Talk about whatever....

Re: Personal stories, ramblings, could be lengthy

Postby Rick69 » Mon Feb 13, 2012 2:04 pm

krazyivanthedivine wrote:I ironic thing is that by day I'm that guy that delivers heating oil to your house, but at night I'm a writer. Not exactly a combination you see every day


Impressive and I agree... But I guess that's why they call you Krazy Ivan, The Divine :lol:

My Russian language skills extend only as far as; Privet, menya zovut Rick and the words Babushka "grandmother" and Vodka... :mrgreen:
(Please excuse me if any of these are swear words... a Russian guy in college taught me these :) )

As far as your writing is concerned, I'm no expert but I can usually compliment any good writing while GaryO; well he is the Expert (or so I Imagine)...
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Re: Personal stories, ramblings, could be lengthy

Postby krazyivanthedivine » Mon Feb 13, 2012 3:38 pm

Rick69 wrote:
My Russian language skills extend only as far as; Privet, menya zovut Rick and the words Babushka "grandmother" and Vodka... :mrgreen:
(Please excuse me if any of these are swear words... a Russian guy in college taught me these :) )


Haha none of those are swears, but just to name a few: Сука, ебать, шушка, хай :stirpot:

That last one could get you shot in Russia, so use it sparingly :thumbsup:

I'll leave it up to the reader to look up these words for themselves, I'm sure those words in english would be frowned upon here.
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Re: Personal stories, ramblings, could be lengthy

Postby Rick69 » Mon Feb 13, 2012 4:39 pm

B***ch, f**k, shushka?, hi? (in that order).

Of course the first two words were breach and fork... right? :wink:
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Re: Personal stories, ramblings, could be lengthy

Postby krazyivanthedivine » Mon Feb 13, 2012 4:51 pm

Rick69 wrote:B***ch, f**k, shushka?, hi? (in that order).

Of course the first two words were breach and fork... right? :wink:


Don't worry, I won't tell the nun. :thumbsup:
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Re: Personal stories, ramblings, could be lengthy

Postby GaryO » Mon Feb 13, 2012 5:13 pm

Krazy, I’m piqued. Feel free to toss in a snippet or excerpt.
It’s the intent of this thread, along with commentary.
M0rd3kaI wrote:Gary...I sometimes worry about you... (although it's not this time, I just wanted to get that out there)


Rick69 wrote:Holy poop, Gavin... Sometimes you scare me...


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Hawamleh wrote:When Gary goes all south, you better not even try to comprehend what he's saying.
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Re: Personal stories, ramblings, could be lengthy

Postby GaryO » Mon Feb 13, 2012 7:37 pm

OK, while I (we) wait for Krazy to gather his thoughts (and sleep, it appears) I’m going to toss down some varied thought scraps destined for the delete button;


Y’know, this ol’ orb is getting’ mighty small for this ol’ coot.
15 yrs ago I was feeding specs into a fax machine, hoping;
1) It wouldn’t wrinkle up
2) The people in England could read it
3) They would actually receive it
4) I poked in the number right
It typically burned three to four days to get a hint of resolution.
I electronically communicate with every corner of this globe every day, and now feel it routine.
Minutes ago a gentleman from Texas set me straight on something I forwarded (somewhat tongue in cheek).
It’s amazing.
Anyone can google anything……tons of info…some wrong…some so right you don’t have to think about it….reason, horse sense, common thinking ability is a must these days.
Yeah, back in the day you could get killed without it. Now, lots of people can get hurt, and just as quick, following skewed advice.

A couple times I let myself get in to Email debates….political, religious. I thought it’d be fun, as I fancy myself a pretty good arguer. However, they both ended up with threats to my relatives, accusations of my lineage, and pointed query’s as to my exact location, ‘cause they had a yen to do terrible things to my body, and send odd things down my neck….but she cooled off after awhile.
I shoulda known before hand, ‘cause CB conversations used to go that way when haulin’ dry vans across the lower 48…but then it was just to kill the boredom. There was that one time this LTL guy got all ugly and wanted to meet up. Guess he didn’t realize I was right behind his rig, and I eventually sat on the café stool right next to him.
Why is it that skinny little guys feel they have to yell so loud on a two-way anyhow?

So, I’ve learned to keep debates to face time.
It’s just as fun.

I was raised around wood stoves and fireplaces. The natural gas stoves down south were a bit of a mystery to me.
Had a buddy George that I tried to kill a few times, just before I met my lady.
He was a long tall Texan, cowboy hat, boots and all.
Six foot five and about six inches across.
I called him 'Two By' (the hat and boots didn't help).
Face’d make an onion cry.

We shared a flat in Houston just off Telephone road, where we hung our hats. He was a truck driver, and I an oil field pipe inspector, of which jobs were plenty 'cause people were getting killed all the time.
One cold morn', when we both were home at the same time, I commenced to build a fire.
This little stove had a worn metal placard on it that read 'ARNIN', and a bunch of tiny words with a picture of a flame.
I cranked up ol' ARNIN, struck several matches, and called on Two By's help.
He jerked the matches away from me, folded his string of a body, and turned the pilot knob, holding it in, looking at me like, 'you yankee idiot'.
He hunched down, putting his face close to the pilot tube, and put the lit match over it.
There was this rather instant WHOOOOSH sound.
You could actually see the force of the explosion as it immediately blew through and past his scraggly bearded mug.
It was like a cartoon, side burns, beard singed to black nubs, eyebrows, nose hairs gone, hairless outstretched arm still holding the extinguished match. He eventually looked back at me, face smoking, like 'why are you trying to kill me, you won the war'.

The other time was when I poisoned him.
He had pneumonia from jumping in and out of his air-conditioned cab.
So there he lay on the couch, hacking his lungs up into an empty beer can, looking skinnier than what was normal for even him.
I felt sorry.
"Hey, how 'bout a bacon sandwich?"
'Yeah, toast the bread", cough, hork, groan.

The bacon in the fridge looked a bit ancient (coulda' been new cheese), but I scraped off the green stuff and fried it up, and even added tomato slices to my creation (coulda' been a red bell pepper).
I watched as he commenced to wolf it down between coughs. While hacking, he’d look at my culinary masterpiece, quizzically flipping up a corner of the top slice with his forefinger, examining the contents. Then after relishing the last crumb, laid back down.
I busied myself cleaning the kitchen, doing the dishes with my hand cleaner and tidying up. My work was done here.
I heard him stir a bit, giving out a little suppressed choke/cough, culminating in the immediate launching of his lunch, blowing chips all over his lap.
Never before had I ever heard anything like the satanic force coming from what seemed his lower intestines.
Writhing on the floor in your own chewings is not becoming for anyone.
But George resembled a pike in cowboy boots, tossed on the bank, floppin' and jerkin' around, dry heaving an' all....quite the spectacle really.
Two weeks later he was outta the hospital and driving again.
Thank god I met up with my lady shortly after, and her cookin' took over.
BLT anyone?




Speaking of Texas.
Most everyone there carries around a couple sayings;
“If you don’t like it, leave”
“You don’t mess with Texas” (this said thru semi-gritted teeth)
Both sayings end up with a mini staredown….it can intimidate a stranger…it’s meant to.

I sure wish my state would use those as mottos
‘Course goin’ around with “You don’t mess with Texas” on yer Oregon plate would be a tad strange, but y’all get my drift.
Drove semi thru that state more than a few times…landed in Houston for a spell….took a gorgeous lady from Texas City home to Oregon

(note; I love everything about Oregon, so don’t get me wrong here)

But, Texas…huge…varied…dry some places….humid/tropical others…..mouth hangin’ open beautiful.
Most critters will ‘bitecha’……..”Oh, buddy, don’t pet that un…it’ll bitechall an y'all'll swell up”.
or
“Watchit! That turtle is a snappae turtle…here take this here green stick an rub it’s nose a bit”
SUHHHHH-NAP!
“See there?
Snappae turtle.
They snap
That’s why they call it a snappae turtle
Aess aen aey puhee puhee wah…. snappy
Pay attention and take note, son”

Corpus Christi is one of my favorite places on earth.
Did some roofing there after Camille. Boats down town, people camped on the beach.
OK, not roofing, but roofer’s helpering. Thought roofer’s helper was bad, but mason’s helper…those prima donna yayhoos want their mortar j-u-u-s-t right, no matter how many scaffolds up you hauled that bucket.
Trip one:“Haey bowah, too thick.
Trip two: Nope, can’t trawl this waterah goop
Trip three: Close, no ceegar…..need milkshaeke texture….you know….miiiiilkshaaaeke…old fashioned, not Mackdonnls….don’t make me come down there tuh show y’all. Pay attention son, hear?”
Trip four: I bring vials of water and dry mix and leave ‘em on the plank.
Rhode island Red Rooster Master mason and me become pool shootin’, beer guzzlin’, bar brawlin’ buds.
And I become a good listener, paying attention…to things not said.
A yankee can easily get set up, and come out lookin’ like a dufus…it’s a little fun game played throughout the south…I became a super star…broke some records in the triple A (Aey) dufus league.
Got called up to the big show (dumbass) soon after.
Still known in some parts as 'Babe Garah'....holding several dumbass records.


My buddy George and I were headed from Houston to El Paso, his home, bombin' thru towns, non-stop. His state, not mine, he narrated the terrain as my '66 SS kept us low to the ground.
Ran into a hail storm somewhere between Corpus and Del Rio.
Everyone was stopped.
There we sat.
My chevy getting' beat to a pulp.
We crept around cars and got thru the storm in about 30 seconds.
The rear view mirror showed everyone still sittin' out the hail. Paralyzed.
Day became night after staring at the sun for a couple hours. We stopped west of Del Rio to fuel up.

There was a little open air roadside bar (yeah, they just take the walls off), so we stopped.
Round tables.
Barrel chairs.
A bar.
Each table had a big wooden bowl of tortilla chips, and a tiny gourd of hot sauce.
Beer, chips, more chips and half the gourd of sauce on one chip.
OH MOMMY!
BEEEEER!
I soon learned the word Ha-ban-er-o
They mercifully brought me a plate of tortillas.
Knowing smiles (damn Gringo).
Wrapped my tongue with a tamale til the feeling came back in my throat and uvula.

Went down the hwy about 20 mi when I saw what I thought was tiny tumble weeds blowin' across the road.
I woke my bud
"What's that 2by?"
"Tranchlas"
"What?"
"Migration...time of year"
I had to stop.
Got out, spit the rest of my uvula wrap compote/balm out and watched the spectacle.
There they trudged, across the hwy and down into a ravine, far as you could see, both ways.
Can't remember how wide the trek was, but it seemed minutes before we drove outta them.

Texas has some strange and gloriously beautiful terrain, and stranger critters. No wonder they love it so.
M0rd3kaI wrote:Gary...I sometimes worry about you... (although it's not this time, I just wanted to get that out there)


Rick69 wrote:Holy poop, Gavin... Sometimes you scare me...


axe11154 wrote:you sick old man


Hawamleh wrote:When Gary goes all south, you better not even try to comprehend what he's saying.
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Re: Personal stories, ramblings, could be lengthy

Postby GaryO » Mon Feb 13, 2012 7:54 pm

Ah, found more jaundiced files…beginning to feel clean;


I was in line to do some swampin’ for that gigantamous crane they had over at Hughes Tool in Houston. The line moved pretty fast, as swampers seemed to opt for the early retirement option (from earth) about once a month. Got to about 7th in line then Camille happened…kinda why I’m typin’ away in the here and now.
…and thaets awl ah’ve got t’ say about thaet.

Buddy Hans and I decided to hop a train ‘cause our dads did it.
I was told some yard bosses would even tell you the schedule, and some would run you off…to jail.
Hans was a slow talkin’ Scandinavian from the Dakotas. Asked him once where Scandia was. Couple days later he parted his lips, making a slight smacking/plunger like noise, and said in his up and down syllable way “Up near Dane and Norwege der….yah”…..poppin’ me on the shoulder.
Man, couldn’t match those pops…hands like catcher’s mitts.

Trains were leavin’ the yard.
The yard boss had run us off twice, takin’ our water jug the second time…watchin’ us leave.
We hid outside the fence until dark.
A gondola was creeping east on the outside track.
Easy pickins.
High fives…..ass slappin’ glee….we’re headin’ somewhere.

The train slowed.
stopped

Went backwards

Forwards again…. High fives…..ass slappin’

Slowed, stopped
Went backwards

Forwards again…. High fives…..arm poppin’

Slowed, stopped
Went backwards

Forwards again…. Head nods

Slowed, stopped
Went backwards

Quiet

Minutes later I peered over the edge
Our gondola was uncoupled on a spur about 5 mi from the yard.
We eventually found success, but learned a couple things.

Boxcar doors lock…from the outside

Gondolas are quite dirty (no matter how dark it is at night), thus once you get to your stop, you have become the same.

Hot shots haulin’ fruit across the country don’t stop much.

When exiting a box car during a slowdown thru town, first learn the roll feature wide receivers use.

No matter how callused your hands are, landing at 15-20 mph can turn your palms into protective wrist flaps if you don’t know the above mentioned.

It’s best to hop on a boxcar when it’s at a complete stop if you have the gait of a diseased yak.

The term ‘Hobo’ just seems a kinda friendly portrayal of an old gent with a red bandana tied on a stick..spinnin’ stories and singin’ hobo songs.

They generly turn on you moments after you grab their reached out hand to board.

Give strong consideration to putting all yer clothes in a hanky on a stick, and board naked…hobos generly leave you alone then…and/or it at the very least saves a lot of scuffle and time.

When a train is goin’ east and the one on the next track is goin’ west, sit down young man, sit down!

All things considered, get a car, walk, hitch hike, swim, crawl. Genoa Nebraska just sounds romantic…..they do like their oranges however.

Got a call from Hans a year or so after.
Hey der, tink dat gondola ever left da spur?

I loved that ol' galoot













Took a jet to Mexico w/my boss
2 hr layover in Phoenix
After jawin’ with a local we were able to crash the little private club they have there at the airport.
Internal pride building pressure in my occipital lobe….(boss has got to be impressed).
Chikin fingers and vodka seemed like a good combo.
Check is grabbed by my new acquaintance….(what a guy….I am).
Seems the liquor turned the victuals halfway thru the master chute.
No prob, there’s time.
“Meetcha at the gate Bill”…pointing.
I got nothing
Enzymes are on strike
Things seem to be heading the wrong direction
20 min later, left leg in a coma, brain hemorrhaging, I glance at my watch
OMG!!!
No need or time for paperwork.
I push back in my prolapsed rectum, tuck-snap-turn-flush...why?....habit…turn-BAP…..
Stall door ‘tween the eyes…dizzy
Mirror…no blood, but two-three heads
S turn
THEY’RE BOARDING!
Dragging one leg, other leg trotting in a Z pattern, I make my way to the gate.
Lovely lady waves me thru after ticket glance

(Ah…25F…where’s Bill....)
My name is announced over the intercom, and two (maybe three) stewards are coming my way.
“Where’s my partner, Bill?”
“Sir, see that jet taking off? It’s going to Mexico.
This one’s going to Chicago.”
Five hrs later I’m comin’ off the plane in El Paso.
Wonder where Bill is….
Boss says I looked like ‘a deer in the headlights’
Impressive


Food, another story.
One of the first business meals I sat down at, was in Dongguan.
Taiwanese gents invited me to Taiwanese food.
Big bowls, ‘family style’ I guess.
I’ve never got the hang of eating with sticks, and marveled at their deftness with rice, green stuff, and bits of meat.
After a one stick struggle, I started to eat with my fingers…casual like….just nibbling really. Got a shot in the ribs from my broker “NO HANDS!” (whisper/yell).
It was though I’d whipped out an appendage from a lower region and commensed pokin’ it around in the pot. But, hey! They were dippin’ their sticks in the pot after mouthing twigs full of goodies!….never saw ‘em eat soup….wonder……..
So I’m stabbing bits of tiny fish with my one stick when a sweet ol’ gal brings me a big spoon.

Ah, Asian facilities.
HK, at the turn of the century was pretty uptown, at least in Kowloon and neighboring areas…..but up the road, north of Shenzhen in Tangxia Village, Dongguan, the theme changed a bit.

While inspecting a factory there, an overpowering urge stopped me in my tracks.
Seems the dog I et the previous night was not CDA grade A, ‘cause I was percolatin’.
I subtly grabbed my broker’s shirt with clenched fists and whispered my desires in his ear.

Apparently, doubling over and grimacing was sufficient body language, as several people pointed my way to the lavatory.
Full pedal down the long straightaway, periodically stopping, frozen, like a sow in heat, then full throttle thru the tiled ‘S’ turn and I was home free.
‘Cept there were no stalls,
and no toilets,
and no trough
….just a few tiled holes in the floor.
Clean though. Very clean.

It’s just there was no way I could wrap my mind around a remote possibility of a successful mission.
The prairie dogging salad shooter would definitely have ended up mostly somewhere inside my Wranglers.
My mind raced….take off the jeans and perch…then what?
No TP
What’s with the waterfall?!
Oh, no way.
The term ‘Suck it up’ became quite tangible.

If the tongue is the most muscular organ of the body, the sphincter has to be a close second.
So, I slowly strolled out of hole haven toward my broker, as nonchalantly as possible with compressed cheeks, and subtly grabbing his shirt with clenched fists, whisper/screamed, ‘to the hotel, NOW!!’

Yeah, I’ve left many a scat in the bush, but a coed hole-in-the-floor lavatory was just too much.
M0rd3kaI wrote:Gary...I sometimes worry about you... (although it's not this time, I just wanted to get that out there)


Rick69 wrote:Holy poop, Gavin... Sometimes you scare me...


axe11154 wrote:you sick old man


Hawamleh wrote:When Gary goes all south, you better not even try to comprehend what he's saying.
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Re: Personal stories, ramblings, could be lengthy

Postby krazyivanthedivine » Mon Feb 13, 2012 9:48 pm

very good! I read every bit!

Here's a few excerpts from my Trilogy, 2476:

I. Rise of the Empire
*******************************************************************
I was just a boy when the stars fell from the sky. I remember gazing up at the night sky, watching the mesmerizing flashes of green and red light. As the flashes got bigger, the stars began to plummet from the heavens, streaking across the calm night. I stared in awe as their brilliant glow illuminated the distant heavens, steadily falling to their doom.
*******************************************************************
“So tell AvtoVaz you want a truck meeting those standards! What, have none of you seen a picture of America?! They make trucks like that every f***ing day! We barely even make cars anymore, and these Japanese trucks… What, Isuzu? They are small, they have a 3 liter engine... they are s***! I want someone to go to Ural and tell them this is what you are going to make! I want a 1 ton pickup, with a two seats. I want a 2.5 meter box, a 6 liter motor, and a five speed manual transmission! None of this automatic junk coming from the lazy west. I want it to have four wheel drive on demand, that way we save fuel! You write all that down Malenkov?!” Daniel yelled, pointing at General Yuri Malenkov, head of Research and Development.
The room fell silent for a few moments from the anger of Daniel. Malenkov jumped, then frantically wrote down the requirements, placing the paper in his briefcase. Malenkov then pulled another paper from his case and began to address it.
“Tovarisch Komandier, I feel I must bring up project 524…” He said.
The entire room fell silent, and began to stare at Malenkov. Daniel would be the first to address him.
“What about project 524?” He asked.
“We have run simulations, and we have found that the science is in fact possible. We are about to begin production on the first prototype, but there are a few bugs we must work out.” Explained Malenkov.
“What kind of bugs Malenkov? This weapon has to work. Do you even understand the potential of this bomb?” Asked Daniel.
“Tovarisch Komandier, there are several… Moral issues with this weapon. The world is trying to get away from nuclear weapons. The fact that the explosion would rival that of a hydrogen bomb, but not give off radiation makes it simple to decide to use. The might of Project 524 could lead to its abuse. Plus, the Americans’ would get jealous; and if it is used against a nuclear armed nation, they may fire nukes back.” Said Malenkov fearfully.
“Malenkov, I don’t care about ‘moral ramifications’-” Said Daniel, cut off by an officer opening the door and running in.
“Tovarisch Komandier,” The officer said as he saluted Daniel and handed him an envelope.
****************************************************************************************************
“I will listen to him Papa…” Said Daniel softly.
Viktor closed his eyes and began to softly sing. Daniel joined him, and together they sang the anthem.


“Unbreakable Union of freeborn Republics,
Great Russia has welded forever to stand.
Created in struggle by will of the people,
United and mighty, our Soviet land-”

Viktor’s voice faded, and his heart rate flat-lined. Fully sobbing, Daniel continued to sing as he felt his father’s hand go limp.

“Sing to the Motherland, home of the free,
Bulwark of peoples in brotherhood strong.
Oh Party of Lenin, the strength of the people,
To Communism's triumph lead us on…”
Daniel slowly let go of his father’s hand. The sobbing intensified as Daniel and Katya held each other very tight. The then door flew open as doctors rushed to Viktor’s bed. The doctor Daniel had spoken with before held his stethoscope to Viktor’s chest. He waited a few seconds, and then his head sunk. He pulled the stethoscope out of his ears and looked towards Daniel.
“I am sorry Premier Korsakov; he’s gone.” Said the doctor, “We will give you a few moments.”
Daniel and Katya held each other close as the cried into each other’s shoulders. Daniel looked back towards his father’s body, noticing that he looked like he was just sleeping. He laid peacefully, with what almost looked like a smile on his face.
“Da svidanya, Papa…”
*****************************************************************
II. Return of the Traitor
**************************************************************
The airfield was just beyond the command center, and was under the complete control of the prisoners. Daliekov and the others began to run towards the many transports, all of which were capable of space travel. He paused for a second to look up, noticing the noise in the sky had changed. High in the sky, quite a distance away, a formation of K-19K7 bombers flew overhead. Daliekov knew the camp had no bombers, which meant they were coming to bomb the uprising.
“Bombers! ************ run! Go go go as fast as you can! Get these transports in the air now or we’ll never ********** make it!” He yelled, beginning to sprint.
Inmates looked up, and then threw their weapons down to run faster. Hundreds of survivors bolted for the planes, running for their lives. Everyone sprinted to the planes, running up the loading ramps and frantically getting inside. The pilots began starting the engines as the crowds surrounded the transports, desperately trying to get inside. When the last of them hopped on board, the ramps were barely up when the transports began to rise off the ground.
At this point, the bombers were right overhead. The bomb-bay doors opened and the ordinance cylinders rotated, dropping a pod full of bombs. The casings broke away as the bombs began separating, falling to the ground. Most of the transports had gotten out of the way, but the last in line was struck by a bomb. Daliekov looked back and watched as it was torn to shreds, crashing to the ground in a fiery explosion.
*******************************************************
“So you hear news? There was riot at Tanguska. Over four-hundred prisoners escaped.” Asked Tsvirkunov.
“And the others?” Asked Bielikov.
“Dead... and our old friend was not among them.” Tsvirkunov said.
“Daliekov…” Replied Bielikov fearfully.
“They think he started riot, and the prisoners may have defected to America. Do you know what this means?!” Asked Tsvirkunov angrily.
Bielikov looked around, then whispered, “He will stop at nothing to get revenge, and the ship back. He’s probably already joined the Confederates. He will start a war! He must be stopped.”
“Unfortunately, you right Bielikov. I know that man, very well. He will die before he gives up revenge. He cannot be underestimated. He was brilliant tactician; he just escaped most heavily guarded prison in solar system for god sakes! He is a manipulator; who knows who he is capable of tricking?!” Asked Tsvirkunov angrily.
“We must keep on our guard. The Confederates always remember who their friends are. Let’s just hope Johnson’s memory not that sharp.” Said Bielikov.
***************************************
Krinkov pulled himself together and took a deep breath. He then walked towards the girls. Khalkov followed, thinking of his strategy with Natasha. Natasha was only a few years older than Anna, but both were still much younger than the boys. She was taller, and not as petite. She wore her brown hair up and a deep red dress. Just as Khalkov and Krinkov got near, two space marines from another ship approached the girls. They tried their pickup lines, which were only met with laughter from the girls. Khalkov tapped the bigger one on the shoulder and addressed him.
“Hey Bruno, these girls not digging your machoness. Why don’t you go look for trashy locals to bring back to your bulldog?” He said sternly.
(Bulldog being a fast assault ship used to carry marines to board enemy vessels)
The marine turned around and calmly said, “The **** you going to do about it, prissy?”
Khalkov chuckled, then unclipped the flap on his holster, flashing his photon pistol. He then said, “Remember pridurok, only officers allowed to carry side arms off duty. I wouldn’t want to make a mess on these nice floors.”
The marine looked to the other and said, “Idyom,” as he began to walk away.
Krinkov looked at the smaller one and yelled, “What?!” as he jerked his shoulders threateningly. Marine shot him a death glance as he followed the bigger marine. The girls were impressed by the performance, giggling back and forth to each other.
“That was some heavy stuff Yakov.” Said Natasha.
“Well, it pains me to see grease-ball marines hit on such exquisite nurses.” Said Khalkov as he leaned against the bar next to Natasha.
Natasha began to blush and smile. She tried to look away from him, but couldn’t. She became lost in the spotlessness of his uniform, the smell of his cologne and the confidence in his smile. She always had a small crush on him, but now she had to fight the urge. Noticing the flap on his holster was still unclipped, she reached over and clipped it. He looked puzzled, then laughed a little.
“Sorry, I just like a uniform in perfect order.” She said sweetly, looking into his eyes.
Krinkov was attempting to speak to Anna, but was having a rough time. He was nervous and slightly shaking. She too was blushing and nervous; having never been in a club before, she wasn’t used to all the commotion and rash attempts to pick her up.
“Hey Anna, how you doing?” He asked her nervously.
“I’m okay.” She said blushing.
“I was ugh… wondering if maybe you…” Said Krinkov, being cut off in the end.
“Damn it Krinkov, don’t be a *****! You got to do this!” Yelled Khalkov, grabbing Natasha by the waist and kissing her passionately on the lips. At first she tried to resist, but quickly wrapped her arms around him. Krinkov’s face became a crimson red as he tried to think of something to say. Anna then got up and grabbed his hands, looking into his bright red face.
“Dance with me?” She asked innocently.
Almost unable to speak, Krinkov smiled and said, “Da!”
***********************************************************************************


Just a few excerpts from the two books in the trilogy I skip around writing, I'm going to bed for now but Tomorrow I shall post some back-ground info on the story! Tell me what you think! :mrgreen:

(I apologize now if I forgot to censor any profanity, pretty sure I got it all) :roll:
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Re: Personal stories, ramblings, could be lengthy

Postby Schultz1 » Mon Feb 13, 2012 10:06 pm

Ok, so one day I went to the movies with my friend. He is a dwarf, so as we walk he looks back and yells out "hey man!" So I looked back and there he was. Flesh and bone. Wee Man. He was actually very polite which surprised me for being a man of pranks and danger. So yeah.
If Frank does not answer the door, Frank is not home.
I don't hate vests.

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Re: Personal stories, ramblings, could be lengthy

Postby GaryO » Tue Feb 14, 2012 6:46 am

Krazy

You may just have something there.
Not my kind of reading, but still.

Yes, I’m noboby, but I’m everybody, a reader.

I have a set group of people that I run my stuff by.
Aged, learned, people of wealth, to heroin using sluts.
And now, a profoundly creative, youngish lot.
One gent, my mentor of the business world, is quite direct, and blunt as hell, brutal really. So he’s a throw out, except for his occasional pointing out that I jumped from third to first person in the same paragraph……
The general consensus is they want more.

So, permit me to critique.


Narrative;
Try abandoning suma the ‘he saids’.

Example;

In full auto pilot, I trudged down the hall to the back door, opening it to the grey of the morning. Waking wrens greeted me with their first happy songs of the day.
Finished my smoke, and opened the rest of the factory to Tuesday.
There was Henry, my Cambodian compadre.
Been here longer than I.
Ran the process area.
Fighting type B hepatitis.
Son-of –a-b****, the fucker is joggin’ up and down the hall! When in hell did he start that?
“Hey Henry, don’t hurt yourself”
“Moring Mr O”
My plodding feet find a second cup of coffee while my mind quizzes itself as to who is going to win this unstated contest of longevity…

No ‘he saids’, and you still know who’s talking, right?
….and if you feel the need, play with it.
Try some….Krinkov:….with a colon, stuff like that.

Content;
Need to paint the picture.
Somewhere between a typical agonizingly exhausting three page description of the color of an autumn leaf and Hemingway’s clipped impressionistic short brushstroke sentences…..
‘The sun shown bright’
‘The day was hot’

So, yeah, there’s work to do, but ain’t it a pip.

Krazy, an acid test is to read your own work, and read it again.
If you find it entertaining after the third read, then and only then should you show it to others.

A couple of these gents remarked how they are pretty good at erotic script.
Funny, there’s really a limit in adjectives and nouns, even though English is a profoundly
rich language.
The typical experience is writing erotic prose while the heat of passion is at it’s peak.
The writer is thinking, OMG, this is hot! I could be a porn writer! Geeezus, making money at this, what a f***ing life that would be!
Half hour and a sandwich later……WHF?
Erotic prose, good ones, start way out of the perimeter of heat, and quite a distance from skin and form and even touch…..that’s another story.

The point; writing while in the passion will drive you forward, but once laid down and picked back up, the acid test commences.

I can see you driving your truck, profound thoughts of story lines become so vivid, but when you finally get settled at your keyboard it’s no longer quite there, right?
Frustrating isn’t it.

Keep working it, you’ll get there.

Hope I helped

Here, it’s 6:37 and the humans are starting to arrive, so I must steal away.

Keep the fire

Oh, and Schultz, you're just a couple words away from being hilarious....
M0rd3kaI wrote:Gary...I sometimes worry about you... (although it's not this time, I just wanted to get that out there)


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