Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Oklahoma University Suspension

What the hell is wrong with this, Jaz Reynolds kid? I understand he was trying to make a joke, but come on think about your actions and words before you do anything, especially something like that. Once it's on the web it's not yours anymore, it is out ther for the world to see and you can never get it back. And, just how insensitive that was. Even said in private among friends, that is plain wrong. I'm glad Coach Stoops suspended him, I honestly hope he gets completely kicked off the team. And, even as a Oklahoma State fan, I wouldn't care if it had been someone with the talent of Barry Sanders, and played for OSU, I wouldn't want that individual representing our state at all.

The above link is to one of our news stations report of the incident.

Who's in control?

On the news, I saw a report about how a consumer advocacy group in California are trying to ban toys in kids meals in their area. Their main target is McDonalds's, this is supposed to go to trial in the fairly near future. Now, I say this is just damn ridiculous.

The first link is to an earlier version of the story and the second it to the current update.

Their claim is that the fast food companies use toys to lure in children to eat their products. Just like Joe Camel made me want to smoke. BullllllShit! First off, I started smoking before I knew who Joe Camel was. Second, who the hell is the one paying for the Happy Meal? Timmy or Suzie at five years old? They make all their decisions don't they? I mean, who the hell picked out that V-cut blouse that they're wearing, and Timmy sure know's how to pick out the right boxers to wear under his Chinos to compliment the stitches in his pockets. WTF?!?!?! Come on people. If you don't like the product, quit fucking buying it. If it offends you, just don't use their products or services. Plain and simple, nothing more, nothing less to it. And, for everybodys sake, quit trying to make the government make across the board changes for the opinions of a few people. I don't care if there are ten damn thousand of you, that is only one percent of a million. Hell, that's only ten percent of one hundred thousand. How would you like if our President only had to have ten percent of the vote to get the job? Or any elected official for that matter? How about if your doctor only completed one year of med school? That's approximately twelve percent of what it takes to get his Doctoarte of Medicine. I got one better than anything I've mentioned thus far. How about if your employer only paid you ten percent of your earnings? Paying attention now?

It's getting sad people. You're out there lobbying for your government to make rules for shit you should be taking control of yourselves. Like with this toy case, I guarantee that few if any of these parents will quit buying their children happy meals. I hear parents complain about how their kids beg and plead with their parent to get them this and get them that. The parents eventually give in, and they want to blame the marketing. When it's ultimately their fault for buying the product, and not busting their kids asses. I know I tried that tactic with my grandparents once, and it was only once. They taught my little ass not to do that shit again, and with my kids, they have learned that if I say, "No." That is the end of the conversation, no why, why not's, and no pelases. And, I never tell my kids, because we don't have the money or can't afford it. My finances are absoultely none of their business.

What will these consumer advocacy groups have to bitch about then? What is next on their agendas?

Monday, September 27, 2010

While watching TV

I was watching this cop show, and I noticed something that has made me wonder since I was a kid.

Why is it that a cop (Or anybody in that type of role) in a movie or TV show, can shoot out a light in one shot that is fifty or sixty foot away on a seventy plus foot tall pole, but can not hit the back of a van driving away from them at twenty to thiry feet? Or if they do they only bust out the back window. Now, I know I'm going to hear about how the vehicle is moving, or some crap like that. I can hit a three pound coffee can from twenty to thirty yards floating down the river, with eight out of eight shots from the Ruger .45 I use to own, and can still do it with my friends gun that's a newer version of the gun I had. And, I have no where near the gun tranning that cops do. Also, you got the bad guys that spend a hundred rounds out of an AK-47, AR-14, Uzi Sub-machine gun, or other automatic rifle. And, not one shot hits the good guys, (and a cheap couch will stop any bullet short of a missle). But, the they turn around with their .22 cal back up from their waste band and in one shot, ricochet off a chandelier chain, the only silver platter on a glass coffee table, two seperate trophies on opposite sides of the room,  and kill three non-main characters.

And, another thing, in a car chase or any chase for that matter. It's either one car/officer chasing them and the rest of the police force is completely oblivious of the chase, or they can't seem to catch up with them for some unknown reason, or it's the whole damn force, called in back up from the surrounding areas, the F.B.I., C.I.A, A.T.F, Immigration, the National Guard, A.R.M.Y., and Barney Fife, and they still can't box them in or catch them.

Then you got the people that never answer the phone, unless they're going to find out something they're not supposed to know. Or they always answer their phone, unless it's going to cause someone to be left in a situation where they will either get hurt, or killed.

Just about everybody has an arch enemy, whether or not you're a cop, killer, comedian, or boss. If you're nerdy, geeky, plain, or an outcast in any way, your brother or sister will be popular, or the prom queen/quaterback will take a dare to either date you or make you as popular as them. And, then they get jealous because you become more popular/better at the sport/become prom queen, or outsine them in some way. And, there is no real cliques, in every group of friends, you have the jock, the prep, the nerd, the prom queen, the homely girl/guy, the meathead, and the artist. I'm sure there is more that are included in larger groups of friends.

If you get stuck on an island, you will have guest appearances, that can get off the island but you are forever stuck. (Gilligan's Island reference) Or a little guy that announces whenever a plane comes in to land. (I'll let you figure that one out yourselves)

I'm so thankful for television and movies for teaching me everything about human interacion and culture. That is all I have to say.

Sunday, September 26, 2010

Staff Development

SICKNESS AND RELATED LEAVE: We will no longer accept a doctor statement as proof of sickness. If you are able to go to the doctor, you are able to come to work.

SURGERY: Operations are now banned. As long as you are an employee here, you need all your organs. You should not consider removing anything. We hired you intact. To have something removed constitutes a breach of employment.

BEREAVEMENT LEAVE: This is no excuse for missing work. There is nothing you can do for dead friends, Relatives or coworkers. Every effort should be made to have non-employees attend to the arrangements. In rare cases, where employee involvement is necessary, the funeral should be scheduled in the late afternoon. We will be glad to allow you to work through your lunch hour and subsequently leave one hour early, provided your share of the work is done enough.

YOUR OWN DEATH: This will be accepted as an excuse. However, we require at least two weeks notice as it is your duty to train your own replacement.

RESTROOM USE: Entirely too much time is being spent in the restroom. In the future, we will follow the practice of going in alphabetical order. For instance, all employees whose names begin with ''''A'''' will go from 8:00 to 8:10, employees whose names begin with ''''B'''' will go from 8:10 to 8:20 and so on. If you''''re unable to go at your allotted time, it will be necessary to wait until the next day when your turn comes again. In extreme emergencies employees may swap their time with a coworker. Both employees'''' supervisors in writing must approve this exchange. In addition, there is now a strict 3-minute time limit in the stalls. At the end of three minutes, an alarm will sound, the toilet paper roll will retract, and the stall door will open.

PAYCHECK GUIDE: The following helpful guide has been prepared to help our employees better understand their paychecks: Item Amount Gross pay $1,222.02 Income tax $244.40 Outgo tax $45.21 State tax $11.61 Interstate tax $61.10 County tax $6.11 City tax $12.22 Rural tax $4.44 Back tax $1.11 Front tax $1.16 Side tax $1.61 Up tax $1.08 Down tax $1.14 Tic-Tacs $1.98 Thumbtacks $3.93 Carpet tacks $0.98 Stadium tax $0.69 Flat tax $8.32 Surtax $2.23 Ma''''am tax $1.23 Corporate tax $2.60 Parking fee $5.00 F.I.C.A. $81.88 T.G.I.F. Fund $9.95 Life insurance $5.85 Health insurance $16.23 Dental insurance $4.50 Mental insurance $4.33 Disability $2.50 Ability $0.25 Liability $3.41 Coffee $6.85 Coffee Cups $66.51 Floor rental $16.85 Chair rental $0.32 Desk rental $4.32 Union dues $5.85 Union don''''ts $3.77 Cash advance $0.69 Cash retreats $121.35 Overtime $1.26 Undertime $54.83 Eastern time $9.00 Central time $8.00 Mountain time $7.00 Pacific time $6.00 Time Out $12.21 Oxygen $10.02 Water $16.54 Heat $51.42 Cool air $26.83 Hot air $20.00 Miscellaneous $113.29 Various $8.01 Sundry $12.09 ------- Net Take Home Pay $0.02

Thank you for your loyalty to our company. We are here to provide a positive employment experience. Therefore, all questions, comments, concerns, complaints, frustrations, irritations, aggravations, insinuations, allegations, accusations, contemplations, consternations, or input should be directed elsewhere. Have a nice week. The Management

It's Sunday. So....

We are gathered here today in search of the Lord, God and Jesus Christ. Do you accept Jesus Christ as your savior?

It's Sunday, so I thought I'd start with something pastoral. Now, I'm not here to preach, but I am going to tell you how I see it. All my information, and beliefs are based on what I've read in and know from the Bible. I have read other manuscripts, and continue to do so to get a better better picture of my life.
I believe in God and worship him, but I don't belong to any one religion. I don't believe any one religion is supreme over the others. I believe that the God I worship reins over all religions, eventhough he's known by different names. Who are you or I to say that God, Allah, Budda, Krishna, Yu Huang, or let us go back a year or two, even Zeus, Ra, Gaia, Juno, or any others you may mention, are not one in the same? It states in the Bible, Genesis 11;1-9, That we were all one people and spoke one language and worked together. We started a temple in Bablyonia to reach the Heavens. And, that God came down and confused our language so that we may not communicate easily. And, so we scattered over the earth. Humm, that's pretty damn interesting to me.

Religion; 1) The belief in and worship of a God or other superhuman agency. 2) A particular system of these beliefs.

Genesis Chapter 11 verses 1-9 NCV

 At this time the whole world spoke one language, and everyone used the same words. As people moved from the east, they found a plain in the land of Bablyonia and settled there.
 They said to each other, "Let's make bricks and bake them to make them hard." so they used bricks instead of stones, and tar instead of mortar. Then they said to each other, "Let's build a city and a tower for ourselves, whose top will reach high into the sky. We will become famous. Then we will not be scattered over all the earth."
 The Lord came down to see the city and the tower that the people had built. the Lord said, "Now, these people are united, all speaking the same language. This is only the beginning of what they will do. They will be able to do anything they want. Come let us go down and confuse their language so they will not be able to understand each other."
 So the Lord scattered them from there over all the earth, and they stopped building the city. The place is called Babel since that is where the Lord confused the launguage of the whole world. So the Lord caused them to speread out from there over the whole world.

Saturday, September 25, 2010

Politically Correct?

Yes, you are handicapped, you are disabled, you are retarded, you are black, you are white, you are fat, you are ugly, you are (insert anything here).

If you change disabled to differently abled, it DOES NOT change the condition.
If you change retarded to mentally challenged, it DOES NOT change the condition.
Fat is NOT big boned, nor does it look good in spandex. Not all blacks are of African decent. Not all whites are of European decent.

Political Correctness is getting in the way of everything. Hell, political speak in general is getting in the way of everything. Candy coating what things are does not change what it is at all. Calling me Caucasian or a Euro-American, doesn't make me less white. It doesn't make my skin burn less, nor does it make me dance better. Yes, I know, stereotypes. And, yes I do know in fact that a black person can get sunburned and not all can dance. Just using them as examples of ignorance for those who don't know.

Let's get into this Caucasian thing why don't we.

Caucasian: Adj. 1) Person of the fair-skinned tacial divisions. 2) Of or pertaining to the Caucasus mountian range of the languages of the region.  n 3) member of the Caucasian race 4) A native of Caucasia, a region between the Black and Caspian Seas.

I fit the first one. As far back as I know, none of my family is from nor has been to Caucasia. So, can I really consider myself Caucasian? I don't think so personally. I'm just an American heinz 57 white boy. Nothing special about me, so don't put a special label on me.

Now to the capper part.

Now, I have a hip problem, and I can get one of the little blue stickers or even a permanent tag for all my vehicles because of said hip problem. Couldn't get into the military because of it either. I can still walk, run, swim, drive and ride my bike. And, yea it gets to hurting at times, sometimes bad enough to make me cry. But, I refuse to get a tag becasue there are people out there who need to use those spaces way more than I do.

Handicap: n 1) Disadvantage 2) Physical or mental disability. v 3) to place at a disadvantage.

Humm, sounds like handicapped is the correct term after all. I don't consider myself handicapped because my hip does not hinder me from doing anything at all. It may make me pause sometimes, but never stops me. These people are handicapped becasue it prevents them from doing something as good as the vast majority of people do. Some can not learn as well, some can't run at all, some can't use their hands as effeciently as I do. They are at a disadvantage to most people because of this. But, they are not second class citizens, nor do they deserve to be treated with any less respect than your own flesh and blood, boss, or buddies.

Political Speak.

Don't have much to say specifically on this. Except, just read the Constitution Of The United States Of America, the Declaration Of Independance, and the Articles Of Confederation. Then take bills bassed today by our government and you can see the difference. The Constitution is written so that any man, woman or child can read it and understand it clearly and completely. Todays laws are written so that only the lawmakers, lawyers, and judges can understand them, and even at that some still can't. There is a problem with that system,. Any law passed by your government, you should be able to read and understand and know exactly what that law covers.

Every American citizen should have read all three of the documents I mentioned. I have read the Constitution, took me about three hours total. Most people spend more time than that jerking off each week. I'm currently reading the Articles. And, will then move on to the Declaration.

My fellow Americans, I don't care about your background, heritage, or handicap. We need to cut the bullshit out of our lives, and quit covering up the real problems. And that my friends is what P.C. does, It sweeps the roaches under the carpet and then says we don't have roaches. Come on people, let us be honest with each other and our selves. I'm not Euro-American, I'm just AMERICAN, not hyphenated, I don't identify with another country. I was born here, raised here, and will die here. If you immigrated here, and have gained or in the process of gaining your citizenship. Just be an American. You left your counrty for a reason and came here for a reason. If you were born here, just be American. Be proud you're here, and let's work together to make this country great again.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Kids clothing.

Went to the fair yesterday, had a ball of fun. Kids rode nearly every ride, some twice. Ate the funnel cakes, gryos, and a beer or two. Looked at some cars. Burned a few calories, more than I took in I think. Got to spend some good quality time with the family. It was great.

But, there is one thing I saw that bothered me. Some of these kids and their damn clothing. Mainly the girls, but boys with the saggy jeans, and underware showing, but at least they're covered.

I'm not talking about 16 -17 year olds, or even twenty-somethings. I'm talking about kids eight, nine, ten years old. Wearing short shorts, daisy dukes, and cheek huggers, high heels, peek-a-boo shirts, way too tight by three sizes t-shirts that say lucious or delicious or hottie. WTH?!?!?!

One of my daughters friends, and my daughters are in that preteen range, her parents said they couldn't get their daughters to wear anything else, but low cut jeans, and string bikinis. I'm over there thinking, if ya don't buy the shit, they can't wear it. So, they wouldn't have that choice. What makes parents think that that kind of clothing is appropriate for a child?

Some of the outfits I saw last night, I wouldn't want my wife wearing in public. A ten to twelve year old, or hell even one under sixteen doesn't need to be sexy. And, I don't care for the damn short shorts or skinny jeans on anybody any way. If you think you have to show off your ass cheeks and tits to get attention, I think you need some serious psychological evaluation.

And, then you got a fourteen year old girl in the hospital giving birth, and momma in the waiting room saying, "I don't know how this could have happened!" All crying and shit. Well if you would have bought them some less provocative clothing, and taught them something about sex. Maybe, just maybe then it wouldn't have happened.

Let me ask you something, who would you rather teach your kids about sex? You, or some other kid that doesn't know anything more that your twelve year old does?

My Demon

My Demon

Everybody has their demons. I am no different in this regard. Mine is just as evil as the majority of demons. I guess you could say he is of average evil-ocity, maybe a little more, but not much...

And that pisses me off.

I'm riding down some back road highway, specifically avoiding the interstate. Just wanting to make my trip alone. Keeping my mind on the road and my thoughts. The less traffic the better when you're on a motorcycle.

I see a flash in the sky out of the corner of my eye. I turn in the direction of the flash to look and saw nothing, pitch-black night and stars. It reminded me of being in the hospital and my friend holding up my jean jacket to show me after I took three rounds of bird shot from some idiots twelve gauge. He didn't get the chance to tell his story of how he almost killed Jack “Chainsaw” Williams.

At that, the memory of how I got the nickname Chainsaw finds it's way into my head.

And that pisses me off.

There was a string of murders in the suburbs of southern L. A. Some sick fuck just saw Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and decided he needed to try it out himself. Went on a nice killing spree with a chainsaw. The cops went to the press for leads. The sketch artist rendering came on the screen and one of my buddies says, “Hey, that looks like you. I didn't know you hung out in lower L.A. Ha, ha, ha...” laughing his ass off. Getting up from the couch, “Hey, Chainsaw, I'm getting another brew, want one?” giggling like some schoolgirl on the play yard.

“No, and don't call me that.”

Being connected to the murders wasn't even a thought to me. It had been five days since they had found the first body, which they had estimated having been dead three days. And, we had just got back in town that morning from a week-long rally in Las Vegas. I haven't even been home for two weeks; we took a northern route to Vegas through Reno and Salt Lake City, then back south. Spent five nights in Vegas and straight home after the rally. Turns out, it was my absence that would both incriminate and exonerate me. Sad part is, all it took was one finger, one phone call to inhibit my further freedom. But, it took our clubs lawyer, five out of state police agencies, two surveillance tapes, a few speeding tickets, an out of state court date, and a shit load of money to get the charges dropped.

And, that pisses me off.

“Hey, chainsaw, here's your beer, Bud.”

“I said don't call me that.”

“Man. What did those people do to cross you're ass?”

“Fuck off.”

“Man.  A chainsaw isn't your thing though man. Covering your tracks, huh?” laughing.

I crack open my beer I didn't want, and take a long drink. Nice, bittersweet, bubbly, ant piss. The sketch is on the TV again, and I must say I can see a resemblance. I think nothing more of it.

“Hey, Chainsaw...” Awakens me from my daze of thoughts of my plans fro the night. I pull my .32 and put a hole in the arm of the couch just inches below where his arm rests, “Don't call me that again.”

“A...A...Alright man. Sorry, I was just joking.”

“I know but it's tired now.”

Now I don't have an aversion to killing. I've done my share. But, when I got home from the bar, there was an update on TV about the chainsaw murders. More bodies were found; the count had almost doubled to fifteen. They had found not only males, but also women and children. The youngest was only three. What was left was lying next to his mother who was tied to the bed, and... um... run up with the chainsaw.

Like I said I've don’t my share in my time. But they all had it coming. Never would I kill a child or an innocent. The ones I've taken care of, either killed friends, or got in the way of business, and friend, my business is war.

Damn, it's dark out here. Where the hell am I? Ahh... A road sign, “Watonga, straight ahead; Arapaho, Clinton, right.” The intersection I was looking for, bout ready for a room for the night.


That wasn’t from the corner of my eye. It was almost like lightening but no clouds, no thunder. It came from north to south, a streak of light... that's what it was.... Just a streak of light. Yea.. That’s it.

Well here's my turn. No sign of what caused the flash... streak of light. Maybe just weary. I need to find a room.

Ducking to the fluttering sound of wings, I wobble but keep her rubber down. Damn that was a big bird, hawk, owl, something. Damn near laid 'er over.

And that pisses me off.

No, that sick fuck was just gong on a killing spree. Sawing anyone he could get his hands on. No rhyme or reason for his victims, a nurse here, retired grandpa there, a priest, kids, cops, teachers, it didn't matter.

And that pisses me off.

Well not the cops so much, but still, ain't no reason for mindless killing.

Sittin there filling up the bike at the station just three blocks from the house. I hear sirens, nothing uncommon in most of L. A. Five cruisers and two S.W.A.T. vans come barreling in the parking lot, jumping curbs, sliding sideways, blairin 'n flairin, as we say. Damn what happened? As I tighten my gas cap, I notice they're boxing me in.

What the fuck?

“Put your hands on your head and step away from the pump and motorcycle!”

What the hell? Guns pointed at me, riot shields, bright lights, bullhorn screaming, sirens blaring. Red, blue, red, blue, red, blue...

Oh... what the hell. Something hit me in the right side of my ribs. Coming around to what's going on, they're here for me!? That must have been one of those bean bag shells they're using for their shotguns now. I didn't even hear the gun go off!!!


I raise my arms and do as they say. I don't know what's going on, but I'm not going to try to fight them.

“Step away from the bike!”

“Walk toward me.”

Laying face down I smell the oil, spilled gas and diesel, antifreeze, grease, and... Doublemint Gum?

Cuffs work their way into my wrists as they 'help' me up. I see the source of the gum smell. It's stuck to my riding jacket.

And that pisses me off.

“You got any weapons? Guns, knives, on your person or your vehicle? How about any drugs?”

“Yes and no.”


“Yes I got a .32 caliber inside my left boot, a knife in my back right pocket, and a .45 in my shoulder harness. No drugs anywhere.”

These damn back seats are uncomfortable as hell; hard plastic and you can't lean back for the cuffs digging in even more when you do. They're loading up my bike on a roll back truck, damn, impounded.

And that pisses me off.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Time to eat.” the C.O. says as he opens the bean hole and slides me a tray with the morning paper and my court papers. I read over my charges as I eat what they pass off as breafkast here.

“What the hell?”

I'm being charged with the chainsaw murders. “Fuck.” I wasn't even in the state then.

Twenty-seven counts of murder, and one count of possession of an illegal firearm. The gun I'll admit to, got it fourth hand. No numbers, hotter than a branding iron on a horse’s ass.

I finish my breakfast and pass my tray back to the officer. Well let's see what the paper has to say. And that's where I saw it.

“Man Indicted In The Chainsaw Murders.”

Front-page headline. Mug shot and all was there, “Jack 'Chainsaw' Williams was arrested yesterday evening at a gas station near his home. He has been formally charged with the 'Chainsaw Murders' in Southern Los Angeles and it's suburbs...”

Illegal gun, biker, biker gang, were all readily mentioned as was suspected of killing many others. They assumed that I finally snapped and went crazy with my chainsaw, and that the chainsaw was my M.O. and thus my nickname with club, because I like to use a chainsaw to exact my revenge on rival 'gang' members. Neither of which is true, or was true. Never even touched a chainsaw, nor do I have a nickname. I have always been just Jack or J.W. Well, I guess I got one now.

And, that's how I became Jack 'Chainsaw' Williams.

And that pisses me off.

“Mr. Williams? Do you know what your charges are?”


“Ok. Mr. Williams. How do you plea to the charges brought before you?”

“To the gun guilty, to the rest innocent.”

“Mr. Williams. You do realize that the sketch is a very close resemblance of you, someone in your neighborhood tipped us after the sketch was released that it could be you. That we have witnesses that are willing to testify that you weren't home during the time of the murders. And, you were also pointed out in a line up last week by an eyewitness and survivor?”

“Yes, your honor, I am aware of that.”

“Would you like to change your plea?”


“Ok, bail set at fifty million dollars. Adjourned.”

And that pisses me off.

Charges dropped on Jack 'Chainsaw' Williams.”

I read the headline of the paper, as I sit in the holding area of the jail awaiting my release. Four more bodies were found while I was waiting my court date. It's funny that they couldn't try me on illegal possession of the gun. They unlawfully arrested me. “Ha ha ha.”

“It's time to go,” my lawyer says, holding his briefcase, hand mad from Italy. Bought with club money.

“Jack, we've got to hurry and get this shit settled. You’ve got to be in Vegas day after tomorrow. It was part of the agreement to get copies of that surveillance tapes. States evidence ya know? I also took care of those tickets you got in Clarke, Nevada and Salt Lake City. This is about the only time you'll hear me say it's good that you broke the law and got caught. Or, your ass would be up for murders you didn't commit.”


“I booked a flight to Vegas this afternoon. And...”

“I'm riding out there, get a refund on mine.”

“Well.. uh... you're.. You're supposed to turn yourself in day after tomorrow for that fight you and your
buddies got into down there.”

“I know. I'll be at the Bellagio tonight and go in the morning. You said they weren't going to hold me. Just wanted me in town till the court date. Right?”

“Well yea. But I told them...”

“I don't care what you said. I'll meet you at the hotel this evening.”

At home gathering my emergency stash of cash and a spare disposable gun. Didn't get the .32 back because the numbers were filed off.

Now, off to Las Vegas.

I called some of the guys that had to appear in court with me and they’re meeting me at the clubhouse and we’re heading out from there.

The next three months were pretty uneventful. Mostly drinking, women, gambling, and riding. Most of they boys were theeming hard for their drugs because we had to do a test for that shit at so they were 'cleaning out their systems'. I just drink and smoke my Winston’s, never got into drugs myself. I've always preferred Jack Daniels and Budweiser myself.

One thing exciting did happen though. Guy thought I was boning his wife and confronted me in the grocery store parking lot where she worked. I tired to talk to him about it. Apparently his wife had taken a liking to me and wanted him to get a bike because of.

“You sorry son of a bitch! I'm gonna kill you! This is what you deserve you low life piece of shit!”

“Whoa, man. I ain't touched your wife; I don't know who you are or who your wife is. Or why you think I banging her.”

That's when I see the shotgun swinging above the hood of his truck.

“I'll teach you biker fucks not to fuck with a hunters wife!”


“Oh, shit!” I turn and duck but I feel the pellets pelting me, it stings. It feels like I've been hit with salt. I stand back up and turn to the guy. “Hey, listen man! I'm not fucking your wife ya damned idiot! Now don't be stupid, put the gun down and lets talk and think about this.”

His grip relaxes. Still in his grip he lays the shotgun on the hood.

“Listen man, I don't know what's going on between you and your wife. But, I guarantee it's not me
fucking her.”

“I think you're lying, how do I know you're telling me the truth?”

“Because I haven't slept with anyone but hookers, since got into Los Vegas a month ago.”

“She started talking about getting a motorcycle about three weeks ago. You calling my wife a hooker!? You lying bastard!!!”

BAM!!! BAM!!!

Another shot, I didn't have time to react but one way. As, I was ducking and recoiling from the sting on my arms, my face, chest and hands. I drew my .45 and let all eight rounds fly. Four found their mark, one took out the ice cooler motor, three hit the pickup.

In the hospital after the cops had asked their questions and left my room. She came in as my friend was showing me my bird shot jacket.

“I'm so sorry.” Almost crying. Still in her smock from the grocery store. She was a cashier at the store. I found out that he was a jealous husband, she never cheated on him, and it was my fault she wanted a bike. But, for reasons other that what he had thought. I apologized for shooting her husband.

Since it was such a busy weekend, they couldn't determine who started the fight at the casino during the rally. We just got a hell of a fine, court costs, and damages were divided between us, except for S.D. He pulled a gun during the fiasco and was found guilty of brandishing a deadly weapon. He was sentenced to eighteen months in jail and three years probation.


Damn that one was close; I felt the wind off it. Sounded like those model rockets we did in eighth grade science. But, this time I see the trail of it and a glow off to my left. I’m coming up on a farmhouse, looks like a section line road up ahead. I pull off to the side of the road. Looking east and I see a reddish glow in the distance. Hard to tell how far, a couple of miles or so?

Looking over the windshield of my bike, I see the glow of lights of what I think is Clinton. I light up a Cohiba, and sit there, just the bike and me. Listening to the rumble coming from the bike. I think. Go on into town and continue on my way? Or, left and satisfy my curiosity?

I don’t remember putting my bike in gear, or turning down this county road. But, the glow is getting closer, and I still have my cigar in my mouth.

Pulling into a driveway I notice the sign, “Devon Energy. Authorized Personnel Only.” Must be a lease road to an old oil well, or could be a gas well. The drill for both here don’t they? I remember the smell and look of the entrance at a drilling site from when mom and I would take dad and his co-workers lunch sometimes back home, when I was a kid.

The light is inside the site, behind some tanks. They look like over-sized batteries, with the reddish back-light.

Walking toward the tanks, it sounds like a voice is calling me.

“Jack… Jack… Jack Williams?”

As I get closer, it gets clearer.

“Jack Williams? Is that you Jack?”

“Uuh… Umm… Yea… It’s me.”

“Wh… Who are you?”

“I’m your demon, Jack.”

“My demon?”

“Yes Jack. Your personal demon.”

“Wh… Wha… What do you mean my personal demon?”

“I’m your own personal demon, Jack.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand.”

“Everybody has them Jack. And, I’m yours.”

“I thought that was just a saying about people and their vices?”

“No. Not just a saying Jack.”

The voice had the pitch and sustain of a rock ballad solo from the late eighties or early nineties. And, had
the tone of a mother comforting a child.

“But, why do I need a demon?”

“You have earned me Jack.”

“What? How? I don’t get it.”

“You have done enough bad in you life to have made me become real and alive. You have earned me

“Oh, ok, what do you do exactly?”

“I help you Jack. I ride with you.”

“How do you help me?”

“With any problems you have.”

“Huh. How do you ride with me and not get noticed?”

“On your arm, a tattoo Jack.”

“Humm… Well, hell. I’m damned anyway so… jump on, I’m getting tired. Um… Exactly how do we do

“Don’t worry about that Jack. With me sleep isn’t really necessary Jack.” It says as I feel claws dig into
my flesh on my right forearm. I can feel it crawling like worms under my skin. Our consciousnesses
melding, becoming one, its energy flowing through my nerves, its power seeping into me. Burning in my veins, through my arms, legs, my heart pounding as his blood pumps through me. I can feel my bones changing, rearranging my face and build, ever so slightly. But, changing.

Unlocking the door I wonder what it looks like, what I look like.

My own personal demon, a grin creeps to my lips. It was too bright to see out there while we were… merging. And, too dark afterward to see. I take off my jacket and head to the bathroom, thinking about the pictures and drawings of demons I’ve seen in the past. My grin widens.

Standing in front of the mirror, I splash my face with a little water to wake up a little. Take a nice long swallow of my beer.

Rolling up the sleeve to admire my new demon… tattoo.

“My own personal demon.”

Its pink, and furry like a Pomeranian.

And that pisses me off.