Diagnosis Rodentia

How to mess up my morning in four easy steps

noreply@blogger.com (TheLabRat) — Thu, 29 Sep 2011 22:02:00 +0000

Leaving this here in case I forget the process.

1. Receive a call from a salon where I'd applied for a receptionist job and accept the offer for an interview at 10am. Ride my bike the 2.5 miles only to be called by the salon when I'm three blocks away and tell me the position was just filled and not to bother. The salon drone should make extra efforts to be bitchy on the phone for maximum effect.

2. Since my E-cigarette is broken and I'm waiting for mail ordered parts, I should now ride 3.5 miles to the cheapish lung cancer store for a pack of cigarettes. Inside, I will make a point of being cheered up by a cute kid who needed help after accidentally setting off a falling product chain reaction in the impulse buy racks. This way when I go outside and find the tweaker chick stealing my removable bike basket, I will get the most extreme emotional whiplash when I proceed to dress her down and get my basket back.

3. On the mile ride back to my house, I should not notice the giant spider web I'm about to ride through until the last second so that when I jerk my bike into the street to avoid the 2-inch crawly resting in it, I actually manage to yank most of the web and the spider onto my own head. The spider must then crawl onto my sunglasses and across both lenses before I'm finally able to brush him off with my super-suave arachnophobe seizures (while still riding the bike, of course).

4. Finally, I should now ride another 2 miles to the dentist's office where I can get six cavities in three teeth filled in the part of my mouth that's immune to Novocain for no apparent reason. The return trip should be done against the wind.

Total miles ridden last Wednesday: 11

Total bitches told off: 1 (out of 2)

Total spiders traumatized: 1

On the whole, very effective method. Perhaps I should apply for a patent.

Becoming Mom

noreply@blogger.com (TheLabRat) — Tue, 26 Jul 2011 19:37:00 +0000

image by Tarehna Wicker

When I was a kid, I went through this phase where I just could not look at my mom while she was eating, at least not at home. I’m not exactly one for the strictest of table manners; I talk with my mouth full and I eat everything with my hands. But I was, oddly, a little bit more of a neat-nick as a child, especially when it came to food. And my beloved mother frequently looked like someone had run over her face with a lunch truck.

I got over it by the time I was 10 or so, and now it’s something that strikes me as hilarious on the rare occasion I think of it at all. Here I was, all of 8, absolutely horrified that my mother had a swipe of peanut butter across one cheek. What can I say; I was kind of a strange kid.

I mean, of course everyone gets sauce all over themselves at a BBQ, but this was, like, everything she ate, or so it seemed to my over-sensitive kid brain. There’d be this spot of ketchup or mustard or whatever a good two inches away from her mouth and I’d try so hard to make eye contact only to be sucked into gawking at whatever bit of sauce had escaped her notice.

When we were out in public it was fine. But at home, it was like she had no nerve endings in her face. It seemed like she didn’t even notice the problem (as opposed to simply not caring). I couldn’t figure out how she couldn’t feel it sitting there, all sticky and gross. Sometimes it was a good hour before we’d finish eating and she’d finally wipe the offensive goop away.

So today, when I realized that I’d had a good sized dollop of mayonnaise on my cheek for two hours after I finished a ham and pepperjack sandwich, I pretty much fell out laughing. Sometimes, becoming your parents is fun.

And we're back?

noreply@blogger.com (TheLabRat) — Fri, 22 Jul 2011 22:40:00 +0000

When last we left our intrepid rodent, she was enrolled in school, looking for work, and living in Sacramento. Two of those things are no longer true. The job market being what it is, I migrated to the Portland, OR area where things are... not much better, honestly. But they are at least a little better and I'm still plugging away, looking for a gig.

In the meantime, I've got a couple of writing projects sitting on the backburner (not the least of which is finishing the editing on the long-written serial short). I've also started a new blog that I've not had much chance to put a lot of work into and am finally starting to revamp this one. Consequently a lot of my old blogging stuff is out of date. I'll fix it. Eventually.

Alpha Betta Blue

noreply@blogger.com (TheLabRat) — Wed, 25 Feb 2009 16:10:00 +0000

It’s that time again; I’ve finished another essay for my mixed bag of an English composition class. Today’s installment is a narrative essay about the recent death of a beloved family pet, our little betta fish, Alpha.

He was an unusual critter as he liked to play in current and seemed rather fond of our cat, as I mentioned in my last entry. Unfortunately, I was never able to get a clear picture of the little guy while he was in his big tank. From this image, you might think we tortured the poor little guy by leaving him in a murky puddle all of the time. While that perception is appropriate to the story at hand and my own narcisistic guilt, he's in the middle of a water change and was happily back in his ten gallon fishy condo shortly after.

I had a really hard time with this one; the last three or four paragraphs are rushed and it shows. I'd appreciate any constructive criticism you have to offer. Just drop a note into the comments box.

Fish Killer

Kitten Haikus

noreply@blogger.com (TheLabRat) — Fri, 13 Feb 2009 01:44:00 +0000

This is a series of haikus I wrote when Kiyoshi the Kitten first came to live with me. Posted for posterity and my own amusement.

Short version of Yoshi’s background: I found him mewling in the bushes beneath my window when I overheard some children; “The cat is still here. Do you still have that stick?” No, I did not kill any minors that day.

Symbiotic
wiry, lithe kitten
planes and angles stretched out long
safe at last in laps

tummy rubs at dawn
golden eyes hypnotize me
in the palm of paws

enchanted
exotic orphan
miniature perfection
tiniest whiskers

you stole it again
I can deny you nothing
that's my chair not yours

late
love the little mew
i could do lap time all day
but you need cat food

don't sad mew at me
if you want your chicken necks
i have to leave now

curious
nooks, crannies for you
suddenly clutter is good
laundry mountains loom

don't worry kitten
the water will not hurt me
it's just a shower

stay away from there
the fishy* is not for you
you can't jump that high

horking
don't eat so fast goob
the food is all for you now
take your time, that's gross

first bath
I know this is lame
but you really need a bath
please get off my head

*The fishy in question passed away last week. He and Yoshi became good friends after Yoshi figured out he actually could jump that high. RIP Alpha.

Well you asked...

noreply@blogger.com (TheLabRat) — Tue, 27 Jan 2009 20:41:00 +0000

Reached my second quarter of school, relatively unscathed. After a bit of class transferring due to some overcrowding in my English class, I landed with a teacher by the name of Barefoot (no joke) who generally seems like a pretty awesome dude.

Our first assignment was to write an essay about our greatest fear in returning to college as (theoretical) grown-ups. Oh boy; writing about myself in essay format is not one of my strong suits. Like many, I have problems with conclusions and, more specific to myself and my wacky view of the world, I run the risk of getting too personal. But well, he asked. So here it is. Personally, I think I was a little all over the map in constructing the darned thing. Any tips and ideas for improvements (and future reference) are welcome.

If you are having troubles viewing the document here, click on the post title to go to the permalink page for this post or go visit the document on the Docstoc website. Coming soon, my adventures in designing my own blogger template. Good times?

Nothing to Fear but Self

Site Design Credits

noreply@blogger.com (TheLabRat) — Tue, 20 Jan 2009 09:08:00 +0000

As I've recently changed my template to a default template with very few customizations (most of my old tweaks are now built into the Blogger platform) pretty much everything on this page is out of date. But because some of these links are still pretty useful, I'm leaving this page intact.

Without the images, hacks, tweaks, templates, ideas, code, graphics, and generators, on this page, this blog as it exists would not be possible. Check back for updates as I find new gadgets and hacks. Think I’ve missed something? Drop me an email from the menu bar.

The Basics

Header Graphic: Fireball by Sergej Gorodenskiy

I found this image in Smashing Magazine’s article listing of free, high-quality blog headers. It has nothing to do with mice or writing, but it speaks to my not-so-inner science fiction nerd. I’m sure over time, I’ll find other images I’d like to use and I’ll probably rotate this image out with something else. But I’ll be looking at Sergej’s work before I look anywhere else.

Professional Blog Template by Our Blog Templates

You can’t tell by looking at my page now, but this template has the option of having up to eight columns and is fully set up for a menu bar across the top, Google AdSense, and a plethora of widgets in varying sizes. Set up a test blog for yourself and try it out to see what I mean. You may want to customize it by moving the menu bar below the header, setting the embedded comments form, or changing settings so that you can remove one or both “LinkBars” (or just move them around).

Template hacks and tweaks

Peekaboo Blogger Nav Bar by Bloggeratto

Since I’m hosting my blog on Blogger’s servers, I’m not supposed to remove the Blogger NavBar (and there are people out there flagging your blog if you hide your NavBar when you’re not supposed to). There’s some debate as to whether one should modify it at all but I’m guessing that leaving it’s functionality intact while making it “peekaboo” style -- so that it only appears if my readers hover over it with their mouse – isn’t too much of a problem. Shiny. Note that if you are an IE user the NavBar is there and functioning, you just can’t see it due to a lack of support of for a critical bit of code.

Peekaboo Post Summaries with Fade in Text Effects by Hackoshpere

The Professional Template from Ourblogger came with Hackosphere’s selective expandable posts code already installed. I removed this code with Ourblogger’s instructions, and replaced it with the “peekaboo” style and added in the fading text.

Breadcrumb trail/status messages and Social Bookmarking Links by Blogger Buster

Granted it’s already a cluttered page, and adding another line of text above the blog posts probably doesn’t help that at all, but that Bread Crumb Status Trail sure is nice for helping you remember where you are, what you were doing, and how to get back to the section you were looking at to begin with.

Similarly, the Social Bookmarking links may be a little messy if one adds all of them (which I have done, sorry folks) but it shouldn’t take much work to adjust element widths and pop them into a better looking place. I’ll just get right on that.

Label Cloud by phy3blog

A pretty self explanatory hack if you’re a fellow tag junkie; Blogger’s existing “List only” display for the Labels Widget just doesn’t cut it. Must. Have. Cloud. Seriously, if I had to delete every customizion done in code except for one, this would be the one that stayed.

If you're a blogger or just into reading what nerds do to CSS in their spare time, check back to this page as I add more features to the site. Peekaboo lists for label and search lists are (hopefully) up next.

Moving LinkBars in Pro Blog Template

noreply@blogger.com (TheLabRat) — Tue, 20 Jan 2009 07:04:00 +0000

If you've downloaded and installed the Professional Template for your blog and don't want to keep the two "LinkBars" (one of which is the Menu Bar I spoke of in my last post), or you just want to be able to move it around, the fix for this is relatively easy.

Go to "Layout" and "Edit HTML" in your dashboard, don't expand you widgets and look for code that looks something like this:

<div id='linkbar-wrapper' style='text-align:left'>
<b:section class='linkbar' id='linkbar' showaddelement='no'>
<b:widget id='LinkList1' locked='true' title='Linkbar' type='LinkList'/>
</b:section>
</div>

If you haven't made any other changes to the template thus far, you should have two of these sections (LinkList1 and LinkList2). In each, change the locked='true' to locked='false' and, once you've saved your template, you'll be able to move both Linkbars around or delete them, as you wish.

If you are using the Menu Bar function of this template, just leave "LinkList1" alone and head straight for the second one. If you move the Menu Bar around it will adapt the formatting of the area you move it too and lose all of it's pretty Menu bar formatting.

If you're having a hard time finding it, try looking for "linklist" instead of "linkbar." Note that you'll have more linklists if you've added any additional Link List Widgets via the "Page Elements" interface.

Professional Template Customizations

noreply@blogger.com (TheLabRat) — Mon, 19 Jan 2009 05:38:00 +0000

UPDATE: I'm not using this template any longer so what you see on my blog is not indicative of how the template would work. I still thinks it's a great template though and played with it a lot when I was using it. I'm still happy to try and help other bloggers who are attempting to get it to work a certain way.

If you are using the Professional Blog Template from Our Blogger Templates (used here on this blog), you have likely run into the annoying problem of the menu "LinkBar" displaying above the Header instead of below it. Much like me, you're probably someone who doesn't know a lot of HTML or CSS and have done a lot of template tweaking on the fly with varied results.

I found the solution to the menu bar issue but couldn't include it on the comments for the template due to HTML restrictions and (possibly) my own idiocy. So here it is.

Go to your blog's Layout/Edit HTML options in Dashboard and DO NOT expand your widgets. Find this block of text:

<div id='linkbar-wrapper' style='text-align:left'>
<b:section class='linkbar' id='linkbar' showaddelement='no'>
<b:widget id='LinkList1' locked='true' title='Linkbar' type='LinkList'/>
</b:section>
</div>

<div style='clear: both;'/>

Cut it and paste it after this block of text (they should be right near each other depending on your customizations to the template thus far):

<div id='header-wrapper'>
<b:section class='header' id='header' maxwidgets='1' showaddelement='no'>
<b:widget id='Header1' locked='true' title='Diagnosis Rodentia (Header)' type='Header'/>
</b:section>
</div>

<div style='clear: both;'/>

Save your template and that's it. Your done. The header should now display above the menu linkbar. I'm still working on fixing the way the menu displays in Firefox; if I figure it out I'll post here.

If you'd rather simply remove the two linkbars (one up top and one to the right side) that come embedding in this template, check the original comments for the template and lookf for TheLabRat. I posted instructions on that there.

If you need any help, feel free to ask.

My Poor Feet

noreply@blogger.com (TheLabRat) — Wed, 14 Jan 2009 17:41:00 +0000

From the daily exercises at Writing Fix:

"Where were your shoes? Write about an interesting time when you happened to be barefoot. Begin and end your writing with a description of your feet."

While it could be said that “ripe” has become a bit of a cliché in terms of describing one’s feet, it is the most apt term – on every possible level -- to apply to my own at the end of the first week of Naval Basic Training.

Peeling my Boondockers (Navy for Combat Boots cut off at the ankle) and socks off revealed a general swelling all over. It seemed my poor feet had grown to twice their size in just one short week. My socks were plastered to my ankles and came off only with a great deal of prompting, taking a thin layer of skin with them. It was then I realized my pinky toes had turned black and the nails had fallen off. It looked as though I’d never grown toenails on those little piggies.

As I gently massaged my left foot, carefully avoiding the blisters on my heal, I noticed the beginnings of a callous I’d never had before next to one big toe and a strange red line drawn sharply across the middle of my foot. I didn’t know it for another month but I’d broken a phalange on the steal plating in my boots; a small price in the service of my country, some might say.

I put the boots back on like flip flops – folding the heals down under my feet -- and clomped off to the head where the hot, soapy water of the shower cleaned the wool from the open blisters and softened the leather of the shoes. It took a good four hours for the leather to dry after but the boots broke in much faster.

While I waited for the old t-shirts I’d stuffed inside to soak up the bulk of the water I inspected my dogs. The blisters were infected spreading red streaks up my shins, the broken toe was puffed up to nearly the size of its larger neighbor, the pinkies were still black; what had I gotten myself into?

Tweaking Templates and Tweeting Twits

noreply@blogger.com (TheLabRat) — Wed, 14 Jan 2009 14:10:00 +0000

My week off of school in between quarters has thus far been spent on the usual array of outgoing resumes and setting up this massive social networking nightmare in the hopes of it 1) helping me land a part time job while I'm in school and 2) maybe landing me a client or two for my virtual admin. business (anyone out there need some typing done?). All the hot HR websites are saying that this sort of thing really helps, especially with folks in my position who are changing careers, going to school, and overcoming their own past employment problems.

All of this means I had to finally fix my blogger blogs (one for business one for personal junk), get a LinkedIn profile, and venture into the world of tweeting (addictive little nightmare that).

In the process, I think I just inadvertently taught myself CSS (no not completely) from tweaking my blogger template all night long. I still have a lot to do I must say I'm rather proud of how far it's come. It's not exactly attractive at the moment due to some color issues I'm too tired to resolve. But by the end of the week it will have three columns, a set of tabs, a "trail of breadcrumbs," expandable post summarys with peekaboo view, a label cloud (which I'll integrate with delicious if I can just find that tweak), separate background colors for sections, and maybe a business logo if I get around to designing one.

And that's just the business blog; all of those same changes will come here next. Or maybe I'lljust finish writing my story instead.

Whew. Mousie is tired. Time to watch a horrid sci-fi flick.

Patience, Grasshopper

noreply@blogger.com (TheLabRat) — Fri, 09 Jan 2009 22:26:00 +0000

In honor of my completing my first quarter of school while successfully resisting the urge to bash a head in (mine, someone else's, whatevs), I present you with a relevant and humorously timed LOLcat.

more animals

Now I go back to frantically checking my grades while I wait for them to be posted. Yay?

School Project: Business Plan

noreply@blogger.com (TheLabRat) — Thu, 08 Jan 2009 21:16:00 +0000

I've been pounding my head against this group project in school. We were tasked to write a simplified business plan. At some point I will be making some kind of a portfolio style blog for work and school, at which point this post will get moved. but if you'd like to see why I've been so distracted lately...

Knight Business Plan - Get more Business Documents

Serial Short: Part Three

noreply@blogger.com (TheLabRat) — Thu, 29 Mar 2007 09:05:00 +0000

The funny thing about dreams is the way they mix and match reality. It’s like playing cut and paste with the people, places, and pathologies that make each of us who we are. Perhaps that is why they lend themselves to pop-psychology style interpretations. We think we know ourselves fairly well, but a different combination of faces, locales, and situations might lead us to actions we thought impossible. All the signposts in a dream are familiar but they lead us to destinations we didn’t know existed.

We’ve skipped over again and are passing the last of a shitty joint back and forth in a studio apartment I haven’t lived in for years, in a town that no longer resembles my memories. It’s a one room cottage twenty feet from a major railroad. Its moldy walls are thinly webbed with ancient cracks and seem to breathe due to the sharp angle of the floor. Pipes with shoddy wiring in them encircle the room and run to a 30 year old furnace that hasn’t worked in ten.
The passing freighter is a respite from conversation. Neither of us is sure of how to proceed without being more obviously phony than is desirable. So I recline on my bed and he perches on a chaise comprised of dirty laundry and books. We pass our Bammer Brown Pinner to the music of rumbling earth and rattling walls. A stick of nag champa drops a long ash as the end of the train passes.

“Want a beer?” Not waiting for an answer, I reach for the fridge. This involves climbing over and around both the clutter and my guest, a feat that looks complicated but that I accomplish with a practiced, off balance grace. I feel his eyes track me as I navigate the chaos; they slither across my skin and leave a trail of goose bumps. Distracted for a moment, I almost slip on a sock I thought I’d lost. I grab two bottles from the fridge and a slice of cold pizza for myself.

“You sure they aren’t broken? I think your hut slid a few feet.”

“You get used to it. It’s like being rocked to sleep. The speakers on my TV are shot though.”

I hand off the beer and we settle back into our respective positions. There seems to be less space than before, and I am aware of my con-man’s proximity. He radiates an easy heat that seems always just out of reach. And I am so very cold. I inch closer under the guise of searching for a lost bit of cheese.

Sensing my ploy, he retakes the lead. “How’s the pizza?”

“Shitty. Or else I’d offer.”

“A hospitable one, aren’t you?” Finally, he’s fishing again. I thought I’d lost him.

See and raise. “When it suits me.”

He pretends to consider this flip remark and its implications for a moment. “Would it suit you to offer a stranger a place to lay his head for the night?” It would seem he’s finally settled on a course of action.

I, however, have not. “I might be convinced of it.”

He recognizes my indecision but mistakes it for naive invitation. “And how could I convince you?” Unknowingly showing his own uncertainty, he leans forward the smallest amount, to remind me of his warmth. He is so precise in his carelessness. I wonder if he can dance.

Sipping my beer, I ponder the question for a moment and then forget it, letting my mind go blank. I swallow slowly, wipe my mouth, and say the very next thing that pops into my head. “Tell me a story.” My voice is low and round; a quiet cat prowling for quieter prey.

Serial Short: Part Two

noreply@blogger.com (TheLabRat) — Wed, 28 Mar 2007 08:35:00 +0000

There's this thing that happens only in movies and dreams; the main characters meet and connect in some way and then are seen together again some amount of time – specified or otherwise -- later. The unseen proceedings are implied and accepted. They aren't terribly important to the main sequence of events so they just get… skipped over. This gap in recorded time has always struck me as similar to a blackout. It's so easy, and ultimately futile, to obsess on the details missed between the moments; a pointless and addictive exercise that is the cause of many flights of fancy and pangs of regret, each more striking -- for better or worse -- than the last. Better to just move forward with what is certain.

My con-man and I are in a bar of the local dive variety. There are plenty around to choose from, each with its own stale smell and group of old timers lined up in a row. We're chatting about nothing in particular – small talk over beers. The words aren't what matters; it's the current beneath. My want mingles with his manipulation and the two form a sea of some heretofore unknown ectoplasmic ether that carries us both toward the inevitable.

"You know, I don't think I've ever been in this bar before." This is not entirely true, but my previous visits are few, far between, and never included placing an order. My face won't stand out as a repeat customer.

"Lot's of bars in the world. What's so special about this one?" He leans back and slow chugs his drink; lets me feel I'm controlling the conversation while he watches for my tell.

"I've just lived or worked within blocks of it for years. It's one of those bars that all the locals have a nickname for. But I've never had a drink here."

He sits up, suddenly alert. "And you're not one of the locals?" His edge is keener than I'd realized. This will be more fun than I thought. The sharp ones always are.

"I guess it's more home than Home is, at this point, but I'm an import by way of southern Illinois."

"And I thought you were just making fun of my accent."

"You have an accent?"

We both laugh, for entirely different reasons. His eyes linger on my mouth and mine on his hands. Everyone has their weakness.

He begins to test the waters. "You play pool?" He knows what thinks he needs to but hasn't settled on a goal yet; maybe a friendly wager. The night is young and the possibilities endless, as they say.

I'm only interested in one outcome so I answer his challenge with one of my own, "Only when I'm spun. Can't see the math, otherwise."

He laughs but offers nothing. "I haven't done that in a while. I got a little grass if you got a place to smoke it, though."

"I think I can manage that." I pound my beer, pay the tab, pack and light my cigarette before he has a chance to ask any questions. It's time to focus.
To be continued...

Serial Short: Part One

noreply@blogger.com (TheLabRat) — Sun, 25 Mar 2007 19:12:00 +0000

The following is inspired by fake events born of a real delusion.

He saunters by looking lost and shadily hot. I think that if he wandered into one of my stories, he’d be a drifting grifter with mostly repressed homicidal tendencies; just dangerous enough to be the focus of a fantasy. That flutter of fear would be a thrill.

He’d notice me smoking in the parking lot and ask if I knew how to find some obvious and nearby locale; the grocery up the street, perhaps. It’s an easy opening. People are better Samaritans than most would assume when it comes to the little things like that. They feel knowledgeable – like they are better people than they really are – when they help a stranger.

Then he’d ask to borrow my lighter for that Pall Mall he’s been chewing on for the last half block. His, “Thank you kindly,” would have a hint of well faked, old fashioned, country charm -- not because of the calming affect it has on most people, but because it weighs down time with extra syllables. He’d take the opportunity to assess me as a potential mark. Am I good for a couple of smokes and some change or could something more be had from me?

I’d smile and say, “You’re quite welcome,” with a little drawl of my own because I’m a mimic, which means more than either he or I are counting on.

There’d be an awkward pause as instincts war over moving on or honing in. And then he’d find some way to extend his stay; a backhanded compliment perhaps. “I like your hair. How do you get it to go like that?” His embarrassed laugh would dance along my spine.

And then I’m there -- no longer watching it in the theatre of my mind as he walks on by. Some philosophers with quantum fancies theorize that every choice we make creates another parallel universe. Every outlandish fiction we construct is a hard truth in another dimension. And every once in awhile, the filters in between allow us the tiniest taste of our other selves. The vastness opens and visions of another life tickle our brain.

“I sleep. Then I use this goo.” I smirk and roll my eyes, feigning slight offense. He falls for the smirk but not the eye roll. How perfect.

“Well it works for you.” He looks down and takes a drag just long enough to ooze some sex. “Makes you look a little wild.” Flatterer. “Are you a little wild?”

This opens the door for a patented ramble on my part. The surface-only banter conceals hidden agendas. We each size the other up under the distraction of my words, evaluating the defenses of our respective targets. One of us is dead wrong in our calculations. The other is oblivious to a monster barely kept in check. Under other circumstances – in other worlds -- we might have been partners in crime, had we actually met. In this particular scenario, darker games are afoot. Our goals are not mutually exclusive, per se. We’re on the same page but reading vastly different books.

To be continued...

big red ball

noreply@blogger.com (TheLabRat) — Sat, 21 Oct 2006 12:30:00 +0000

sh e
ap d over
         Eons
         of
[alternate]
         History
the forms
          b
           e
          n
         d

       t
        o
OPPRESSIVE
wills
{m
e
   l
    t}
into mystery..

*lost*
tran.log.sla.ic.tion
*lost*

s    i    l    e    n    c    e

the missing truth
a sultry
[intangible]
burden

Catfia

noreply@blogger.com (TheLabRat) — Sun, 15 Oct 2006 12:24:00 +0000

Sal had but one job. And he did it well. He only had to guard the main room while the boss took care of business. Sal was charming, attractive, and generally considered a good catch amongst the ladies. But when he was next to his weapon, it would be a mistake to take that gentility as a sign of weakness. Go ahead. Try to grab that gun...

Meanwhile Frnakie guarded the door. He wasn't too bright. But he could memorize a password.

Johnny was a newer member to the team. Sal didn't know aht to make of him yet. He was ambitious and talented. No one could spot a sniper or hidden tail like he could. But still something didn't set right with a man when they thought about Johnny.

Which, to be fair, could have a had more to do with Johnny's crazy sister Maria. The boss was quite taken with her, his old lady not being around anymore. But she was a religious freak, to say the least. They'd all heard her speaking in toungues. They all new she was trouble. At least Sal knew.

No good trying to tell the boss though. That man made up his own mind...

...and the would be out of the bag soon enough.