graceful and athletic. Jen wore a shiny emerald green form fitting dress that came to mid thigh; it was sexy and classy at the same time. She carried a small matching clutch bag. Her stockings were also green as were her 4 inch heels. She was about 5-8 in the heels.
“You want a drink?” Press asked.
“Sure. I’ll get it myself.” She said and went over to the bar. After five years of prison, just watching her walk was affecting Press. Plus, it was a pure joy just to see.
Jen made herself a screwdriver. Press recovered his second dinner beer and opened it.
Jen sat on the couch and crossed her fine legs, showing lots of smooth thigh.
“How do you know Paul?” Press asked as he sat across from her.
“He and my sister are dating.”
Press raised a critical eyebrow. “What did he tell you about me?”
“That you weren’t married. That you just got out of the joint. That you had just signed on with his company and wanted a little companionship tonight. Some that could conduct and intelligent conversation was his exact words.”
“You’re not a hooker?” Press blurted out.
Jen’s blue eyes almost shot bolts of lighting.
“Fuck, No.” She stood to go.
“I’m sorry, Jen.” Press said, rather lamely. “It’s just…that, uh. Fuck it. I’m sorry. Please stay.”
She smiled. Her teeth were even and bright white.
“Well, since you put it so nicely.” And she sat again. “What would you like to do tonight?”
“Since I was expecting someone else, I really didn’t have anything planned.” Press scratched his head. “You could help me shop for some clothes then we could go someplace? You pick the place.”
Jen grabbed up her bag and made a straight line to the door. “I have a black belt in shopping and know the perfect place. It’s within walking distance.”
Press followed along. Not knowing whether to kick Larson’s ass or thank him.

 

[Govt-man]

CHAPTER FIVE

Harrod, the British department store had recently opened a full service branch in Atlanta. It was three blocks from the hotel.
Jen Wallace wasn’t just a black belt in shopping; she was a 10th degree Dan in shopping.
An hour after entering the store Press emerged wearing a dark gray summer wool suit, with black collarless shirt. New shoes, wallet and belt, all in soft black leather, finished the outfit. The rest of his new clothes would be delivered to his hotel along with his old clothes.
“You look great,” Jen announced.
“I should,” Press said. “Glad I’m not paying for this. Plus you picked out everything.”
“Hey, I have excellent taste.” She smiled.
Another brief walk brought the pair to the club Jen wanted to go to. The 40’s style neon sign declared it to be the “Macambo 21”.
The line was out the door, about 200 hundred people waited to get in.
“Damn, I knew this place was hot. We’ll never get in.” Jen said.
“Let me handle this.” Press said and moved off the side toward the bouncer.
The bouncer was a steroid enhanced young black man, with a shaved head and silver hoop earring.
“Hey man,” Press said. “Help out a guy?”
The bouncer looked over at Press.
“A little something something.” Press said and palmed a fifty into the young mans beefy mitt.
“Yeah, man.” The bouncer opened the rope and let Press and Jen thru, to the hoots and boos of the waiting crowd.
The club was a retro 40’s place. All dark wood and shadows, with a big band playing the stuff Press’ grandfather used to listen too.
A hostess led them to a table near the dance floor. Cigarette girls circulated, a waitress took their order. Jen had a screwdriver and Press ordered another beer.
“Want to dance?” Jen asked.
“Sure, if you don’t mind the danger to your feet.”
The song was slow with a mellow trumpet solo. Jen and Press stood close, and Press let Jen guide him around the floor. She was a pleasant armful and his erection was soon very evident to them both. Jen moved even closer.
Two very drunk, very well dressed young couples pushed on to the dance floor. Bumping into people, making a straight line for Press and Jen.
“Hey, old guy. What you doing with such a hot chick?” The largest drunk shouted at Press, as he got closer. His companions laughed at his wit.
“Just ignore them.” Jen said.
Press nodded and pulled her closer.
“Old guy, Old guy…that fine piece ain’t going to give you nothing.”
Then he reached out to grab Jen’s ass. The hand never reached its target. Press released Jen and spun her gently out of the way. He grabbed the offending limb, twisted and lifted at the same time. The wristlock made the drunken man bend at the waist. Press’ knee shot up and impacted the drunk’s chest. The opposing pressures dislocated his shoulder with a loud pop. The drunk screamed in pain and started to weep.
Press let the first drunk flop to the floor and turned to face the other. This one was just moving to the attack. Press kicked him in the groin. The drunk bent, vomited and fell to the floor, curled into the fetal position.
Press turned to look for Jen. She had somehow knocked one of the drunken girls out. And she had the other in a Japanese arm bar. The drunk girl was on back, while Jen’s legs were over her face and chest. Jen had her opponent’s left arm bent back over her abdomen and she was arching up, putting pressure on the girl’s elbow.
Press noted that Jen’s stockings were thigh highs and her panties matched her dress.
“I think they got the point.” Press said as he offered Jen his hand.
The bouncers finally moved in, ambulances and police were called.
All the other patrons told the same story. It was clear that the drunks had started the trouble. But still breaking bones might have been a bit over the top. So after mercifully brief interviews with the police, Jen and Press were politely asked to leave.

 

[Govt-man]

CHAPTER SIX

They sat on the couch and sipped bottled water. And waited for the post fight shakes to pass.
“How’d you learn to fight like that?” Press asked.
“Daddy was a Marine. He thought his children should all learn to handle themselves so he taught us himself and sent us all to martial arts schools. I liked it; after I left home I kept it up. First time I had to use it for real.” She sighed.
“How about you?’ Jen asked.
“I have always like martial arts. I learned some in the Army, kept it up afterward and, well, in prison . . .” He trailed off and shrugged.
Press finished water in one long pull.
“Do you need an escort home?” He asked.
Jen leaned close to him and kissed him. Their tongues did a little dance with each other in the air. Press grabbed her and pulled her tight.
“I’ll stay, if you want.” Jen said as they separated slightly.
Press didn’t say anything. He picked her up, cradling her in his arms. She put her head on his chest and her arms around his neck. She listened to his heart beating. He carried her into the bedroom.

 

[Govt-man]

FIVE YEARS EARLIER

Preston Michaelson was a happy man. He was living the American Dream.
He drove his car past his house turned and circled around into the cul-de-sac. His intention was to surprise his wife and sons by coming thru the backdoor. He walked thru this neighbors yard, hopped the low fence and quietly turned the key and opened the door.
Press knew something was wrong. Mr. Doo, his boxer dog, didn’t rush to greet him. The lights were out, but the TV was on. Without conscious thought, Press snatched his 9-millimeter from its holster. In the ghostly light of the TV, Press saw his sons. The red splash of blood covered them as they lay on the floor. The two boys had been lying on the floor watching TV when they had been shot.
Press heard a low voice, cussing in the kitchen to his left. He took one long quiet stride to the door.
Two young men, one black, one white were sitting at his kitchen table, drinking beer. The white one had a bloody tea towel wrapped around his right forearm. Two cheap looking handguns lay on the table next to the empty bottles. The black one sat facing Press while the white one was at a right angle.
Press fired four times.
The first bullet entered Jamal Jedburkes’ chest slightly left of center, smashed thru the ribs, entered the heart and stopped in the right ventricle. The second shot entered lower on the centerline, passed thru the liver, out his back and lodged in the wall. Jamal Jedburkes was dead before his head hit the floor.
The third bullet entered Frank X. McCann’s left side under his arm. Clipped the left ventricle, continued on into the body and came to rest against his spine. The fourth hit McCann just below his left ear, was deflected upward by the jawbone, and passed thru his ear canal and out the top of his head, taking a large part of his brains with it. The hydrostatic pressure was so high that both McCann’s eyes literally popped from their sockets.
Press moved swiftly down the hall toward the front of the house and the stairs. The streetlights cast a yellow glow thru the windows into the house. Mr. Doo lay dead at the front door. A huge wound marred the smooth brown coat. A bloody scrap of flesh was still clutched in the guard dog’s mouth.
A figure was moving down the stairs.
“You stupid, Mother….” Mustafa Jedburk never finished that thought.
Press’ first shot took him low in the abdomen, perforated his bowels and shattered his spine. The elder Jedburk never felt the second round enter his right chest, flatten against a rib and take a fist-sized piece of his lung out his back with it. It took Mustafa Jedburk five minutes to bleed out.
Press then saw his wife’s body. He saw what had happened in a moment. The invaders had knocked on the door. Julie had opened it, without looking. She was like that.
When she realized what she had done, she ordered Mr. Doo to attack. Which he had done, tearing a piece out of one of the attackers. Julie had then turned and made to get upstairs and to the guns they kept by the bed. After dealing with the attacking dog, one of the invaders had shot her in the back.
“What the fuck?” The skinning young white man stood in the now open door.
Press saw him and raised his pistol. The young man bolted out on to the lawn and straight for an old junker car parked across the street. Press chased after him.
The young man reached the car and made to get it started. He dropped the keys.
When Christopher McCann sat back up in the seat. Press pushed the gun as far as he could into the car and fired. The single shot entered McCann’s head in the right temple and passed thru and thru, spattering his brains all over the car and onto the street.
Press sat down in the street and started to weep from the very pit of his soul. He gently put the barrel of the automatic in his mouth.

THE PRESENT
Press woke up sweating and shaking. Jen sat up next to him.
“My God, Press. Are you okay?” She reached out to him, pulled him down to her and cradled his head against her breasts.

 

[Govt-man]

FIVE YEARS AGO
“Of course, of course,” County Prosecutor Jay Allen announced to the assembled reporters. “Mr. Michaelson had the right to defend his life with deadly force. However, however; he did NOT have the right to murder that young man in his car. Mr. Michaelson’s life was not in danger at that point.”
Allen was an appointee to the position and was now determined to win election to it. He, however, was a big city man, a transplant; thirty years ago he would have been called a “damnyankee” and “carpetbagger”. He had a total tin ear for the sensibilities of the citizens of the county he supposable served.
Press had spent the night in the security wing of the hospital. He now sat at the table in Allen’s office, waiting for the prosecutor to stop taking questions. Carlton Pierce, his lawyer, sat next to him. Pierce was a hotshot. When Pierce had heard about Press, he had gotten to the hospital and offered his services. Press had accepted numbly.
“Well, Carlton,” Allen said, as he entered. “Your client has been arraigned and charged with 2nd degree murder. What is this meeting about? Since I’m not going to deal.”
“Oh you’ll deal.” Pierce said calmly. “The man’s whole life a wreak. And he did something any real man would have. We have a prefect case for extreme emotional distress. Plus don’t for get where you are. This is the south. Do you really think a jury in this county will convict this man for 2nd degree?”
Allen paused.
“I’ll ask for a change in venue. And I’ll get it. The jury pool is totally tainted. This is, of course, of course, for your client’s own protection. I’m sure Richmond County would be happy to have this case.”
Pierce looked back at Allen. Richmond County was very liberal. If Allen got the change in venue, a trial would be a crapshoot.
“Well that would be okay with me.” Pierce said. “But after the change in venue, you would of course turn the case over to the prosecutor in Richmond County.”
“Why would I do that?”
“I would demand it, since it is clear you’re prejudice against my client.”
Allen blinked first. “What would you take? And don’t even ask for a walk! He has got to do some time.”
Pierce looked at Press. “Man two, extreme emotion distress, he does 5 years. And no elocution.”
Allen nodded; “Okay, okay.”
The paperwork was signed.
Six months later, Carlton Pierce soundly defeated Jay Allen for county prosecutor.

 

[Govt-man]

The Core.

Saw the Core on DVD this weekend. It wasn't too bad. the effects were pretty good in a fun cheesy way. But it was about 20 minutes too long.
You kind have to think of it as a riff on the enviromental collaspe films of the 70's and the alien attack films of the 50's.
The enviroment, thru man's interfernce is screwed up, and a company of brave, smart and charming, not to mention handsome, scientists come together and thru science-magic and self sacrifice save the day.

 

[Govt-man]

okay if you want me to keep going with the story, let me know, please.

 

[Govt-man]

THE PRESENT
The next morning, Press and Jen made love again. Which led to a shower together. Jen was a soft bubbly handful in the water. Press was lean and hard muscled. All the soaping and playing led to another bout of lovemaking.
By the time they were recovered and dressed, Paul was waiting for Press in the living room of the suite. Paul told Jen that her sister was waiting on her in lobby. Jen gave Press a warm open-mouthed kiss goodbye and left.
“Damn you, Paul.” Press said. “How old is that girl?”
“She ain’t no girl,” Paul laughed. “She is all woman. But to answer the question she is twenty-four.”
“I guess I’m lucky I lived.”
“You’re lucky in a lot of ways, soldier.
“I’ve know her for two years now,” Paul went on. “And you’re the first guy I know of that she has ever spent the night with, she is just not that kind of woman. You must have done something pretty special.”
Press told Paul about the events of the last evening.
“The warriors reward, uh?”
“Not really. She took out the two girls. I think I would have had a hard time with that. Hitting a woman, that is.” Press paused. “What’s on the agenda for today?”
“First, breakfast. Then briefing on things, then we get you outfitted. Then dinner. And tomorrow you are off to beautiful downtown Hoyden County.”
“Sounds good to me, sooner started sooner ended.”

 

[Govt-man]

Okay you guys, 3519 hits and no one,NO ONE cares if I continue my story or not...Well okay. If you change your mind let me know. I'll keep writing it anyway, just for me.

Now back to my regular journal.

HI is now VHI (very happy Intern). I work on a military post, and there are certain unwritten rules for the civilians. One of which is no accessive displays of physical affection. In other words it is considered bad form to be making out, snogging, necking etc in ones car or in the open. Especially given the trainees are specifically forbidden to do such things, also those in uniform are also not allowed to do suchthings.
So while I am glad VHI is well Very happy with her new relationship. I don't think a 30 plus woman and 40 plus man should be necking in the man's Jag in front of a platoon of 18-20 year old (horny) soldiers.
I also do think my boss should have to tell me to break it up.
So I have given her the friendly word to the wise and hope that is suffecient.