SMELLS LIKE BULLSHIT

Some of you may Still be asking WHAT THE HELL IS BLACK SKY RADIO?? So here is a quick synopsis:

Black Sky Radio is an internet only radio station that has no genre! That simply means that if teh music is GOOD we will play it...unless it is poppy teen crap IE; Beiber, or insane non musical Hip Hop with angry misogynistic lyrics, or Rap made after 1990 (with the one exception being the Beastie Boys, because hey....it's the Beastie Boys!)

We also have GREAT specialty Shows hosted by AMAZING DJ's. Weekends you have Classic Roads with Scott Rhodes, and Friday Night we have Friday Night Fetish with Liz...here are their graphics....




So Tune in and check us out! We are AWESOME! We are AMAZING! We are BLACK SKY RADIO!

So since I have been way to busy carving out my little niche of the internet and growing my business in leaps and bounds (See Black Sky Radio)I am now in 120 countries world wide and have 2million listeners! So join me as I continue to take over the world!

Stolen, But Still good.........

"I can believe things that are true and I can believe things that aren't true and I can believe things where nobody knows if they're true or not. I can believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and Marilyn Monroe and the Beatles and Elvis and Mister Ed. Listen-I believe that people are perfectible, that knowledge is infinite, that the world is run by secret banking cartels and is visited by aliens on a regular basis, nice ones that look like wrinkledy lemurs and bad ones who mutilate cattle and want our water and our women. I believe that the future sucks and I believe that the future rocks and I believe that one day White Buffalo Woman is going to come back and kick everyone's ass. I believe that all men are just overgrown boys with deep problems communicating and that the decline in good sex in America is coincident with the decline in drive-in movie theaters from state to state. I believe that all politicians are unprincipled crooks and I still believe that they are better than the alternative. I believe that California is going to sink into the sea when the big one comes, while Florida is going to dissolve into madness and alligators and toxic waste. I believe that antibacterial soap is destroying our resistance to dirt and disease so that one day we'll all be wiped out by the common cold like the Martians in War of the Worlds. I believe that the greatest poets of the last century were Edith Sitwell and Don Marquis, that jade is dried dragon sperm, and that thousands of years ago in a former life I was a one-armed Siberian shaman. I believe that mankind's destiny lies in the stars. I believe that candy really did taste better when I was a kid, that it's aerodynamically impossible for a bumblebee to fly, that light is a wave and a particle, that there's a cat in a box somewhere who's alive and dead at the same time (although if they don't ever open the box to feed it it'll eventually just be two different kinds of dead), and that there are stars in the universe billions of years older than the universe itself. I believe in a personal god who cares about me and worries and oversees everything I do. I believe in an impersonal god who set the universe in motion and went off to hang with her girlfriends and doesn't even know that I'm alive. I believe in an empty and godless universe of causal chaos, background noise, and sheer blind luck. I believe that anyone who says that sex is overrated just hasn't done it properly. I believe that anyone who claims to know what's going on will lie about the little things too. I believe in absolute honesty and sensible social lies. I believe in a woman's right to choose, a baby's right to live, that while all human life is sacred there's nothing wrong with the death penalty if you can trust the legal system implicitly, and that no one but a moron would ever trust the legal system. I believe that life is a game, that life is a cruel joke, and that life is what happens when you're alive and that you might as well lie back and enjoy it."

"Girl Sam, American Gods" Neil Gaiman

LIVE on Black Sky Radio!! Isis the newest wrestling sensation sweeping the nation will be back on Black Sky to chat with us, check out her site at Isis the Amazon, as well as add her to your Twitter! Listen in Wednesday Feb 3rd at 4pm EST, (3pm CST time, 1pm PST...we don't count mountain time because that is just weird)

Oh and if you aren't following me on Twitter....what the hell is wrong with you?
@nightmare54

Tune in and Listen to the greatest music show ever created by mere mortals!

Black Sky Radio

That's right football fans I will be interviewing Bill Romoanowski LIVE on Black Sky Radio January 12th 4:50 pm CST

If you don't know who Bill is here is his pedigree....

Bill Romanowski 16-year career in the NFL, playing for the San Francisco 49ers (1988–1993), Philadelphia Eagles (1994–1995), Denver Broncos (1996–2001), and Oakland Raiders (2002–2003). He played 243 consecutive games, an NFL record among linebackers, won 4 Super Bowl Championships, and is the only linebacker to start 5 Super Bowl Games (Super Bowl XXIII, Super Bowl XXIV, Super Bowl XXXII, Super Bowl XXXIII and Super Bowl XXXVII). In his rookie season, Romanowski made a big impact for the 49ers in Super Bowl XXIII, recording a third quarter interception that set up a San Francisco field goal. He is one of only three players in NFL history to win back to back Super Bowls with two different organizations (San Francisco 49ers, Denver Broncos). During his 16 year career, Romanowski compiled 1,105 tackles, 39.5 sacks, 18 forced fumbles, and 18 interceptions, which he returned for a net total of 98 yards and 1 career touchdown. Romanowski was a Pro Bowl selection twice, in 1996 and 1998, both during his tenure with the Denver Broncos."

So tune in listen long and often!

Soon.....SINBAD!!

What can I say? It is that time of year again and people are running around all bat shit crazy, 'cept this year everyone is broke! Including yours truly...so this year for Christmas/Yuletide, everyone gets something they can use!

Form the line to the left and be prepared for the Nightmare Bear Hug! they are free of charge and EVERYONE needs one...or two.

Keep in mind as this holiday season engulfs us, this may be the best time to remind the retailers that we DON'T want to have the Christmas ads run three weeks before Thanksgiving, and that the TRUE meaning of Christmas is to celebrate life, and joy, and family...not buy a bunch of shit from China.

Does anyone know where we got the 12 days of Christmas?

Well it is time for your old buddy Nightmare to throw some ice water on those Judeo-Christian beliefs yet again. The 12 days of Christmas started out as the 12 day celebration of Yule or Yuletide by the Nordic and Germanic tribes of Pagans.

"Yule or Yule-tide is a winter festival that was initially celebrated by the historical Germanic peoples as a pagan religious festival, though it was later absorbed into, and equated with, the Christian festival of Christmas. The festival was originally celebrated from late December to early January on a date determined by the lunar Germanic calendar. The festival was placed on December 25 when the Christian calendar (Julian calendar) was adopted. Some historians claim that the celebration is connected to the Wild Hunt[1] [2] or was influenced by Saturnalia, the Roman winter festival[3]."

So if you want to kick it Old School(really old school like year 800) You could say a Pagan Prayer for each day of the Yuletide (PS you are a day behind it starts on Dec.20).
The 12 Days of Yule


Day One Prayer- Earth Prayer

Cold and dark, this time of year,
the earth lies dormant, awaiting the return
of the sun, and with it, life.
Far beneath the frozen surface,
a heartbeat waits,
until the moment is right,
to spring.

Day Two Prayer- Sunrise Prayer

The sun returns! The light returns!
The earth begins to warm once more!
The time of darkness has passed,
and a path of light begins the new day.
Welcome, welcome, the heat of the sun,
blessing us all with its rays.

Day Three Prayer- Prayer to the Winter Goddess

O! Mighty goddess, in silvery ice,
watching over us as we sleep,
a layer of shining white,
covering the earth each night,
frost on the world and in the soul,
we thank you for visiting us.
Because of you, we seek warmth
in the comfort of our homes and hearths.

Day Four- Counting Your Blessings - A Prayer of Thanks

I am grateful for that which I have.
I am not sorrowful for that which I do not.
I have more than others, less than some,
but regardless, I am blessed with
what is mine.

Day Five- A Prayer for the Beginning of Winter

See the gray skies overhead, preparing the way
for the darkness soon to come.
See the gray skies overhead, preparing the way,
for the world to go cold and lifeless.
See the gray skies overhead, preparing the way
for the longest night of the year.
See the gray skies overhead, preparing the way
for the sun to one day return,
bringing with it light.
Day 6- Sunset Prayer - A Sunset Prayer for Yule

The longest night has come once more,
the sun has set, and darkness fallen.
The trees are bare, the earth asleep,
and the skies are cold and black.
Yet tonight we rejoice, in this longest night,
embracing the darkness that enfolds us.
We welcome the night and all that it holds,
as the light of the stars shines down.

Day 7 - A Nordic Yule Blessing

Beneath the tree of light and life,
a blessing at this season of Jul!
To all that sit at my hearth,
today we are brothers, we are family,
and I drink to your health!
Today is a day to offer hospitality
to all that cross my threshold
in the name of the season.
Day 8- Snow Prayer - A Snow Prayer for Yule

From the reaches of the north,
a place of cold blue beauty,
comes to us the first winter storm.
Wind whipping, flakes flying,
the snow has fallen upon the earth,
keeping us close,
keeping us together,
wrapped up as everything sleeps
beneath a blanket of white.
Day 9- A Prayer for the Old Gods at Yule

The Holly King is gone, and the Oak King reigns -
Yule is the time of the old winter gods!
Hail to Baldur! To Saturn! To Odin!
Hail to Ameratsu! To Demeter!
Hail to Ra! To Horus!
Hail to Frigga, Minerva Sulis and Cailleach Bheur!
It is their season, and high in the heavens,
may they grant us their blessings this winter day.

Day 10- A Celtic Yule Blessing

The food is put away for the winter,
the crops are set aside to feed us,
the cattle are come down from their fields,
and the sheep are in from the pasture.
The land is cold, the sea is stormy, the sky is gray.
The nights are dark, but we have our family,
kin and clan around the hearth,
staying warm in the midst of darkness,
our spirit and love a flame
a beacon burning brightly
in the night.
Day 11- An Elemental Blessing for Yule

As the earth grows colder,
the winds blow faster,
the fire dwindles smaller,
and the rains fall harder,
let the light of the sun
find its way home

Day 12- Prayer to the Sun God for Yule - A Yule Prayer to Ra

Great sun, wheel of fire, Ra in your glory,
hear me as I honor you
on this, the shortest day of the year.
Summer has gone, passed us by,
the fields are dead and cold,
all of earth sleeps in your absence.
Even in the darkest times,
you light the way for those who would need a beacon,
of hope, of brightness,
shining in the night.
Winter is here, and colder days coming,
the fields are bare and the livestock thin.
We light these candles in your honor,
that you might gather your strength
and bring life back to the world.
O Ra, mighty sun above us,
we ask you to return, to bring back to us
the light and the warmth of your fire.
Bring life back to earth,
Bring light back to earth.
Hail Ra! Ruler of the sun!

Happy Yuletide PEEPS! see you in 2010 if not before!

Press Release 11.30.09:

Bandwidth is where music lovers and music makers are coming together.

Black Sky Radio, a subsidiary of Jade Monkey Broadcasting LLC, announces the launch of a new website. In an effort to exploit the gap that corporate radio has created between the musical artists and the airwaves, Black Sky Radio introduces Bandwidth. Bandwidth is a social networking site that will allow bands to upload music, photos, to place classified ads for new band members or instruments, as well as interact with like minded thinkers who enjoy music.

Bandwidth will also allow these musicians and bands to get their music played in a forum where the people can access and enjoy new music in a format akin to the radio stations of yesteryear, where the DJ’s main job was to locate and play new music and to create the buzz that would sell albums. This forum is Black Sky Radio. An internet based radio station that does what corporate radio has stopped doing: putting live people in the studio to interact with the listeners, to educate, inform and entertain.

However Bandwidth is not just for bands and musicians. It is also a destination point for the fans to get information and interact with their favorite bands whether they are the local garage band or international acts.

Go to www.blackskyradio.com/bw/ to sign up and get more information.

Let’s get back to giving the fans what they want and need:

Music for YOU people, by YOU people, and of YOU people!

Nightmare
Black Sky Radio
nightmare@blackskyradio.com
816-256-2110

What a great month it was!

Our listener-ship on Black Sky Radio has grown by dozens daily! We are into our 6th week and have almost 1/2 a million hits and 12K people listening. What we need now is some advertisers that are ready to experience growth we have shown our earlier adopters! We have increased web traffic to their sites by 300% and bottom line sales by 30%!

So if you have a web based business, shoot me an email at nightmare@blackskyradio.com We'll talk!

So last weekend I went to a Pop Warner football game for 8yr olds.

If you haven't seen this, it is a must see! Cutest little football game EVER! Here pictures are better then words....but I have to tell you the best part. Each of these players have a single bead on their shoes, a red bead on the right shoe and a blue bead on the left shoe. I asked if this was to remember what shoe went on what foot and was answered "kinda". The kids have plays that start like "red 32 dive", the red is a DIRECTION! It means that the play is going to the right! so if the kid doesn't remember what the play is he can at least head in the right direction! I'm thinking that maybe the KC Chiefs need to adopt this same strategy, cause they really suck.

ok pictures.

Today Nivens and Myself hosted a gathering of Black Sky Radio back end folks, the peeps what got us up and running so smoothly.

It was a HOOT and a Half, Increidipete, AnisitteKiss, Nivens and the Girlfriend, the Older brother and a friend of his, and me and Bouby. 4 other folks declined to come due to their incredibly insane bad manners, and they totally missed out on my tri-tip, grilled squish, zucchini, egg plant, green salad, and some fine cocktails.

So poop on you people of less then discriminating tastes, and I hope you know I kid because I care! Without all of you we wouldn't have had experienced 150,000 web hits, 13,000 listeners and doubling the traffic to all of our sponsors websites.

Not bad for a couple of douchebags whose only talent seems to be talking into a Nerf covered microphone!

THANK YOU ALL FOR BUILDING THE NEXT BIG THING!

And for all you people who listen....THANK YOU, without you we are just two dickheads in a secret bunker somewhere talking to each through Nerf covered microphones.

# posted by Nightmare @ 6:41 PM

Go this image sent to me by C_Giffin....CLASSIC!

For those of you who are not on my Facebook, myspace, twitter, let me tell you what I have been doing...better yet let me show you what I have been doing. You can find me here live 2-7pm DAILY,Black Sky Radio. I look forward to the banter, listenership and the fun of the web waves!

Ok people I have had just about enough ear and eye rape on whether or not Michael Vick has been punished enough or not.

First, the laws are pretty clear on this, and he did the time that fit the crime. If you don't like it then vote in better law MAKERS! New judges, new senators, new congressmen etc. But lay off the guy who plead guilty, went to pound me up the ass prison and is trying to make a new life for himself.

I always wonder when these typically white bread Americans get their feathers ruffled and start protesting stupid shit. if This is ONE MAN, who made a POOR choice with his friends and family members to continue acting badly when he had become a sports icon. Why don't we protest something that fucking matters for once. Do all of these people who are getting pissy about 6-8 pitbulls also get all worked up over the declining IQ's of our American kids? that the last president "no child left behind" lowered that standards of ALL education creating MANY generations of children who will be made dumber by lower standards instead of better education.

Do these same people feel like protesting the lack of industry and economic standards in Mississippi where they are the dumbest and poorest in the known 1st world countries? Or is that just their own fault and they choose to be that dumb and uneducated?

Do these protesters and angry mobs feel the same about the rampant murders and shootings that are plaguing our inner cities or is that just those other peoples problems because they should know better then to live where crime happens?

Do these wastes of oxygen really feel that in this time of crisis, where we have 3 huge banking failures yesterday, (8-14-09) a war on two fronts (as far as we know the CIA may be running a bunch more), economic shitstorm, high rates of unemployment, factories going under every day, or worse headed overseas, Obama trying to shove some bullshit health care down our throats, and the one thing on everyone's mind is whether or not Michael Vick has a right to earn a living playing a game?

SHUT THE FUCK UP, AND GET YOUR HEAD OUTTA YOUR ASSES!

goddamendmotherfuckingshitfuckcocksuckingdoorknobasslickingcunts.

I have no idea why all of these old people are pissed about the possibilities that we may be on the short list to die...we are man, man is MADE to die, it is like we are all built in Detroit, American made, so as we get older, we rattle, we have parts replaced, and end the end we are sent to the scrap yard so the newer models can rule the highways.

BUT! What happened to doing something good on the way out? I brought this idea forth a year ago, and it went unheard by the masses, so I figured I'd better re-post it, so that we can get the fuel conversion tanks built before we start the harvest.


Friday, June 13, 2008

The energy solution!!
Ladies, Gentlemen, Troglodytes...I have finally figured it out.

The entire world is dependent on oil. We all know this and we also that sooner or later it will all run out. So today while I was at lunch I had an epiphany, I think I may have solved the energy crisis. One of the things that we humans do, and do well I feel will be able to create a constant supply of fuel. Not only constant but one that is highly useful for just about all of the fuel needs the planet has to offer.

Babies.

That's right I said babies. If there is one thing that the human race can do almost as good as rabbits or rodents is to reproduce. We create more unwanted and more useless offspring's then any other species on earth. We do not push the old, weak, worthless, or stupid to the edge of the herd and we should. Well this way we will have a place to push all of these people.

But since we don't want to wait, we'll just use crack whores, welfare moms, and other breeders that don't contribute to society. How will we decide what is a contribution to society? well we use an old scale used back in the 1600's "if you don't work you don't eat!"

So we set up some rendering plants, and start processing Baby oil. REAL baby oil, made from real babies. You can have two kids to raise as your own and then any others will need to be turned over to the department of energy.

All old people, who are out of breeding age, need to fill out their body donor cards and get ready to become fuel. There will be no more burials, no need for fancy coffins or mausoleums, we won't need the entire funeral profession, no more abortions, if you get knocked up you MUST carry it to full term and then if you do not want it you turn it over to the department of energy for proper fuel processing.

Suicide is no longer illegal, if you want to kill yourself, fine go to the department of energy and turn in your donor card, you will be processed with a last meal and your choice of sleepy time meds.

So stop worrying about the oil, the cost of gas, and whether or not you should buy that V8 or the 2.5 cylinder smart car. Babies and the elderly are the answer. With the rednecks and the lazy we will HURL ourselves into a future that isn't dependent on foreign oil any more. The beauty part of this is we will have more land for golf courses and retail space.


So there you have the answer to three HUGE questions. Health care can now be paid for by using the money we DON'T spend on foreign oil, old people will be able to do one more good thing before they die, Emo kids have a purpose, and Welfare moms can be a productive addition to our society.

And I can continue to drive my old beater that gets 8 gallons to the mile!

Win, Win, Win, and Win!

545 People
By Charlie Reese

Politicians are the only people in the world who create problems and then campaign against them. Have you ever wondered why, if both the Democrats and the Republicans are against deficits, we have deficits? Have you ever wondered why, if all the politicians are against inflation and high taxes, we have inflation and high taxes?

You and I don't propose a federal budget. The president does. You and I don't have the Constitutional authority to vote on appropriations. The House of Representatives does.

You and I don't write the tax code, Congess does. You and I don't set fiscal policy, Congress does. You and I don't control monetary policy, The Federal Reserve Bank does.

One hundred senators, 435 congressmen, one president and nine Supreme Court justices - 545 human beings out of the 300 million - are directly, legally, morally and individually responsible for the domestic problems that plague this country.

I excluded the members of the Federal Reserve Board because that problem was created by the Congress. In 1913, Congress delegated its Constitutional duty to provide a sound currency to a federally chartered but private central bank.

I excluded all the special interests and lobbyists for a sound reason. They have no legal authority. They have no ability to coerce a senator, a congressman or a president to do one cotton-picking thing. I don't care if they offer a politician $1 million dollars in cash. The politician has the power to accept or reject it. No matter what the lobbyist promises, it is the legislator's responsibility to determine how he votes.

Those 545 human beings spend much of their energy convincing you that what they did is not their fault. They cooperate in this common con regardless of party.

What separates a politician from a normal human being is an excessive amount of gall. No normal human being would have the gall of a Speaker, who stood up and criticized the President for creating deficits.

The president can only propose a budget. He cannot force the Congress to accept it. The Constitution, which is the supreme law of the land, gives sole responsibility to the House of Representatives for originating and approving appropriations and taxes.

Who is the speaker of the House? She is the leader of the majority party. She and fellow House members, not the president, can approve any budget they want. If the president vetoes it, they can pass it over his veto if they agree to.

It seems inconceivable to me that a nation of 300 million cannot replace 545 people who stand convicted -- by present facts - of incompetence and irresponsibility. I can't think of a single domestic problem that is not traceable directly to those 545 people.


When you fully grasp the plain truth that 545 people exercise the power of the federal government, then it must follow that what exists is what they want to exist.

If the tax code is unfair, it's because they want it unfair.

If the budget is in the red, it's because they want it in the red.

If the Marines are in IRAQ, it's because they want them in IRAQ.

If they do not receive social security but are on an elite retirement plan not available to the people, it's because they want it that way.

There are no insoluble government problems.

Do not let these 545 people shift the blame to bureaucrats, whom they hire and whose jobs they can abolish; to lobbyists, whose gifts and advice they can reject; to regulators, to whom they give the power to regulate and from whom they can take this power.

Above all, do not let them con you into the belief that there exists disembodied mystical forces like 'the economy,' 'inflation' or 'politics' that prevent them from doing what they take an oath to do.

Those 545 people, and they alone, are responsible. They, and they alone, have the power. They, and they alone, should be held accountable by the people who are their bosses - provided the voters have the gumption to manage their own employees.

We should vote all of them out of office and clean up their mess!

If Socialists had BALLS
By Fredrick Rohs

I was mowing the yard today and I got to thinking (that’s when I do my best thinking, btw), “Man, the world is a mess right now. Someone needs to clean it up!”
Now clearly our leaders have been trying to do… stuff. But seriously, does anyone buy that it will work? No. And you know why not. Because the problems in this country boil down to one thing. Freedom.
I know, I know, “Hold on there a second, Mister. What do you mean messing with our freedom and all?” Well, it’s basically like this. You all are just too stupid to handle freedom. Freedom allows people to do what they want. And as we all know, what we want is never good for us. Hence, all this freedom has got to go.
Now I’ve heard a lot of talk lately about our President, and how a lot of people say he’s a socialist. I disagree based on the fact that he has no balls. I do agree that he is a Liberal, and I originally thought of titling this article, “If Liberals had Balls”, but if liberals had balls they would be Socialists.
So, what we really need is one of those no-pussyfooting around old school Socialist leaders. They would know how to cut through all this freedom crap and get at the root of the problem. Of course, you might be thinking, “Aren’t there still several socialist leaders out there.” Yea, but most of them are more than lacking in the manhood department.
Canada has always been pussy. France hasn’t had a pair since WWII. Italy never had any. Cuba looks like it’s getting soft. Even Russia and China have gone nellie. Only that guy in North Korea has still got a set… even though he looks funny.
So what would happen, say if I was the most awesome socialist leader with the biggest set of nards the world has ever seen?
First problem. Health care. This one is in the news a lot right now, and of course our limp-wristed leaders will do the usual and make a screwed up mess even worse. But if you remove freedom from the equation, the answer is simple. Make fast/processed food and cigarettes illegal. Done. Next problem.
Dependence on foreign oil/energy prices/global warming and the rest of the imagined crisises. Easy. Make cars illegal. Yup.
You see how easy this is. And the beauty is how they all tie together. If cars are illegal people will have to walk or bike, and therefore get exercise improving their health. Yeah, I’ve got some balls.
Of course you are probably wondering what I’ll do with all the cry-babies walking around whining about being out of work and their feet hurting. Chill out, I’ve got this.
The other big problem with our country is that it is falling apart. Everything we’ve made here is cheap and stupid and ugly. And now broken as well.
Well, get to work America. We’re doing things right this time. A real rail system that is on time and fast and doesn’t wreck. Build it. An energy grid that doesn’t have black outs and can handle the new energy demands and power sources from my massive nuclear power plants. Nuclear Power, you say? Yes! Because nukes are for people with balls.
Another thing I get tired of is all the money we waste on fixing things that are stupid in the first place. Take New Orleans for instance. The city is on a sand bar below sea level. Hello. Doz it. Historical? Cultural? It’s dirty and smells. Not to mention it’s sinking. Sorry folks, got to go.
Every year we spend billions on repairing lines just so that they can be knocked down again by every tree limb and ice storm or tornado that happens to come along. Do I really have to figure this out for you people? Bury the lines. You, over there, rubbing your swollen feet. You wanna eat today? Then get a shovel and shut up.
My Father lives in Georgia. They’ve just come out of 5 year drought. Meanwhile we’ve had flooding in several other states, some bordering Georgia. How hard can this be? You mean to tell me we can build a pipeline for oil all the way from Alaska but we can’t get water from one state to another? What has the Corps of Engineers been doing the last 50 years anyway? Forget the Great Wall of China. We’ll build the biggest Waterslide/Aqueduct System the earth has ever seen.
I’m sure everyone is tired of hearing about the economy. Our president seems to think you can just print the problem away. But this is the kind of thing you can expect from someone who was born without balls. This has become such a colossal mess, but really the best solution is the easiest. No more money. None. Nothing. Nada. Nil. Redistribution of wealth is for pansies! Remove the problem once and for all.
Another thing I’m tired of hearing about is illegal immigrants. This is easy. We use our borders as giant national landfills. Cross that.
As for all the idle automobile factories, they’ll be part of the military, retooled to build my army of giant robots. Not another American will die in war again… unless they get stepped on. Every giant robot will be equipped with a large set of, you guessed it, BALLS! Just in case there is any doubt.
I could go on and on, but obviously you have seen the light of my brilliance and are even now wondering how we can make it happen. Well comrades, it’s simple. Lay down your freedom, join me, and grab your balls.

Since arriving in KC 7 years ago I have had a pretty shitty run of luck with the beast we call LAPTOP.

You may remember just over a year and a half ago I had a series of mishaps with a dirty computer, a dying laptop and a new hard drive.

Yesterday that bitch gave out on me again.

However, I think I know why I have had such a horrible run of luck with this HP Pavilion. For the first year, I carried this thing with abandon, from one end of the States to the other, and it became filthy, inside and out. Which caused it to overheat and set off the auto shutdown to protect itself. I mistakenly thought this was my hard drive dying off, because hey lets face it I like to watch porn, and it is basically free on the interwebs.

I rush out and buy a new 250gb Hard drive, I clone the old one and I am off and running. 3 months later I am shitting myself because the NEW hard drive is acting all fucking crazy like it was going to die on me....I blamed Western Digital.

Yesterday after a week long series of blue screens, shut downs, and general mayhem, my OS disappeared. Well what I should say is that this pile of HP shitola, started acting like it did 2 years ago, when it went out the first time. So I remove EVERY screw I can see and get the keyboard off and the top up enough to hose out the guts with my air can and put it all back together.

and VIOLA!

It still worked great! As a 17 inch paper weight.

So pulling my hair out and cursing the Gods of Electronics everywhere, I made some calls was given some shoddy advice and decided that MAYBE, the drive I had laying around (the original replacement that I failed to destroy) would be able to snap right in and work like a fucking charm. Just call me Lucky the Leprechaun.

So I take out the hard drive again and set it aside, put the old new one in and fire it up. I try to repair it with my Windows CD and reboot, Nothing, nada, zippo, FUCK!

While waiting for this shit to boot up and facing the realization that I may be sans computer because I am unemployed, and there is no room in the budget for a new machine, I pick up my hard drive, the one that was working a short 6 hours prior and start looking at it. I see something weird stuck to the electronics face of this had drive.

Now if you know anything about replacing laptop hard drives, you know that there is an information side which when placed in the cradle faces the bottom of the hard drive compartment, and the electronics side is open so the drive can get fresh air and breathe. It was on this electronics side I see the weird anomaly.

I flick it with my finger nail it moves and I see what it is that I am working with.

It was a flattened staple.





Yes. I am not kidding, it was an actual staple, for binding pages and pages of stuff together. There was no stapler where I was working, nor any pages that would have been stapled together for any reason. So I take out the current hard drive and look at the cradle. Now every hard drive cradle I have ever seen has a protective covering on it made out of some heat shield material, or something. on the inside of this cradle, I see the imprints of the hard drive high spots....and lo and behold the outline of that fucking staple.

So I am guessing that when I had replaced the drive the first time and it died within three months and I blamed Western Digital for a crap product, I was wrong, and since the drives that I had, and the one I replaced it with, (now two completely dead paper weights)had this tiny piece of metal arcing the connections, I am guessing that this may very well be the last time I have to do that procedure.

So to refresh, three hard drives, one staple, and a total of 5 laptops in 7 years.


Where is my pencil sharpener? I'm going old school! send me your address and I'll snail mail this blog to you.

Ok since the britsh ex-pat wrote about all of the Bloggers hanging it up I jaut wanted to let people know That I am just busy getting my new company up and running and I am not quitting, just busier then a cat trying to bury a turn on a tin roof.

So two weeks from know you will all know what it is that I am up too and I expect support from each and everyone of you. If I don't get it I will hunt you down and molest you with my sock puppet!

I'll try and get to the next chapter of Vance Manion Personal Strength Coah and Private Eye soon.

Be Cool and don't let the man keep you down.

Nightmare

The Best and Brightest the internet has to offer.

In the last 2 weeks we lost an American Icon in Ed McMahon, THE sex symbol of the 70's Farrah, and a crazy black man who liked to touch little boys and grab his crotch. Yeah ok Micheal sang a bit too, sold some records, big fucking deal!

Farrah...well her poster hung in my bedroom, I lost my masturbatory virginity to those triple A battery sized nipples, AND even though she was only on Charlies Angels for one season, she inspired a hair style, that 30 years later still bears her name!

Old drunks and semi black pedophiles? FUCK YOU!

Farrah, thank you for your being you, and for all mankind I apologize for what you had to put up with with that wife beating asshat Ryan O'neil!

Chapter 12
As I wait for Pauly, I look around the “office”. It is clear this was a slapdash effort to look like a legitimate business. The trim around the floors and doorways were close but didn’t match exactly, you could see tape edges in the drywall, and an occasional brush mark. Someone bid this job really cheap, or Pauly did the job himself as he sampled the stock. I feel the receptionist’s eyes on me, as I turn and catch her looking at my crotch.

“See something you like Doll” I said laying down my best glimmer of the pearly whites. She grins the grin of a naughty vixen, mini Vance struggles to get a look.

“Can I touch it?” she asks?

“Touch it?” I reply, “Baby you can, touch it, kiss it, stroke it, rub it, grip it until it turns colors be my guest.

She looks back down and runs her tongue over her perfect lips, wetting them slightly. Mini Vance is starting to really pay attention, and I see her eyes dart over to my left thigh as she catches the slight movement in my pants leg.

Confusion sets in.

She says…”It’s so big and shiny”

Shiny? What the hell is she talking about? Mini Vance hasn’t surfaced yet.

Then I remembered the .50 jammed in my waist band…shit.

“Oh that. Sweetie, Vance would love to show you that as well.” I take a step forward - a door opens behind her, as I hear another open behind me. A trap! I quickly draw both guns, and back up until I am against the wall, aiming at opposite ends of the room. This is not good. If I cap someone, even if I just wound someone it might frighten or turn off this Polynesian Princess. If I need to shoot someone and hesitate... damn, why can’t women resist me? I wonder if the Desert Eagle is even loaded?

The man at the door behind my receptionist must be Pauly, he looks like a Pauly. When he sees me pointing the .50 at him, an angry frown covers his already threatening mug. Then his expression changes to “what the fuck.”

I notice that he isn’t really even looking at me or the hand cannon. I quickly look to my left and see why. Standing there, frozen, with a startled look on her face was the cleaning lady. I lower the 1911, then the .50. The cleaning lady lets out a loud sigh, clutches her chest with one hand and grabs her cart with the other. “Sorry ma’m, Vance didn’t mean to scare you.” She just stood there staring at me wide eyed, and breathing heavily.

“Put away the hardware, before you hurt yourself.” Pauly had moved to the receptionist’s desk and was staring straight into my skull. “Youse the one who wants to talk with me?”

“Yes sir, but Vance won’t take up much of your time”

“Vance better not take up my time, I have a dinner date and a craps game to get to.”

“This way.” Pauly turned to walk toward the door. I glanced at the receptionist. She was looking at me with her big, soft, brown eyes. I smile. She slowly winks, and lightly licks her upper lip. A shudder races from my ears, through my shoulders and down to my loins… She would have been worth getting shot.

“Shut the fuggin’ door” Pauly says, with just enough Jersey accent that told me he wasn’t long out of the Garden State. I step into a small office and shut the door behind me.

I extend my hand and say “Vance, Vance Manion Private Eye and Personal Strength Coach”

Pauly looks at me somewhat puzzled, and grips my hand in what I could only believe a vice would feel like if some crazed gorilla on steroids and crank were manning the controls. I give it my all so I wouldn’t look like some sissy from homoville, but I could feel the bones in my hand starting to grind together. He releases my hand quickly and the blood rushing back into it was almost as painful as his grip. Pauly sits down behind the desk and motions to an empty chair.

“So Vance Manion what can I do for you? You looking for a job? I seem, to have an opening in my distribution department”

“Vance has a job, but I would like to ask you about that opening, how exactly did the position become ‘open’?”

“Well Vance, let me tell you a secret, never go into business with family, sometimes it works and sometimes, well sometimes your brother catches you groping his crush and puts two in your chest in broad daylight. Know what I mean?”
I paused a little shocked…did Pauly just solve the shooting for me? What is his part in this? This guy is talkative, how much more will he tell me?

“Let Vance get this straight, the two Samoan brothers worked for you? And the dead one was your distribution guy?”

“That’s right Sherlock,” Pauly replied.

“You guys are the liquor distributor right?” I asked.

“I spoke to soon, Sierra Minerals, does that sound like liquor to you?”

“Vance noticed that there were no tax stamps on your client’s liquor bottles.”

Pauly leans forward in his chair, cocks his head, looks at me and asked, “Who’s paying you to give a shit?”

“Vance can’t say, client privilege”

Pauly leans back and opens his desk drawer, and the next thing I see is my sawed off shotguns twin aimed squarely at my face. “I asked you nicely, and now I’m telling you…who da fuck you working for?”

Irrefutable truths about being unemployed.

I have been gainfully unemployed for a month now and whereas I am not ready for polyester and paper hats I can do that when it becomes necessary for a cash flow. But I have been observing a lot of really weird things that I didn’t see while I was busy working.

Running errands; you would think that once 9am rolled around the streets would be a tad more empty. But I realized that I was not the only person trying to take advantage of down time to run errands. Did you know that old people come out in DROVES during the 9am to 2pm daylight hours? Well they do and they drive worse then they do on Sunday. At least on Sunday they have an agenda, go to church, go have breakfast at Denny’s, maybe Perkins depending on when their social security check has come in, and then head home to watch the game on TV while napping until 4 when they get up and eat dinner.
During the week they have a vague idea what they are doing, but they can’t seem to make a decision and they spend the majority of their day clogging the streets while driving in what I believe to be random concentric circles, because they haven’t organized their coupons good enough to make a comprehensive shopping, social club, coffee clutch, agenda and have to back track a lot. This isn’t too bad if you live in a town of 40K people, but when you live in a sizeable “city” this creates a metric ass load of trauma for the regular people who are just trying to get shit done.

Spending Money; I never realized how much money it cost me to go to work. I got paid on the 6th and I still have ½ that check left. And yes I have curbed some spending but not all of it. I used to blow through my checks like monopoly money. Gas, Lunches, snacks, bullshit that I thought was necessary, I find out that not only is none of it necessary, I am also being more green, by not driving as much and reducing my carbon footprint.

Honey-do List; I have got more done around my house in the last month then I have gotten done in the last 3 years. It is awesome. AND the bonus here my wife is LOVING all of the bitchen things I have completed.

Being Healthy; Yes it is true, lack of work makes you healthier. Gone are the days of fast food and canned crap. Now I do some real cooking with real food and it is healthier, and better for me. I also spend a HELL of a lot more time in the basement moving heavy weights around, preparing for the old guy invitational power lifting tournament.

Meditation and contemplation; Having some “spare” time in my day has allowed me to do some deep thinking, and life affirming contemplation. What do I want to do with the next 50 years? How long will it take some company to realize that what I have to offer them no one else has, and they will be missing the boat if they don’t hire me? Where did all of these dirty girls come from that are all naked in the interwebs? They weren’t around when I was in my teens and twenties, where the fuck did they come from?

Facebook is a TOOL; Yes that is right, facebook isn’t just a nice toy that you can keep track of friends and family or answer a seemingly endless string of top 5 lists, you can actually use it to do business. For instance yesterday I hooked up a friend with another friend so he can get started on buying a new house and if my house hunting friend says he was referred to the agent by my Wife, well she gets a referral bonus….25% of the real estate agents commission….which in California, depending on the house could be $4K-$9K…..not so bad for chatting to old chums on the FB (that is what the cools kids call it)

There are a lot of other things that I have noticed but if I tell you know what the hell would be the incentive to come back tomorrow?

Vance is about wrapped up, so look for the exciting ending coming soon!

I now leave you with a picture I took in Wisconsin back in Feb. This guy built this for what I can only assume is for parades and photo shoots.

Tig screamed back “Don’t shoot, you fucking piñata heads!, you’ll hit me!”
Jose and Juan froze, Juan still crying with his pepper laden face still burning like the day after a jalapeno eating contest, and Jose, just lay there grasping his knees in pain “Madre de dios!”
I walked out using Tig as a tiny shield. I stopped at the bar and took the hand cannon out of ½ blind Juan’s hands, I didn’t want to leave them armed with more than that had when they came in, and I knew I sure the hell didn’t want that gargoyle to wake up with a split lip, PMS AND a .50 caliber Desert Eagle…Vance lives on the edge, but that was just lunacy.
“Vance doesn’t want anyone to leave this shit hole for 5 minutes! I’ll drive up hwy 513 and drop Tig at the phone booth, how you find him, Vance leaves up to how well you listen to these instructions”
“Do as he say! Do as he say”
That was a pretty good Sheriff Bart impersonation Tig!” I say as we walk out to get into the Betsy the Goat.
“Fuck you Cracker, when I get through with you you’ll wish I was never born!”
“Sorry Tig you have to be this high to threaten Vance”
I toss Tig into the passenger seat and fire up the old GTO Betsy. As I tear out of the parking lot I spray gravel and get squirrely. God I love this car.
So as I drove and tried to block out Tig’s constant chatter and idle threats I had to do some thinking, first what was that tasty dish’s name that spanked me with the canoe paddle last time I was at the cabin? She was a beautiful blonde Swedish goddess type, well over 6 foot tall and built like one of the Alps….I was hoping to run into her again as I made my way up to the cabin and see Mike. Second, how did all this fit together? Was Pauly just a distributor? Did he have an inside man at the port authority?
I noticed that I had almost passed the phone booth where I said I was going to leave Tig , so I slowed down a bit, looked at Tig, all wrapped up like a burrito, and said “don’t for get to tuck and roll, try bending your knees when you land” Tig’s eyes got as big around as dinner plates and he started squealing like a little girl. I reached over and grabbed the door handle, and pushed Tig out.
As I looked into the rear view mirror I saw his tiny body skip and bounce right up to the edge of the phone booth…in horse shoes that shot would be worth 2 points.
Sierra Minerals was just past Reno up 395. It was an old Silver mine that they had reopened 15 years ago when a freak earthquake uncovered a vein of borax or some such shit, I heard it on the radio during a workout. As I pointed Betsy south I thought I better give Watts a call. I dug into my pocket looking for his card, not in the right pocket, not in either back pockets, where the hell did that card go. …Then it hit me, that 2 mins I was knocked out, that chump must have taken a souvenir.
Damnit.
So no call to Watts, a new lead at the mines, and I needed a power bar and a water.
45 minutes later I pull into the parking lot of the head offices of Sierra Mineral Mining Corp. As I walk into the front door I am greeted by a sight that would have made the masters weep. She was bronze, her black hair glimmered even under the harsh fluorescent lights, her immense chest was straining to bust out of her tight white blouse and then she smiled and the sun emanated from her mouth.
Vance was in a seriously deep case of lust.
”Welcome to Sierra Minerals, how can I help you?” Her voice had the unmistakable trace of a Polynesian accent, and my temperature shot up 5 degrees
“Vance needs to have your phone number and a meeting with Pauly”
“hmmm, Well Vance can have whatever he wants, my number is 513-4653, and I’ll get Pauly for you, please have a seat.”
As I sat down she turned to the left and I noticed that she was wearing a short skirt and as she stood she gave me a peek at what I would be getting when I called….Island Smoothy with a hint of coconut oil, My favorite.
I took in my surroundings as I waited. The office was like every other office I had seen in any corporate environment, harsh and bad for morale. I could never work in a place like this. If I did, I would welcome a disgruntled worker bursting in and killing me. I have a bit of a problem with people making counterfeit liquor having anything resembling a corporate office with a hot secretary.

I am tired, I will get back to the story asap, but for now I am asleep.

Well, this may come as a shock to some people but Last Wednesday, after a long and horrible road trip to California, where I worked 17 out of 18 days, got tired of being berated, treated like a second class citizen, and watching my Chief act like a spoiled, petulant 5 year old.

So I quit.

Cleaned my desk out, wrote a letter of resignation, and waited for the HR director to come in so I could give it to her. They accepted, and I am looking for a new job.

I have some voice over work ...possibly...this weekend, and I am looking to open a gym..old school style. So anyone in KC who wants to get strong by turn of the century methods...just check the site, and I'll let you know when I am up and running.

If you have something else you want to do, let me know!

I have the time.

We interrupt this story for an honest to god update of Nightmare's life.

I am busy. I have been flying all over the country since November, and I am back on the road in the morning. I am flying to Sacramento in the morning for two reasons.

One is bad, one could be life changing.

First the Bad.
I have a friend who was diagnosed with cancer last sept. they thought They got it all, two weeks ago they gave him two months. I am going to say good bye.

The Life Changing reason.

I'm going to see if an E-friend is compatible in real life for a possible business venture where I franchise his ideas, concepts and life plans in a new style of gym that centers around being strong and healthy and less about looking like you are strong and healthy. To see what I am doing go here And then buy his book and look for a way to change your life. Darrin, I'm talking to you!

The reason that this gym feels right to me is because every since I quit playing football I have been missing the camaraderie of the "team" and this place replaces it. There are no mirrors, Mr. Conrad says the people who need the gym the most ALREADY have body image issues, and don't need a reminder when they work out trying to change those issues. It is also an art gallery and the occasional live music venue.

It is a renaissance gym using archaic tools and fun. I want to spread that fun.

So for the 4 people looking for Chapter 11 of Vance Manion Private Eye and Personal Strength Coach, it is coming...sit tight I have other shit on my mind.

Does anyone remember when I said just a few months ago that enough was enough? And people repeated that "god only gives you what you can handle..the rest makes you stronger"...How much fucking stronger do I fucking need to be? Seriously would someone please call their imaginary sky friend off my ass because I'm fixing to send Thor back over there and put the Hammer on him.

Chapter 10

Tig was squirming like a worm on a hook, and swinging his tiny fists in the direction of my junk, all the while spewing a string of nonsensical threats. Good thing I had him facing away from me. “Talk shrimp!” I directed. “Fuck you! You over developed sack of shit!,” Tig shouted in a squeaky voice tinged with fear. “Funny you should say shit,” I jerked both of my hands downward about six inches, driving Tig’s face very close to the world’s nastiest toilet. Still yelling, Tig stopped swinging his arms and grabbed the edge of the bowl, in an attempt to keep from getting a bath. I raised him up just enough so he couldn’t touch the bowl and tried again. “Liquor bottles with no tax stamps, talk.” Tig responded with a torrent of high pitched profanity and threats. I drove my hands downward again, harder, anticipating Tig would try to grab the bowl, which he did with one hand, but he missed with the other and I drove his head against the opposite side of the bowl with enough force to draw blood.

I was running out of time. The bathroom was a dead end, and although the goons and the bar hag were down, I was sure they would regroup and try to even the score. Again I raised him out of reach of the bowl. “Tig if you think Vance is gonna lose sleep over killing another dwarf, you’re wrong. Vance’ll stuff you right into that shitter and all the way back to the sewer you crawled out of. If you want to live, talk!” I punctuated the ‘talk’ with another jerk of my hands, this time Tig put his hands in the center of the bowl, and sank up to his little forearms into the swill. “Chill big man, chill,” Tig was seeing the light.

“Liquor.” I said as I again raised him above the bowl. “A guy comes in every week or so and drops it off.” “This guy a Samoan?” “Nah, a cracker.” “Cracker have a name?” I said lowering Tig a bit. “Pauly.” “Pauly the cracker? You think Vance is joking?” as I drove Tig down again. “Nah, nah, nah,” Tig yelled, I stopped and allowed him to grab the bowl. “No foolin’ the guy is Pauly.” “How does Vance find Pauly?” “I think he hangs at an old mine up north.” “Have to do better Tig?” “Sierra Minerals.” “Much better. Pauly have any friends?” “Sometimes.” “Black, brown, white, red, yellow what?” “Brown, white.” “You’ve been real good Tig, but if you want to live, you gotta play nice.”

Tig was muttering to himself as I backed out of the stall and walked to the sink. There was an old style endless towel dispenser on the wall, amazingly it had a towel, although one end was pulled loose. In one quick move I dropped Tig onto the floor face down, and drove the toe of my boot into the middle of his back and my leg across his waist. I let go of one foot and grabbed the towel. Tig protested and started kicking with his free foot. I was able to pull about twenty feet of cloth from the roll before the towel tore in two. I tied the end around one ankle then tied his feet together. I then raised him to his feet and instructed him to put his hands in his pants pockets. “This is…” I slammed his head into the wall “hands.” He had to pull is pants up, but he complied, and I ran the towel up his back and around his chest and stomach four times, pinning his arms to his torso. I tied the towel tight behind his back.

“This is torture asshole.” “Didn’t your mother teach you to wash your hands after you use the bathroom?” “Fuck you.”

I grabbed the collar of Tig’s little leather coat, raised him like a shield in front of me, and headed for the door. “Here is how this works, if Vance gets out of here in one piece, Tig gets out of here in one piece.” I paused, pulled the 1911 out of my pants and snagged the door handle using the barrel of the gun. I flipped the door open and yelled “do anything dumb and the runt gets it.” I took a breath and stepped into the bar, quickly scanning the room.

The door was about 30 feet away. Juan was still on the floor, and had dragged himself to the bar and was leaning against it. He started cursing loudly in Spanish and was pointing a .38 revolver with a six inch barrel at me.

Jose was behind the bar drying his face with a rag. When he heard Juan he grabbed the .50 cal and pointed it toward me, hand shaking and eyes blinking, trying to fight off the effects of the pepper facial.

Jose started cursing. Tig started screaming.

Courtesy of Trashman.......

"I sure do. You remember that dive nudie bar on the East side of town?" I took another sip of my club soda and thought for a minute. "Do you mean Perkys?" "It used to be Perkys now it's called Saggys." Carol told me. " Some little black fella named Tig Biddys bought the place." What do you mean little? Short or skinny?" "I mean little as in midget. He also wears a patch over his eye." "Vance needs to know which eye. Vance doesn't want to talk to the wrong little one eyed black person." " Well Vinny it depends" "It's Vance and it depends on what?" "It depends on which eye he happens to put it over. He ain't blind. He just thinks it makes him more intimidating" "More? How intimidating can a little person be?" "Real intimidating when you have a pair of 6'5" Mexican bookends following you every where you go." "Vance thanks you for the info Carol. Now Vance has to go pay a visit to a certain Tig Biddys" "You're more than welcome Vic and you be sure to stop by again next time you're up this way. That is if you survive Saggys" 'Vance the name is Vance." "OK Vince."

I left the parking lot of Carols place headed East. I just needed to find a high end organic vegetable market first

I managed to find a what I was looking for in a little neighborhood that had been taken over by hipsters and yuppies. You could always count on these people to have places to buy strange inedible foods and good looking women. Lots of good looking women.

I grabbed one of those little baskets that you carry for small purchases and made my way to the vegetable section. I picked out a few Bhut Jolokia peppers. Also known as the hottest pepper in the world. From there I walked over to the ethnic foods section and got a jar of Dave's Insanity Sauce. Possible the hottest hot sauce in the universe. Then I picked up some coffee filters, bottled water, balloons, a bowl and a funnel. I had everything I needed.

I proceeded to the checkout with my goodies. I picked a lane with a hot little number at the cash register. After waiting an eternity I finally put my shit on the counter and looked into the cashiers eyes. She looked back at me and smiled. It would have been a pretty smile too if it wasn't for the fact she was missing her two front teeth. Oh well, Vance isn't always picky. I laid it on thick. "Hey pretty lady. Vance REALLY likes what he sees. In fact Vance might be persuaded to make a little time for you this weekend. Vance could clear his schedule, just for you. If you're real lucky Vance might let you slather his ass in peanut butter." The smile disappeared quickly. Vance was glad too, that gap was starting to annoy Vance. " "Let me tell you something Vance. I got my teeth knocked out eating pussy. I'm so good at it my bitch kicked me in the mouth during an orgasm. I like pussy. Pussy likes me. So unless you have a pussy, you might want to leave your schedule the way it is. Now will that be cash or charge?" I stood in stunned silence for a bit and wondered if I could convince her my dick was really a giant clit. "Cash. Vance always pays cash." I should have kept some more of that funny money.

I made my way to my car and popped the trunk. Vance had bombs to build. Pepper bombs. I've used pepper bombs before but this time I was dealing with Mexicans. Sometimes they build up a tolerance to the heat because they grow up in the pepper fields. That's why I picked the hottest stuff I could find. My mixture should stop a charging rhino. I stretched the balloons and in the bowl I mixed the peppers, sauce and water. I shoved the funnel into a balloon inserted a coffee filter into the funnel and poured some of the concoction into the first balloon. The tricky part is holding the funnel and pouring while stretching the balloon as far as you can. Since there's no pressure you need the stretch to get in as much as you can. The cheaper the balloon the better. After I managed to get the balloons filled I put them in a backpack I had in the trunk and headed for Saggys.

I really hated going into Saggys on the offensive but a sometimes one eyed midget with a couple of Mexican bodyguards wasn't going to give up the 411 without some persuading.

Carol was right about calling Saggys a dive bar. I bet you could see day light through the bullet holes.

I saddled up to the bar and ordered a club soda from the ugliest woman I had ever seen. I turned around and faced the pole and changed my mind the dancer was the ugliest woman I had ever seen. I wasn't there for more than 45 seconds before Tig Biddys showed himself. He was flanked by twin Mexican mountains and they were headed right at me. I set my drink down and reached into my backpack and readied myself. Tig spoke first. "I hear youse is looking for me." Someone from Carols must have called and tipped him off. "Well my friend you would be misinformed. Vance isn't looking for anyone. Vance is here to watch the pretty ladies on the pole." This only pissed the little guy off. "Vance? Your name is Vance? As in Vance Manion the personal trainer and private dick?" "The one and only." "Well private dick, kiss your balls goodbye." That was the signal. The Mexicans made their move and I was ready. I yanked two of the balloons out of the backpack and smashed them both in the face. Tweedle Jose went down screaming and clawing at his face. Tweedle Juan stood there, wiped his eyes, smiled and said "Is that all you got Puto." I shrugged and kicked him in both knees rapidly breaking them. He went down like a busted pinata. I spun around, grabbed my drink and slapped the ugly bartender in the face with it. Vance doesn't normally hit women but she was bringing up a .50 caliber Desert Eagle and Vance doesn't like getting shot either.

Now it was me, Tig and one nasty dancer. The dancer turned and ran. Tig tried to run but I grabbed him by the collar and carried him into the mens room. I kicked open a stall door. The toilet was running over and full of a weeks worth of shit. I took Tig by the ankles and held him over the toilet. "Alright Tig start talking."

**I don't think any of you understand "Viral story"... Little help here?**

Chapter 8

"Hello, housekeeping. Are you ok?" I opened my eyes and saw a woman standing over me. My jaw was throbbing, I felt like I might throw up. I laid my head back and steadied my breathing. "Are you ok, do you need a doctor?" "No, Vance is ok," I mumbled. I reached up, touched the left side of my jaw and winced. I checked my teeth with my tongue, one was loose and I could taste blood. I could feel my 1911 in the small of my back, my wallet was still there too.

The maid helped me to my feet and said, "if you are ok, I'll come back later." "Sure." She closed the door as I walked into the bathroom. I turned on the water and splashed some on my face. I took a drink of water, rinsed, spat, repeated.

I found a towel, and dried my face as I walked into the room. I had been close, but now I had lost my advantage - the brother knew someone was looking for him, and knew what I looked like. Well, as long as I was here I might as well look for clues.

The room had two queen beds, a couple chairs a small table, along with a television and sort-of desk. There was even a small refrigerator. I opened it. Damn, no mini bar. I was hoping whoever slugged me was going to buy me a drink.

The room was nice, mostly because it was new. The bed by the window had been slept in. The other was untouched. There was no luggage. The only thing in the trashcan was a water bottle.

I checked the bathroom, nothing there either. This guy left me nothing - well, except my life. I stared into the mirror, "Vance, you got lucky today. Take it for what it is." I checked my pockets, my car keys were there too. My jaw was discolored, and slightly swollen. I grabbed a hand towel and walked out of the bathroom, stepping on the dry cleaning as I left.

Out in the hall I looked right, then left. About 40 feet down the hall and across were the ice and vending machines. I stuck the towel under the dispenser of the ice machine and pushed the button. A pile of ice fell on the towel, I picked it up, dumping half on the floor twisted the towel into an ice pack, and pressed it against my jaw.

My head was pounding like a drum line as I rode the elevator to the first floor. I walked through the lobby and outside. Betsy was right where I left her. “Very, very lucky Vance.” I got in, put the key in the ignition and just sat there. This guy made sure he left no clues, and other than clocking me, did nothing to harm me. He didn't care that I was after him didn't respect me. "That's your second mistake asshole." Still, I had hit a dead end. He wouldn't come back to this hotel, and is probably out of town - for good. So where did he go? Would he go after Mike? Would he just disappear?

By now it was late morning and I was starving. I drove to an organic market that has a café attached. Their food is good, low in sodium, saturated fat, cholesterol and complex carbs. I went inside and sat in a booth off to the side. There were only five other people in the café, plus the waitress, a waifish hippie girl with mouse brown hair and no makeup.

She handed me a menu and told me what the lunch specials were, I chose the one with meat instead tofu, and the house blend of herb tea. Maybe some weed in this crap would ease my headache.

As I sat there I planned my next move. The lady at the Chinese laundry had recognized Mathisu’s clothes and connected them with someone else, and even said one of them was a good customer. Unless she was nuts, both brothers had been there before. And since they were staying in a hotel, probably neither lived in Reno. So why come back here after the hit? Surely the cops were watching Mathisu’s credit cards, nobody with any smarts would use them, so who paid for last night’s room? There was something here in Reno, but what? This is where a real private eye makes his living, seeing the clues when there is nothing in sight.

I climbed into Betsy and just sat. The Chinese laundry lead was cold. The hotel lead was cold. The gym lead is a long shot at best. That just left the contraband liquor angle. This one actually had a chance of paying off. It was an established long-term scam that probably had dozens of “accounts” like Mike scattered all over.

Which gave me an idea.

I finished my lunch and left. As I walked out I remembered I needed to take Mike some real food.

Several years ago I met a woman who ran a dive on the north edge of Reno. The best thing about dive bars is; once a dive bar, always a dive bar. The only thing a dive bar changes into is a bait shop. In fact some of the best bait shops were once dive bars.

I found the place I was looking for. The second best thing about a dive bar is it always looks the same, or at least never looks better. Even a fresh coat of paint only makes it look worse. I walked inside, relieved it hadn’t been repainted. Carol was behind the bar, as expected.

Carol is a loud gregarious woman, who really works a room. She trys to make sure nobody leaves her bar a stranger, that’s just her personality.

Carol is over 50 and is not attractive. Her face could be the before picture for a revitalizing skin cream commercial. Her teeth are crooked and yellow from a lifetime of Camel unfiltereds. Her hair – forget it. Carol loudly proclaims she is a bye-bye-sexual. She has sex with someone and then says bye-bye. She has a great sense of humor and a ton of loyal regular customers. She carries a small hand gun in her bra.

I walked in and sat at the bar. The bar was busy for early afternoon on a Friday. Carol walked down to me as soon as she got a chance. “Afternoon. We’ve met haven’t we?” “Yeah, some time back. Vance is a friend of George’s.” “George, right. How is he?” “You know George, going strong same as always.” “George is like a force of nature isn’t he? You’re Vinny, right?” “Vance.” “That’s right, Vance the detective. What brings you here?” “Business. The bar has been here a long time. Have you ever heard of anyone selling liquor with no tax stamps?” Carol, paused as someone down the bar called to her. “Excuse me,” she said “oh, do you want something to drink?” “Club soda.” She hurried off, returning a couple minutes later with my drink. She stood directly in front of me, paused and said “many years ago a guy came in here and pitched that deal to me.” “Did you take it?” “No, this business has more than its share of people looking over your shoulder. I decided it was trouble I didn’t need.”

She had a point, bars have all sorts of official agencies crawling up their ass. Mike was very lucky to make it this long without getting caught.

“Did anyone ever approach you again?” “Not that I recall.” “Any chance the salesman was a Samoan?” “I don’t think so, I don’t remember.” “Ok, let Vance ask this. Have you ever seen two Samoan guys here in town? One very big and dresses nice, the other smaller and probably not as classy. They may not run together.” “I get a lot of people in her Vance. Sorry.” She walked off to tend her other customers. I sipped my club soda.

Carol returned several minutes later. “Carol, do you know of any bars around here that might have taken that offer?” …

Chapter 7

I awoke early, having hardly slept at all. Partly because it was Friday, and 5 AM Charlie was particularly noisy this morning. Mike's visit the night before had energized me. The offer he made was truly too good to pass up, or was it too good to be true. Could I trust Mike? If Mike was telling the truth I knew who the killer was, but Mike had no clues to help find him.

I showered and dressed. How was I going to find this guy? As I put my wallet in my pocket, I remembered the laundry ticket. I took it out . It was for a Chinese laundry in Reno. Not much to go on. I wondered if there was anything in the gym bag I had missed. I walked to the front window where I had dumped the contents the last night. I carefully inspected each item. Shoes, socks, shirts, pants, shorts - something fell to the floor. It was a key card from Virgin Suites. I've never been to a Virgin Suites, maybe I can break cherry there. After I stopped laughing, I remembered it was one of Sir Richard Branson's business ventures, and there was one in Reno. Laundry in Reno, liquor from Reno, hotel in Reno, Vance Manion is headed to Reno.

I threw on my jacket and tucked my Colt 1911 in my waistband. I ran outside, fired up Betsy, threw her in drive and headed toward Reno. Betsy leaped onto the highway like a race horse that wanted to run. Her big V8 growled, she was in fine voice today.

As I drove I reconstructed the time line. Monday Tonongo was in Reno and drops some clothes at a cleaner. Tuesday he takes a puddle jumper to Stagnant Falls. Why did he fly? Why not drive, or with all the cash he had, hire a car? Wednesday night he gets shot in a bar. Thursday he is the talk of the town, but can't get his name in the paper. Friday Vance Manion is on the case. Saturday - Saturday, case closed, and Vance owns his own house/gas station.

I thought back to the body lying in the bar. He was so big, but Mike said the shooter was smaller. Mike indicated he and the dead man were tight, but for safety’s sake, had kept their lives separate. He wasn’t even sure what town Mathisu lived in. His drivers license said Sacramento. I wondered if the license was real, even though it did have his real name on it. Mike knew almost nothing about Haponte, not why he was in the bar that night, or why he would shoot his own brother. How was Big City involved? And what about the second body Watts mentioned? Was that death related to the corpse in the bar? Was that the brother? Had someone already covered their tracks? This case has more loose ends than a San Francisco bathhouse. I better not drop the soap.

Traffic was light and the trip didn't take long, if I was lucky I could get to the hotel before check out time and get a solid lead.

I recognized the street on the laundry ticket, found the shop with little trouble, and parked at the curb. The laundry was in a nice, yet unobtrusive building not far from some of the bigger hotels. Bells tinkled as I opened the door. A small oriental woman scurried through a doorway and beat me to the counter. "My friend asked Vance to pick up his cleaning," I said as I handed her the ticket. "Yes, yes," she said as she hurried into the back. She returned with two dress shirts and a pair of pants bagged and on hangers. She looked at a slip of paper, and said "eightee fitty prease." Her accent was amusing. As I reached into my wallet she said "wood da uder gendremun rike his raundree arso?" "Other gentleman, sure but Vance doesn't have his ticket," I replied. "Das ok, he good custemer," as she turned and disappeared. She returned with just a suit jacket, looked at a second piece of paper, and said, "twenty six dorra." I took the money from my wallet. The stiff and his brother owe me six bone. She handed me my change and said "you terr dem I say herro." "Vance'll do that," I lifted the clothes, turned and left.

Now for the hotel. Virgin Suites was new but I was sure it was near the big casino, which was a twenty minute drive away. Once there I cruised the streets eyes scanning for the hotel. Fifteen minutes of cruising, thirty - nothing. I wish one of my clients would offer me a GPS thingamabob as payment. Didn't I just drive down this street? I turned the corner and in frustration, down shifted and punched Betsy's accelerator. I saw a flash out of the corner of my eye and stabbed the brakes. Bingo! Virgins Suites.

I backed up and steered Betsy to a parking place. I took the shirts and pants and walked toward the front entrance. I had an advantage over the killer - he didn't know who I was, or what I looked like or that I was looking for him. I knew he looked like the dead guy, only smaller and alive. Advantage Vance! Inside I walked to the front desk.

The desk clerk was a petite woman of about twenty. She had black hair, olive skin and did she? Yes, green eyes. "Vance hasn't seen an Italian woman as lovely as you since Jersey." "Excuse me," she looked up, slightly puzzled. "What time does your shift end?" "What can I do for you?" she asked, her fog clearing. "You can take Vance upstairs and deflower him." "I don't think so. Why are you here?" She was hot, and if I wasn't on a case I'd put in the time, but right now, the Samoan was more important. "Vance has some cleaning for Mr. Tonongo." "Of course, I'll take that for you," she said reaching for the clothes. "No, he prepaid and we over charged him. Which room is he in?" The clerk hesitated and turned to her computer. "Mr. Tonongo is in room 237." "Thanks toots, it's been a pleasure." She turned away, but I knew she would remember Vance Manion.

I took the elevator to the second floor, and found my way to room 237. I made sure my gun was positioned where I could grab it quickly, and knocked on the door. I knocked again. No response. I took the key card out of my pocket and slipped it into the slot, and removed it. The light lit green. I turned the lever and cautiously opened the door. That's the last thing I remember.

* I wrote this one. With a lot of help from Tis*

Chapter 6
I lay back on my bed watching the ceiling fan slowly turn. As the day replayed through my mind I wondered about the facts. Who killed the Samoan, where did he come from, why wasn’t anyone coming forward to claim the hit or see the hitter? I was also wondering if I would ever get my own underwear back from that dame.

I had very little go on, a bar full of blind, mute people, 5 slugs, 4 of which are in the dead islander, and my ability to scam 40 bucks of “counterfeit” cash to cover my supplement order down at GNC. Like I said not much to go on.

The more I thought about the scene at the bar as well as the slugs. Watts called it a 7.65mm, which was strange to me, most cops would have just called it by its American equivalent a .32 caliber. Why would he make that distinction so early in the investigation? He had no ballistics test to go off of, he just blurted it out.

I needed to think and I couldn’t do it laying on my back. I think best while moving large stacks of iron.

I slipped my shoes back on grabbed some shorts and headed out to the dead lift platform. I stacked 225 on for a quick set of warm ups before I got started with the serious thinking. Loose and ready, I racked 315lbs and stepped into place. As I was settling my straps on my grip, and just as the weights left the floor there was a pounding on my door.

At 11:00pm I generally don’t get many visitors, especially out in the industrial park. I let go of the bar, walked over to the wall lockers I had found when they remodeled the high school, opened the first locker and fit my hand around my “home security device”. It was my grand pappy’s scatter gun modified to suit my current needs, besides nothing says “go away” like looking down the twin barrels of a 9 inch 12 gauge.

I swing the door open and start to give my standard late night greeting “What the fuck do you want?” When I recognize my visitor.

“Mike..what the fu…”

“I don’t have time for small talk Vance” Mike replied “ and get that canon outta my face”.

I lowered the sawed off shotgun and stepped aside allowing Mike to walk past. As I shut the door, I noticed that there was no car outside and quickly wondered “how the hell did he get here?”

I turned and noticed that Mike was dripping with sweat and vaguely out of breath. I walked over to the fridge and grabbed two bottles of water. I handed him one, he mumbled his thanks, and drained it in one fluid motion.

He let out a sigh, a quick gasp and said” I’m in deep shit Vance”

“Not for nothing Mike but Vance didn’t figure this for a social call! The only people who show up in the middle of the night, sweaty and excited to see Vance aren’t guys. So what’s on your mind?”

“That Samoan was looking for ‘Big City’ ”

“Big City?”..Shit. ‘Big City’ AKA Lou Smades, he is the most well known man in town. Not only was he the local drug kingpin, he was also an Alderman with political aspirations.

It was like Ice-T said “Real Gangsters wear trench coats, wear black suits, black ties and seek votes”. Big City was about as Gangster as you could get and I only knew one thing.

No one was paying me to get this involved with some goon of a public servant.

“Sorry Mike, Vance has no idea what you think Vance can do for you, but Vance isn’t one to step in front of that train for anyone.”

“I can pay” Mike Said.

“Vance is listening” I replied.

“How would you like to be a home owner?”
That got my attention. So I ask Mike, “What do you mean home owner?”

“Just what I said Vance…How would you like to own your home / business?”

“Whose home?”

“This one – the gas station.”

Just like that my plans were now almost a reality. The thought of being able to fix up the gas station, get some Russian kettlebells and get that new compact 16 shot 9mm…then it hit me.

“How the hell can you make Vance a home owner?”

“That old man that has let you live here rent free for the last 10 years was my Pops”

I hadn’t put two and two together before now and suddenly the timeline started to mesh. It was 10 years ago when Mike got out and showed up to “own” his bar, and that was about the time that I met his “Pops” and took over living in the station.

“Let Vance ask a couple of questions before we get to the ‘take it or I die’ part of this convo. First, what did you tell the cops?, and second why did you come here?”

Mike replied “What could I tell’em Vance? I told them the truth. This big guy, the Samoan was sitting there nursing a beer and all of a sudden this smaller version of the Samoan walks up outta nowhere, I swear it was like he materialized outta thin air, and the next thing I know he got this little gun in his fist and the Samoan falls off the stool, he then casually walks up and pumps 3 more slugs into the guys chest and walks out the back door, I think it was a professional job.”

“Sounds like it”

“That ain’t the half of it that little gun, had a silencer on it, which I take to mean he planned on this mess”

That would explain why I didn’t hear any more shots, but not the one I did hear… “So if his gun was quiet, who did Vance hear shoot?”

“That I don’t know, it happened out in the ally… at least that is where it sounded like it came from”

So what brings you here? I mean it sounds like a pretty cut and dry case of ‘you’re alive, I want you dead…BANG’ how are you mixed up in a hit, and a big one at that? Vance means, it was a public snuff, and now you’re at my place wanting Vance to find the ‘mini Samo’, and someway protect you?”

“I knew Tonongo from the joint. He is the reason I have my bar.” Mike said sheepishly. “We were roomies for the last 3 years I was in, well 2 years, he got out a year before I did, with a promise that I would look him up when I got out. He gave me a number in Reno to call the minute I was a free man and he’d take care of me.”

“What the hell did you do to make friends with an animal like that?” I asked.

“Simple really, when he got thrown into my house on a simple 3-5 B&E, he was green, so I took him in and showed him the ropes…it was nothing really, just kept the Aryan brotherhood off of him and out of the way of the Mexicans”.

This did add a new piece to the puzzle but still didn’t answer my questions.

“Why does any of this mean you are in deep shit?”

“Look Vance, I shouldn’t even be here telling you this much, I know you have noticed how my alcohol bottles seem to be missing the tax stamp, every week I called Mathisu, gave him my order, and every week a truck would show up. Just like that. I paid for everything I got, full price! So my books were right in case anyone noticed, and every month a courier would stop off right before we opened and hand me an envelope…a kick back from the full price booze I was buying.”

“So let Vance get this right, you did time with the bigger Samoan, when you get out he sets you up in a bar, you order all of your booze from him, sans tax stamp, you pay retail for the booze, and you get a kick back every month from the difference?”

“Yeah pretty much.”

“So why is Tonongo here and dead on your floor” I asked.

“Well it is weird, Tonongo never came here, he was always too scared that someone would recognize him, or that somehow the bar and the booze would put him and his people at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

I start to get the feeling that I knew where this was headed. Tonongo was stealing from some very powerful people.

As I stood there wondering how I could help Mike, where I could stash him and cursing the fact that I didn’t take more money out of Tonongo’s wallet I heard a mumble…then a shout!

“HEY! Don’t think too long Vance, I ain’t got much time left” Mike said snapping me out of my trance.

“Ok Mike, Vance knows what you’re willing to pay me what is Vance going to have to do to get it?”

“Keep me alive and find the Samoan’s brother Haponte, he is your shooter”.

“Ok, First thing we need to do is get you outta town for a few days…There is a cabin Vance has free run of, thanks to a little lady who can’t keep her hands off Vance. Head down to Topaz Lake and lay low for a couple of days. Do you have someone to cover the bar shifts?”

“Yeah the bar practically runs itself, I’ll call Tom and tell him I went fishing.”

If Mike was this scared he better not go back to his place, or the bar. I told Mike to make whatever calls he needed to and then take the battery out of his phone, and only use it if he absolutely had to. I went outside and got the bag from the airport, and went back inside. I threw some power bars and a few bottles of vitamin water in the bag, along with a change of clothes, a bar of soap and a towel.

I told Mike how to get to the cabin and to stay there until he heard from me. I asked him more questions about the dead Samoan, but he didn’t know much. The arrangement between the two business partners was very compartmentalized, smart.

I shook Mike’s hand as he left, and I assured him I would fix this pronto, “don’t worry Mike, I’m Vance Manion private eye and personal strength coach.” I shouted as he disappeared into the darkness.

If I was having trouble sleeping before Mike knocked on my door, it was almost impossible now. I went back into the gym and lifted while I tried to figure out how I was going to crack this one.