Back to work, back to work. I’m pretty sure everything that is insightful and clever that needs to be said about the Super Bowl already has been. The only thing I can really think about saying is that Peyton Manning is the greatest quarterback in the history of the National Professional Tackle Football Association. Right now, sports writers and fans are giving up on Peyton. It is because we are a fickle people and because most people are stupid. The idiocy of the general public regardless of education nor time spent in any profession, that idiocy is high – very high.

Peyton Manning is a 4x NFL MVP. That is fucking retarded. And by retarded, I mean it in the same way Rahm Emanuel and Rush Limbaugh mean it – thanks Meghan McCain. Over 7 seasons this past decade, Peyton Manning was seen as the most valuable player in the entire league four different times. The man is the greatest. People need to take a step back and stop themselves from writing knee jerk reactions just because he lost a game. He hasn’t lost many games. And that game? The fucking Super Bowl. Would it have been better for him not to make the Super Bowl at all than for him to make the Super Bowl and lose? There are 31 teams in the NFL outside of Peyton’s Colts. 30 of those teams didn’t make the damn Super Bowl.

Peyton is 33 years old. He has never missed a game in his professional career. He has never had a season with less than 26 touchdowns. He regularly throws for over 4,000 yards. Only one season last decade did he have less than 10 wins. And, yes he hasn’t had the best post-season career ever. But he has a Super Bowl ring as well as the Super Bowl MVP. He is 33. He will continue to run wild on the NFL for at the very least 5 more seasons. He will eclipse Dan Marino’s TD, passing yards, and pass completions numbers in at most 3 seasons. Peyton will not only have the numbers, but in that time he will have at least one ring – most likely more.

So, get your fucking heads together. “The Sheriff” Peyton Manning is the best, so shut it.

And with that, I thought today would be a nice day to throw out some more K-Swidg-Jizzle original content. Today’s installment is the first chapter to a book I never ever intend on writing. My writing usually is swayed by whatever I’m reading or watching. A few months after I read War & Peace, I thought I would put my endless array of words to use by writing an insanely long book. This was doomed from the start because my interest wanes greatly when I’m writing completely for myself.

The story was ripping off War & Peace. Spoiled rich nobles and landowners running a country, socializing, having dinner parties, attending dances, and eventually fighting a war. That and Rules of Attraction set as a period piece. Either way, here is a quaint little first chapter. I find it amusing. And if you need extra incentive – just pretend the chick is Kristen Stewart. Without further doo doo…

==========

The Princess of Doorchester sits in the solarium. No, she lays in the solarium on the chez lounge. Her tiny frame is no where to be seen. The enormous ball gown of silk periwinkle blue and white stripes is ridiculous casual wear. She lays with her head against the blood red sofa cushion her arms outstretched over her head as if she was dramatically shot and this is where she dies.

“What have you done today, Charles?” She emphasizes “Charles” as if she would even dream of talking to the dozen or so servants lining the walls like breathing statues who will spring to life at the slightest gesture. “What have you done today, Charles?” The emphasis on “done” to further prove her belief that Charles is a lazy do-nothing. She herself has had quite the rich list of accomplishments this morning: arising promptly at noon with a foggy hangover from the endless stream of champagne from the prior evenings’ orgies, was carried to her bath and thoroughly scrubbed, dressed by her servants, she ate a little which is a great accomplishment in itself – her meals usually are of the liquid variety – and now she is in another’s house meaning she has traveled. “What have you done today, Charles?” Today like all other days, Charles has done nothing. For the Princess Sophie of Doorchester her day has been long and agonizing and full of life because she is now drinking and drunk not in Doorchester, but in the town of Wedminster, right next to Doorchester. 

“To be honest my dear-“

“Oh do be honest, Charles. What would our time together mean if we were not honest with each

other? Everywhere else I lie and lie and lie and I can’t remember a single second of it, but-“

Charles clears his throat.

“To be honest my dear-“

“I’m sorry please go on. To being honest!” Sophie’s heavy with liquor and light on grace arm swings to the floor for her glass. She pours the contents of the lipstick smeared glass aiming for her mouth: half meets its target, the rest her cheek then the couch.

“To be honest, my dear, the most productive thing I have done today was I masturbated twice.”

“Really?” The Princess of Doorchester is aroused, literally. She props herself up on an elbow to get a look at what expression Charles, the masturbator, has on his most regal face. He is listless and barely awake, bored at the existence of existing. Sophie is tickled. Her comically large ice cream sundae dress-matching wig is clinging to her dirty blonde hair by a scant amount of pins. She shoves the wig off and props herself up higher on her sanguine chair and signals to one of the elegantly dressed servers.

“You masturbated today? Twice? Twice!?!” The server on bended knee to Sophie’s side receives the slightest of gestures to her empty glass. Immediately, a second server hands the first server the chilled opened bottle of champagne and the first server refills her glass. “Who would’ve known you would have had the energy?” The server snickers and then composes himself. Sophie at another time would have banished the servant, but she smiles at him for recognizing the intended humor in her statement. Sophie hands the glass back to the server and nods for more. A third server rushes out of the room for another bottle.

“Yes, twice. I woke erect and-“

“Masturbated with it?”

“Yes and then I laid around in bed for an hour trying to go back to sleep, which I couldn’t do so I masturbated again to give myself some levity to wake for the day. Sometimes I do that.” And with that, Charles shows the most enthusiasm for his sexual exploits by shrugging and the wildly intrigued Princess Sophie who is nearly on the edge of her seat is almost about to burst into laughter or run around the room in child-like excitement. “What is it? Can you not imagine me masturbating?”

Charles: the wealthiest man in all the country and would rival any in the world in terms of money, the most soft spoken, gets lost in the crowd in a party of two, the near hermit who barely attends any social gatherings of any sort, who has never had a wife nor a steady girlfriend even at his advanced age of 36, the man who is constantly being railed against by every major news organization about his complete disregard for humanity with all his money he gives only the required lawful minimum to charity and does little else with it except to maintain what he already has. Charles: almost six feet tall, not an athletic bone in his body, soft and pudgy, but not terribly overweight, receding hairline soon to be completely bald like his father, somber almost dead eyes that show little if any reaction to any stimulus. Oh, Charles. Gratifying himself sexually? Sophie thought. And twice?

“In the royal suite? On that huge bed your parents slept in?”

“What? They died over 10 years ago. It is not like they are still in there.”

“I would hope not!” Sophie laughs uncontrollably at her own joke.

“Shut up.” Charles barely has the strength to push the words past his teeth. The door opens and a servant rushes in with a champagne bottle and a short saber. He tilts the bottle and swipes once cutting the top off the champagne bottle, the cork bursting out and champagne gushes in an arc onto the floor and then into Sophie’s glass.

“Voila! Was it an explosion like that Charles? Are you so viral you popped and sprayed it all over your mummy and daddy’s bed like-“

Charles smiles and almost laughs. “No, it was fairly ordinary.”

“I’m so intrigued. Who was it about?” Sophie is giddy. She is sipping her sparkling wine and is now propped up on the chair with her little legs tucked to her side and the gown’s giant bell bottom like a beached whale nestling against her. “Was it two different women? Was it the same woman twice? Do I know who it is?”

“It was your sisters.”

“My sisters!?! Really? I cannot believe this morning. My sisters? Which ones?”

Charles glares at Sophie. “Which two would you think?”

“How should I know? This is your fantasy!”

Charles rolls his eyes and squirms about in his chair to adjust his posture. “Sophie, you have four sisters. I will name a sister and then you will describe them, ok? Priscilla.”

“Priscilla. She’s ever so smart. She went to college at Carmden-“

“For God’s sake, how could I masturbate about her education!?!”

“She is very funny. She is certainly the cleverest-”

“Jokes? Do you think I roll about my bed remembering jokes she has told until I finish myself off?”

“Fine, she is short and fat.”

“Julia?”

“Beautiful and-.”

“And a great ass. Deidra?”

“Tall, thin, big teeth.”

“Camille?”

“Very pretty and big… and a big… and a big b… bosom-… big tits. Are you happy?” Sophie shakes her head in disgust. “My sisters?”

“Would you rather I masturbate about someone else? Should I masturbate only to whores I meet at some party in the city? Julia and Camille are both very attractive, they come from an excellent family and I enjoy their company as well. So why not? Also they are princesses after all. The old adage of sticking to one’s social class, I’m at least following through with that in my own selfish fantasies.” Sophie won’t make eye contact. “Why am I defending myself? I would gladly fuck your sisters. It is out in the open. Why wouldn’t I? I am a straight man, after all. I’m sure any man with half a brain would want to have sex with them as well.”

“I don’t know who you should masturbate to. It caught me off guard. And, they will be at the party tonight? It will be awkward for me seeing you with them. I won’t be able to get that image of you-“

“What party?”

Sophie shoots up from her chair and stands stomping her bare feet on the wood floors; a child in a temper tantrum more than a Princess expressing her disgust. “What party!?! You promised Charles! Every year I host the greatest party of the calendar year and everyone attends. It is every year and has been since I was a child and it is every year on the same day! The country’s birthday party! It is the social event of the year, every year and you’ve always been there for it. How can you say what party?”

“Oh, right? Is it really the tenth already? This month has moved fast. It is my mistake. I did not forget your party; I just forgot what day it was or even what week probably. It happens a lot. I’m dreadfully sorry. Can you sit down now?”

The Princess of Doorchester falls backwards onto the chez lounge. Her dress flips up for a moment how a careless child’s would, perfectly illustrates her immaturity even more for Charles. She takes a few sips of champagne to wet her throat from all the yelling.

“So, what exactly are you doing to my sisters in these fantasies?”

===========

Tah-Dah… I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did. Unfortunately, the chance for additional chapters would need to be pried from my brain with a book deal. Or several private evenings with Meghan McCain and her… uh… brain(s).

Who would I want to play Ben? Who would I want to play the title character in the movie of the book that I never finished writing nor was sold to be published nor was written for screen? Who? Indeed. That is a good question. I had not really thought about it. I haven’t written anything new for the book idea in at least 7 months so it has been on the back burner of my crazy stove brain. Which by the way, if any of the burners on a stove are on – KEEP WATCHING THEM INTENTLY! Don’t turn your back on fire. That is a scornful temptress. Haven’t you seen Backdraft?

Ben is more or less an amorphous blob character. Sometimes when I write I completely give no thought to what the main character looks like and just write about his/her adventures. In my first attempt at writing a novel, I didn’t name the main character, describe what he looks like, nor did I name any other character in the book. I did describe what they look like, but I didn’t use any names. The main character was a depressed soul. He had a normal job and friends and family. But every night he tried to commit suicide, but it never worked. Overdose on pills, slit his wrists, hanging et cetera. Something somehow would save him. The book was split in several different areas: suicide attempts, daily life, dream sequences from drug overdoses.

Other times I focus entirely on the character’s name and what they look like. I wrote a horror/action/comedy screenplay called Jake Adams: The Monster Smasher. It was about a guy named Jake Adams who looks more or less like a professional wrestler. He lives in a small town in the midwest where a doorway to Hell has opened. Traditional horror movie villains like vampires, werewolves, Frankenstein’s monster, demons et cetera start to kill the residents in mass. The police force stumble upon Jake one night fighting off a werewolf with his bare hands. They decide to employ him. Now Jake fights the monsters for a living. I know there are a bunch of movies that have a similar premise to that, but mine is better. No doubt. Also it is funnier. No doubt. I also have outlines for two sequels where Jake hires more professional wrestler like men to join his monster smashing squad. Also it is a story about Jake dating in between smashing these monsters. Pretty much all the characters are based on some MMA fighter or another, like Josh Barnett as Jake Adams. And his love interest is Jenna Fischer.

But for Ben he is the former and I’m not sure what he looks like to be exactly truthful. I think he has brown hair. He should be somewhat average/nerdy looking. His wholesomeness needs to be buttressed with him becoming insanely sinister as the book continues. He transforms from a entry level office lacky to a post apocalyptic warlord king… pretty much.

As for today… a car crash(!). I guess the background story I need to say on this is that a littler earlier in the book a few terrorists with bombs strapped to their chests blew up one of the office buildings on the company campus. Not the building that Ben works in and he wasn’t in that building, but he was there. Enjoy.

**********************

7:55am Wednesday

Radio presets:

  1. Talk radio – Shock jocks giggling like a pair of school girls with their comedian friends tittering as well about post-op transsexuals. It is an odd form of comedy when one cannot hear the audience laughing, but only the person saying the joke laughing. They laugh too much as if to induce laughter from you as if making up the laughter that me in my car is supposedly doing. I’m not laughing. It is too early in the morning to laugh. At best I smirk, but not today. I’m too tired.
  2. Commercial rock radio – Sounds like U2. It probably is U2, but what U2 song is a better question. All their songs sound the same. This same moment of me sitting in my car switching to this station with this horrendous U2 blaring out could be replayed through the entire history of my life. They’ve been around just as long as I’ve been around and all their fucking songs sound the same. They were good on Joshua Tree. Were they? Were they really? All those songs sound the same too. Maybe they wrote two songs: Joshua Tree BC and Joshua Tree AD. And anyone with taste hates AD.
  3. College radio – It is amazing that radio even exists with the horrendous amount of horrendous radio DJs there are. These stupid mumbling stuttering kids will eventually be working for a big company like Viacom and they will take over for the over-the-top voiced Pez dispenser heads who DJ now. Yuck. Just play the fucking music already you cleft pallet speaking nerd!

I’ll listen to a CD. Heavy metal is tuned and ready. I turn the volume dial all the way up and feel the double bass drums shaking my legs. The lines in my rearview mirror are blurred and I bear down on the gas pedal. It was a stupid and reckless decision to equip a two ton hunk of steel that can hurls itself across the road at 100 miles per hour with a stereo that can power out grinding guitars and smashing drums.

I am almost at work. I’m not late. I’m actually really early. It is not about making it there for any particular reason other than I just fear being late. I only do this job for the money and I am paid by the hour so anytime I miss is cash out of my pocket. I would rather be punctual than penniless. I see my exit and take the right. I have a minute at most between me and the front gate. The “campus” is right off the exit and is realistically a very easy commute. I can’t comp-

BLAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I crash going 45 around the turn onto the road leading to the front gate. I’m less than two hundreds yards from the front gate now and I just was in a car wreck. I just crashed right into the back of their car. My head is sort of spinning. The music is still blaring. I reach out and turn it off. I feel like I was just tackled by a 700 pound man. The seatbelt feels like it is choking my body. I unhook it.

I immediately replay the crash in my head. I hit them. I must be at fault. I feel like my mind is underwater and trying to come up for a breath. I was coming off the highway and there is the intersection. You can either bear right and get on the road or stay to the left and stop at the stop light to make a left onto the road. There is a green light for us. The people on the road have a red. I didn’t see any cars when I came around that corner. Why was this car stopped there?

It happened so quickly. I got off the highway, turned and saw no cars, and then *bam* right into the car stopped at the ‘yield’ sign. I felt a rush right before I hit them. My eyes closed and I was going to hit them so hard that I would just pass right through them. I didn’t even really hit my brake. Maybe I wanted to hit them. Maybe.

I can see through all the smoke that the people in the other car are getting out. Amazingly they look completely fine. They look like some old couple.

I shake my head and get out of the car.

“Are you alright?”

I instinctively say it. I’m a good guy. I don’t really look at them when I say it though. I look at the front of my car which is now teepee-ed like a tent. The hood is like an equilateral triangle. The front fender is smashed and bent out at the sides. I look at the tires, they look fine. I’m actually surprised there is not more damage on my car. It looks terrible, but drive-able. I look at the old couple’s car.

I fucked their car.

I did not crash my car into their car; my car fucked their car. The back of their car is completely concave. The front of my car perfectly could slide right inside the inward “V” that is the trunk of their car. My car is like big black Lexington Steele’s cock all hopped up on amphetamines and Viagra and their car is like every Hungarian teen bent over in lingerie trying to make an American dollar. I’m almost proud.

My SUV decimated their puny hybrid sedan. It destroyed it. There are tiny particles of green tinged glass sprayed across two lanes of traffic from three of their windows that are completely shattered. One wheel was severely lacerated by the fender being chopped into it like a hatchet. Their car is a mess. There is no way they are driving that thing anywhere. Where are they going? Nowhere.

“Did you even see us? How could you do that?”

I just realized the old woman had been talking to me this whole time and I wasn’t paying attention. She is pissed, but talking in a condescending way as if her age means she can treat me like her kid. She is easily 60 and the guy looks around there too. They’re wearing wedding bands so I guess they’re married unless I ruined some old-timer’s day affair. She is still talking. I need to start listening.

“What?”

“Are you listening? I said, why were you going that fast?”

“Fast? That fast? I was going 45, the turnpike is 65. I slowed down 20 mph to make the turn off.”

“But you plowed right into us.”

“I know. I see that.”

“Listen here-

“Why was your car even sitting there?”

“What did you say?”

“It is a yield sign. That isn’t a stop sign. Why was your car even there at all?”

“We had to stop for the traffic.”

“What traffic? They’re still at a red light.”

I point to the “traffic”. All the cars are piled up sitting there at the light waiting and staring mouths agape at the free high entertainment action-drama.

“Look at them. You were the only car on the road at that time. There isn’t a single car here for two blocks. They’re all still sitting at the light! You stopped for no one, for no reason!”

“Don’t you yell at me!”

“Yeah, you can’t yell at my wife like that! There was a sign there!” The old man gets closer to me.

“Stay away from me old man! Sure there was a sign! It said YIELD on it! Do you need your old people’s glasses to see that! YIELD! It means to slow if there is a fucking car coming and let them pass! It doesn’t mean to indiscriminately stop when there isn’t a car for a hundred yards!”

“Well—

The light turns green and a minivan is first with a gawking soccer mom. I stare her down she keeps driving talking on her cell phone.

“Yeah, you keep driving and talking on your cell phone! I’ll take your license plate down and get you and your friend who should be cleaning her house in trouble with the cops!”

The woman drives off. A guy in a Miata slows with his convertible top down. I outstretch my arm and give him the most determined finger ever.

“Fuck you, pal and keep driving!”

I pass the finger along to every other car behind him. They start to beep at me, but their speed has picked up and no one is slowing to look at the asshole and the old folks anymore.

“I’m going to call the police.”

“What? Do you know what time it is? I don’t have time for the police.”

“Well why not?”

“Do you see how I’m dressed? Why else would a guy in his 20’s be dressed like this at 8 in the morning!?! I’m going to work.”

I point at the front gate.

“You two may be retired and have all day to argue, but I don’t. I would love to continue yelling at you that if you would have driven onto the road instead of SLAMMING ON YOUR BRAKES AT THE FIRST SIGHT OF A RED TRIANGLE then there wouldn’t have been a car accident… but I have to go sit behind a desk, stare at a computer monitor for 10 hours and FILE AWAY MY YOUTH!”

I’m huffing and puffing like a fat kid chasing an ice cream truck. I can feel the blood in my cheeks and I feel hot and almost faint. I think I may have popped a blood vessel in my eyes from all the yelling. The old people are talking to themselves. The old woman begins to start timidly.

“You work for that company?” She points, but not at the gate. She is pointing above the front lawn gates and hedges, more to the sky. I follow her finger and she is pointing at the cranes that are over the K-15 “site”. She is pointing at the construction crews cleaning up the rubble and mess of steel and the smoke rising from what is left of K-15 from the suicide bombing last week.

“Yeah, yes, I work for them.”

“Oh my dear. We read about that in the paper and saw it on the news. I can’t believe another terrorist attack happened and so close to the other ones. It is just terrible like a mini-9/11.”

“Were you there when it happened? Did you know anyone who died, son?” The old man is now calling me son.

“I was at work and yes I knew a few that died. I don’t know what this has to do-

“We understand you must be going through just a horrific time. You poor thing and you are still showing up for work. God bless you for your bravery. We were sorry we even troubled you.”

“My wife is right, that is very brave of you. They say that your generation doesn’t have a work ethic; I guess you proved them wrong didn’t you? You go on inside, we don’t want to keep you from your job. Don’t worry about us, we’ll call AAA.”

“Bye, now and remember you survived for a reason to carry on the spirits of those who have fallen in this tragedy.”

“Oh, ok.”

I thought I survived because I was in a completely different building than the one that blew up. Sure it was closer than most other people in the world, but it isn’t like my building would spontaneous blow up because the one two over blew up. I survived because K-15 was targeted by some douche bag with a Costco size load of C-4 strapped to his chest and I was faxing a health benefits package in K-1. Survived? It wasn’t like I was digging through the rubble. I barely knew those people. I knew them, but they were co-workers.

I think that old lady and man have tears in their eyes. I can’t believe they are letting me go. I mean she shouldn’t have had her car there, but I shouldn’t have driven through it. I wonder if I could pull this “I survived the K-15 terrorist attack” other places. Get a free donut at Starbucks. Maybe a free beer at Chili’s. Maybe a free case of beer if I go into detail. Would chicks want to bang a “survivor”? I know they like firemen who had marginal contact if any with 9/11, but what about someone who survived it and was working a desk job?

Maybe I am cynical.

I get back into my car and it starts. I drive it slowly into the front gate where I get some very odd stares from the rent-a-cop security guys. I park my car in the same spot as always and head inside. I get to the elevator only a couple minutes later than usual. One of the guys who works across the building in finance gets on. He gives me a double take. I’m sweating, my right eye is completely blood shot, my hair is a mess and I look like I’ve been wrestling.

“Looks like you’ve had a rough morning.” He smiles.

“I like it rough.” I smile back.

He has not talked to me since.

Tons of snow over the weekend. The news had predicted that we would get a lot of snow, but they seemed to underestimate it or at least the accounts I saw. So my reoccurring joke was that we were expecting 2 inches*, but we got 6 inches, that’s what she said. Or by the end of the night we had a whole foot of it and it was too much for us to handle, THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID!

Friday night

I saw Avatar in D D D or 3D or THREE DEE or in THE THIRD DIMENSION! Which meant I had to wear those stupid glasses. I am not used to wearing glasses or sunglasses. I probably should wear glasses because Lord knows my vision is no where near as good as it was 10 years ago. I probably should wear sunglasses because of blue eyes and fair skin and I heard that’s a bad combo for the sun blinding me eventually. Nevertheless, I go rogue and where none! So sitting in the theater wearing plastic 3D glasses for 3 hours was very annoying. I feel the need to constantly readjust my glasses every 5 seconds as if my nose cannot hold the glasses on my face.

The movie itself was great. The storyline is very obvious and I don’t think they are making it seem otherwise. In the extended trailers they pretty much show what happens from start to finish in chronological order no less. The movie is like Dances with Wolves or The Last Samurai with ALIENS! Which as we all know aliens were what both of those fines films were missing. The computer effects are unreal good. The motion capture of the acting of Sam Worthington, Zoe Saldana, Wes Studi, Sigourney Weaver and so on are all amazing. Especially Zoe Saldana I thought. I really felt a fluidity in her character’s performance that at points looked like it was Zoe Saldana in blue make up instead of a computer animation.

The action was wild and fun. The colors, the detail, the whole world of Pandora was excellent. The 3D tricks were fun and almost constant. I would suggest seeing it in 3D if you get the chance solely because you won’t be able to watch it in 3D at your house most likely. The movie will look incredible on its own merits when it comes out on DVD and BluRay, but the 3D experience is just some trivial fun if you have the chance.

Saturday

Christmas shopping! I am a Jew or as you people should call me “Chosen One”, but I am also part heretic… I mean Christian. And who doesn’t like presents? No one. Nazis to pro-choice sluts all love presents. So I finished my present shopping on Saturday. I walked around the mall picking up stuff listening to a new CD I got which is wonderful, Bear in Heaven. If you like the band Liars or Animal Collective or Flaming Lips or Thom Yorke’s solo stuff and you like their darker sounding stuff the Bear in Heaven is for you and me together.

That night I went bowling for the first time in over a decade. I did ok. Not Obama bad, but ok. I could definitely do better and when I end up bowling again a decade from now I’ll make sure to try a little harder.

Sunday

I watched my Pittsburgh Steelers win a football game. It feels like forever since that has happened. This world is a “what have you done for me lately” world and “lately” they won me a Superbowl back in February as for “lately lately” they have brought shame and sorrow for 5 weeks. Yesterday, they put on a thriller with an unreal 4th quarter TD drive to win the game with no time left. Ben Roethlisberger also threw for over 500 yards which is impossibly great.

So that all leads to today. At the last minute, my yob decided that it was cool if I took off Monday – Wednesday which was nice of them. It would’ve been nicer if they told me that 3 weeks ago when I asked for it and then I could have made plans, but hey who is keeping that spite locked away in the back of their mind?

So, today you are getting another chapter from my book that will never been finished. I think the chapter is pretty self-explanatory, but I’ll give a little background just in case you’re brains are not all filing cabinets for KSWI as they should be.

The main character, Ben, ends up getting a job for a very large pharmaceutical company. He works a shit boring job. After a few weeks of learning the landscape and starting to settle in, a terrorist attack is made on the company. For reasons unknown a group of terrorists (foreign? domestic?) has targeted this pharmaceutical company seemingly because of their business practices. They blow up one of the buildings where Ben works, but not the building he works in. They also assassinate the CEO. This sends the office environment into a tail spin and the place because militaristic. The belief is that instead of hiring an outside security firm to protect the offices. The company will instead train the existing staff in all forms of combat and weapons to prepare them to defend their own workspace. This leads to employees being trained in guns as well as being required to carry them.

This chapter focuses on the hand-to-hand combat training. It is a chapter from later in the book. The idea is that the company has been training them to fight. The different divisions inside the company have decided to start an interdepartment “fight club” as if it was a softball league. There are tournaments and office champions et cetera. One of the things I was playing with while writing the chapters I wrote was how quickly we digest madness and become accustomed to it. There are people blowing up the offices and shooting the fronts of the buildings so the staff begin carrying pistols on them and start firing back because it is now company policy. They are trained in martial arts then they might as well make a game out of it and start an office tournament.

Anyway, it is fairly short. But I think all told I’m still breaking my 2000 word mark.

Also, I have noticed the KSWI Facebook Fan Page has been growing ever steadily. Thank you for joining those that have and for those that haven’t – go to hell. And thank you to the Chicago native who set up the page. I’m sure she is buried from head to toe in snow. Shit gets cold there. Real cold. No joke cold. No joke like Randy Moss’ post game speech no joke cold.

Sorry no pictures today. I would suggest checking out Blake Lively’s pictures from WWTDD.com from I think Friday or Thursday. She is arguably wearing a strapless one piece bathing suit and high heels to a movie premiere. And God Bless Everyone for that!

****************************

Friday – 5:44 pm

Davis’ nose is broken.

At first they wouldn’t allow headbutts. There was a short discussion about what would happen in a real situation, what if the attacker tried to headbutt one of us. We are supposed to be training for real combat; we’re not training to be sport’s fighters. The next morning there was a mass email sent with the compelling proposal, “should we allow headbutts?”. There were two vote buttons at the top “yes” or “no”. It was unanimous: yes.

Davis was definitely winning the fight. He is a temp from the IT department. He only started a couple weeks ago, but I’ve seen him win at least two fights already. Both of them were brutal first round TKOs. He is 6’5” easy and somewhere around 240 pounds. I think he was brought in to be a ringer. He has a long reach and his punches shake you to the bone. He has very dangerous elbows. When you get in close to him he starts to swing them for you head like a sharpened sledge hammer. I would know too. My lip was busted and I have a knot on the back of my head from two of them.

The IT guys only made it into the quarterfinals in the last tournament and I think that really was a thorn in their side. The day after the announcement of the next tournament they started buzzing around asking questions about when a temporary hire is eligible to get into the rankings. It is a fair question and a smart move. HR has more temps and interns than they have cubicles or desks. They are trying to stack the deck thinking quantity over quality. The nerds in IT went the other route. Too bad for the headbutts because he was kicking my ass.

Back when we had rounds, I’m pretty sure I could have taken this guy a lot easier. I really was dragging my ass into the 7th minute; meanwhile he was rearing to go. I really could have used that rest and the water between rounds. I had seen Davis tear apart a tax attorney and an admin. assistant from accounting. They both stood with him and got drilled with hooks, elbows, and a couple of body kicks that would make a grown man cry.

I started out throwing a lot of big shots standing. Easy stuff I knew he would be able to block, so I could try to lull him into a false sense of security that I wanted to slug it out. Around the third minute, I went for my first shot. It was good and deep and I had one leg wrapped, but then he just leaned on me and leaned on me and leaned on me.

It wasn’t pretty, but it was effective. It felt like I was buried under sand. His chest and stomach on my back forcing me to the ground. My legs shaking trying not to snap like toothpicks under all that weight. We must’ve sat in that stalemate for two minutes that felt like two hours. I started to give and he shrugged me off. I was gassed at that point. I felt weak and he started pouring it on. I spent the next three minutes blocking and running. I would throw a combo in vain, but he would usually make me pay for it. I tried my best to clinch with him to buy me some time. The first attempt ended with a short elbow to the back of the head that shut my lights out for a second. I hit the floor and I was completely defenseless. The strangest thing happened: he didn’t finish me on the floor.

When I came to and saw him standing there still instead of pouncing on me and beating my brains in, I realized this guy is scared to death of the ground game. The ground might as well be molten lava. He didn’t want to risk a submission or God forbid I sweep him somehow. I was pretty much knocked out and he wouldn’t go to the ground. It gave me a chance to recover. I got up and I had some wind back in me, but then he caught me with another elbow, this time to the eye. I hit the ground again, but I wasn’t out. The crowd and especially the IT guys were getting restless. Davis didn’t want to go to the ground, but he knew he had to finish me. He was their big hired gun and I was the champ. This was their big chance to flip the tables. Davis was hesitant about going to the ground, so I met him halfway.

He ducked down like he was going into my open guard and I jumped up. I exploded towards him and crushed him on the bridge of the nose with top of my head. I could hear the crunch instantly, followed by that warm wetness. His blood thick in my hair. That weight again. He slumped on me and I tried to hold him up, but it was too much. We both fell to the floor. The red blood from his nose was everywhere and he was out. The Health Services people jumped all over Davis and began treating him. His eyes were both black before I even got back to my feet. Everyone was going nuts minus the IT people. They know the deal. Davis is done.

A broken nose means any shot to the face is going to be a 1000 times worse. Also anyone who saw this fight can see for sure his ground game is non-existent. If he won’t follow a near knocked out guy to the ground then he’ll be a sucker for any wrestler or submission guy. The IT guys know the score and they’re already planning for something else. Davis is a loss for them. I bet he doesn’t know anything about computers. I hadn’t seen him do a service call or even touch a laptop in the weeks he has been here. I would just see him in the gym hitting the bag and lifting weights. I bet his “temp contract” will mysteriously be up come Monday.

Come to think of it, I haven’t scanned or faxed anything in that same amount of time. I’ve seen the betting lines for the new tournament. There is too much riding on me repeating as champ for them to screw with my mood. I’ve heard talk of them transferring the cute redhead from treasury to our department. They want to keep me happy. They want to keep me relaxed.

Tournament starts next week. I’m top ranked. My skull is throbbing and there is still Davis’ blood under my fingernails as I’m driving home. A victory like today’s can only make the opposition that more afraid than they already are. I can’t wait until this weekend is over.

This is the opening chapter of the book that I posted a random chapter of last Friday. I will also post a random chapter tomorrow. I thought I should at least post the first chapter sooner than later. It is a short chapter. Shorter than the other chapter and filled with less horror sex like the last one. To fill the void in your holidays here is the first chapter. Sorry it isn’t longer, that’s what she said.

Hmmm… I’ll also add in a music video to make this post feel longer. I like Lady Gaga. I like Francis Lawrence. And guess what? They made a video together. “Bad Romance” is the first single as far as I know from Lady Gaga’s new album “Fame Monster”. And you read that correctly, I do like Lady Gaga. She looks great in this video. The video and the song reminds me a lot of Annie Lennox and Madonna. I do have to say that I admit I am playing to my crowd a bit. I’m not posting videos of bands like The Chariott which I like as well (namely the song “Teach”). So I’ll stick to the dance/pop songs for this website.

If you do feel so inclined to hear more Lady Gaga or feel like memorizing things I prophesize and checking if they come true, the song “Teeth” by Lady Gaga is going to be huge.

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10:33am – Wednesday

My name is Benjamin Calthase and I am a 24 year old graduate of a small liberal arts university you have never heard of with a BA in Sociology and a minor in Computer Engineering. I am 6 foot 2 and 200 pounds. I am white, I have sandy blonde hair, green eyes, I am out of shape and I have begun to question the decisions in my life that have led me to this present failure where I currently reside.

My dignity aside, I am wearing a white t-shirt splattered with condiment stains, basketball shorts I’ve never played basketball in and a pair of knee high white tube socks. I am watering my driveway. Technically it is not my driveway. It is my parents’ driveway. I have a garden hose in my right hand and I am slowly turning like a sprinkler soaking my parents’ new paved driveway. Unless this is a practical joke that my parents have pulled on me, you need to water a new paved driveway. It might be because it is the middle of summer and 90+ degrees with even more humidity here in residential suburban New Jersey. I didn’t bother to ask why I needed to water the driveway because it was not like I could say no.

I am unemployed and spend my days playing Call of Duty, jerking off, eating fast food, jerking off, watching my dog, downloading porn for tomorrow and wondering when God will grant/bestow upon me one of the jobs I randomly apply to online. Alluring subjects like “Entry-level” and “No experience required”, how could I not send them my pencil thin resume and a half-assed cover letter feigning all the excitement one could have for a data entry position at a non-profit for barely above minimum wage.

I’m sweating it is so hot. I’m just standing here watching the hose spew out gallon after gallon of clean water onto this hot black asphalt driveway. All I can think about are the poor Africans that we, Americans, are always so concerned about. Each and every one of those poor bastards dying in a genocide, dying from diseases, all dying from not having clean water and here I am in New Jersey standing here just hosing down this inanimate mass that I park my car on with the very same water that could save all their lives. That whole continent is just dying. Always dying.

Just imagine someone in some distant country taking all the edible food that one would need to keep them alive and taking that food and spreading it all over the ground and then running it all over with their car. I feel shitty about this. It is such a waste.

I’m hungry…

I don’t feel like making anything. I think I’ll just order a pizza. I should order it as soon as I finish this watering. You know what? I think I’ll download some of those porn videos where there is a pizza delivery guy and he sticks his dick through a hole in the bottom of the box and the half-naked fake boobed housewife or a freshman sorority chick he delivers it to opens the box and says something about wanting his big sausage. That will be a good theme for the day: eat a pizza then jerkoff to porn videos with pizza in it. I need to think of something to identify today from every other day or I won’t have any frame of reference. All these days bleed into each other and they never end.

Those poor Africans. All this water could be theirs. All this clean cold water for a lifeless slab of road for my parents to put their cars on.

Oh yeah, I live with my parents. Pathetic.

**************

Happy Thanksgiving.

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