The Spirit Of The Season

Take “A” and place it facing “B”

Use “C” to bracket “A and B”

Take “D” and place it facing “E”

Use “C” to bracket “D and E”

Put “A and B” and “D and E” together

See diagram A-9

Use woodscrews “F” to place “G” to the back of “A, B, D and E”

See diagram B-3

Insert “H” to the front of “A, B, D, E and G”

Throw directions away and use picture on box to finish

Taking A Deep Breath

The holiday season has taken a toll on me. I’ll be back up and running shortly but thank you all for your time and support. The past couple of months have been rough, with Kelly being in the hospital and my own illness but we persevere. Please feel free to leave a comment on my stories. It gives me motivation that at least people are reading them. Once again thank you all.-DavidG

Death And The Creator

Death is around us. It’s cancer causing fingers lurk behind every crevice, seeping from the ground. Radon is a cancer causing agent that forms from decaying uranium which is found in all soil. That decay creates a radioactive gas and when trapped and breathed in high doses it causes lung cancer. The very ground we walk on radiates death.

Cancer is, by itself, an interesting anomaly. It pretends to be a particular cell and gains access to that cell. Once in charge, it multiplies itself at an out of control velocity. There are so many ways of getting cancer: carcinogens, radioactivity, heredity and randomly unexplained instances. And the only way to fight cancer? Use death against death. Radioactivity destroys cancer cells.

We race ahead of ourselves, sustaining our lives longer than what nature had in store for us and here is cancer, the agent of death, striking from Mother Earth herself. Is she sending a message?

The observation of evolution and the mutation of viruses shows that strings are being pulled but who or what are pulling those strings? The origins of man derived from one location but what caused the morphing of different body types, hair, dialect or skin color? Location, culture, or divineness? Culture could atone for dialect but not body types or skin color but what of the other attributes? With skin color our DNA could retain the memory of that blazing sun against our skin and mutate as we get older and then we pass the new gene onto the next generation. But why are we getting taller? It doesn’t seem plausible that a God or Gods would be interested in our height than it must fall onto location. Would that mean that the Earth is alive? If she is alive than we must be more cognitive to what she is doing and saying.

Maybe The Creator and Death are one and the same and right under our feet the whole time.

The Horse And Cart

There will be many new faces when the Democrats take over control of congress come next session but the dealings will still be the same. In the world of politics it is not who is best to suit the job but who is more connected. Take incoming chairman Silvestre Reyes from Texas, who will head the intelligence committee, was asked in an interview if al-Qaeda was Sunni or Shiite. He answered “Al-Qaeda, they have both…probably Shiite.” But the terrorist group derive from the Sunni. It is evident in the war waging within Iraq.

Mr. Reyes later admitted he “screwed it up and will…move on from there.”

Not sending the most knowledgeable and capable person into key positions in the government is creating gaping holes in our security that a tractor trailer strapped with explosives could drive through. The placing of friends in high places has led to the humiliating chapter we are now living. From Cheney and Halliburton to Bush and Harriet Miers these placements don’t work.

It doesn’t matter whose in control of the agenda because its still the same horse pulling the cart, politics.

Her, The Setting Sun

Her long blond hair spilled down her shoulders and tossed about in the warm ocean breeze. He led her by her hand down the dune and onto the beach until the surf lapped at their toes. She smiled looking out at the sun dipping behind the horizon that sent a deep red haze across the sky. He let go of her hand, dropping to one knee and pulled out a small black box from his pants pocket. Her hands covered her gaping mouth. A gust of wind swirled, lifting her blond wig from her head and it fell into the ocean. He opened the box revealing a sparkling ring and placed it on her expecting finger as the jellyfish blond wig drifted out to sea and towards the setting sun.

The Christmas Clash

An hour after delivering presents, Santa touched down on the icy roof of a house and reached behind his sled to lift out several large presents. Waddling over to the chimney, he tossed them into the abyss. He reached for more and noticed Rudolf nosing a large inflatable Frosty.

“Rudolf get your nose out of there and give me some light,” he said, holding his list in air.

“We got trouble,” said Blitzen, just as Santa swung a leg over the edge.

“What is it?” yelled Santa. He looked at the roof across the street. There sat a sled with several antelopes attached to it. A man wearing a black and yellow suit tossed several presents down the chimney. “It can’t be.”

The stranger looked at him, his dark skin and shirt were hard to see making his bright yellow pants stand out, creating an image of a pair of floating pants.

“Kwanzaa Clause,” sputtered Donder. “We can take ‘em.”

Santa dashed for his list, checking it twice. The Gilmore’s were off his list. He scrolled down. The Kannetts and Flanagans were missing. Kwanzaa Clause waved, flashing his bright smile and got onto his sled and took off.

“I’ve just about had it with this guy,” said Santa, hopping into his sled and chasing after him.

Kwanzaa Claus turned around, noticing Santa creeping up. He gave the reins a stiff tug and the antelopes picked up speed.

“Come on, you lazy deer,” yelled Santa.

“Hey old man, lay off the reins. You’re killing my neck,” yelped Cupid. “Why do I have to be tied in the back?”

“They’re pulling away,” shouted Santa.

“Drop some weight,” exclaimed Prancer.

Santa emptied his bag over the edge of the sled and they started to gain on them. Soon they were side by side and Kwanzaa Clause wore an antagonistic grin. Santa veered into his lane. Kwanzaa Clause grasped the reins slamming into the side of the sled. Santa gathered up momentum and swung again slamming the sleds together. This time Kwanzaa Clause fell over, holding on by the reins. The antelopes veered to the right sharply and they crashed into a snow bank.

As they passed overhead, Kwanzaa Clause shook his fist at him. Santa held his belly and gave a jolly laugh. "Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas."

Through One Earmark And Out The Other

When the new Democratic Congress convenes for the first time they should eradicate the anonymous earmarking process. For any member of Congress to be allowed to throw in attachments to bills in the 23rd hour before a bill is voted on is ludicrous. And it seems ironic that a Democratic Congress not a Republican one is going to tackle this issue. In fact the stereotypes between Republicans and Democrats contradict reality.

During the past thirty years, when a Democratic President held office the deficit went down but for nearly every Republican the deficit went up and now it is at a record high, dispelling the myth that Republicans stand for less government spending. More fat has been added to bills in the last ten years than in any other time. And according to Taxpayers for Common Sense, the biggest culprit is our military, who sent 1.7 million to help keep brown tree snakes in Guam. Many of these earmarks are passed without any of the members of Congress reading them. It is a fairly quiet secret that Senators rarely read the bills that they vote on.

Earmarks have their legitimate role in the bill process but without any accountability or oversight over where our tax dollars are going is unethical, which gives the outgoing Republican controlled Congress another black eye because they won control by vowing to restore ethical values and morality to Washington.

There has been a push to pass some legislation to combat earmarks. The Lobbying Accountability and Transparency Act of 2006 passed the house but in the end the two houses could not agree on the issues of the 527 groups, which is a loophole to create large sums of money for individual political campaigns. A candidate can only except a personal check of $1,000 but if they set up a politician 527, they can except huge sums of cash from corporations and unions.

Earmarks and campaign contributions are the two hands that shake. The corporations contribute the money and help get the Senator elected and then in return get an earmark placed anonymously to benefit the contributor. This backdoor dealing must be stopped.

The light has been turned on and with the transparency bill likely to passed by the Democratic Congress, America can see which Senators are sneaking in late at night and sticking their hands into the cookie jar.

The Beating War Drum

You thought Iraq was a conundrum. With the news out of the international conference on the Holocaust, it seems our problems are much larger than ever imagined. The President of Iran, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad said, "Thanks to people's wishes and God's will, the trend for the existence of the Zionist regime is downwards and this is what God has promised and what all nations want.” And followed that by, "Just as the Soviet Union was wiped out and today does not exist, so will the Zionist regime soon be wiped out."

If there is to be a discussion over the Holocaust then let it be open to debate but this conference lopsided attended by a former Ku Klux Klan leader and French professor Robert Faurisson, the author of many articles claiming that the Holocaust didn’t happen, but where is the other side of the isle? Where is the discussion?

All the dots are there and you can see what the picture looks like without connecting them. The war is waging now and its not for oil or money. Its pure hatred. These hurtful regimes want Israel wiped off the face of the Earth.

The war is happening now. It started with the assassination of Rafiq Baha al-Din al-Hariri, a former prime minister of Lebanon and founder of their new democratic economy. Without pointing the finger at any culprit, what has occurred after is the resurgence of Hezbolla, a militant political party funded by Iran, Syria and other rich Muslims.

These regimes are growing bolder and more vocal, knowing that the super-power is bogged down in Iraq and stretched to thin to help Israel. They are using an army trained to look like civilians and trained to kill the innocent in the hope that you give them what they want or they’ll countinue the carnage.

The war-drums are beating and the enemy is rallying.

The Extent of Love

She waited for me as I entered the local drug store for her prescription and a few items she wanted. I made my way to the medicine isle, scanning for the right malady, foot itch, vaginal itch, migraine, constipation, until I found it, the most embarrassing of them all. Waiting for an old couple to pass by, I swiped the yellow box, hiding it behind a bag of Doritos I carried. I thought of putting it in my pocket and walking out but what if the alarm went off and they arrested me for it. Man, the headlines on that. No, better suck it up.

I got in line, groaning when I saw that I knew the cashier. What we do for love.

I threw the Preparation H box upside down, hoping she wouldn’t turn it over. She did, picking it up and eyeing me. I looked at the magazine rack, as she scanned it, placing it in the bag. I had the urge to tell her it was for my wife but relented. I paid and left.

Once in the car, I tossed the bag onto my wife’s lap.

“You do know I love you?”

“Yes, hon. Are you going to help put it on?”

Love only goes so far.

The Crescendo of Death

The mosquito’s buzzed around Mashango’s hut. Their dark cloud hovered outside the netting draped over his entrance way. He had just finished swatting the last remaining hundred that had followed him in for the night. The flickering light from four large candles lit the small room, illuminating his wife asleep on their grass bed. He sat on the stool by the bed, placing his hand on her burning forehead. Perspiration slimed his hand and he wiped it on his ripped jeans.

Her eyes opened and she smiled.

“Good evening, Koralo,” he said, producing a desert flower. “How are you feeling?”

“Mashango, you are to good to me.” She pushed the covers down and sat up, the disfigured curve of her back forced her to crane her neck to look him in the eye. It pained him to see her like this, this woman so full of youth.

How she smiled at him that fateful day, carrying their laundry home from the river. Her and the other wives were the first to contract Chikungunya. It spread like the rays of the sun across the village, killing the old and new first and then months later, the village grew sick.

“No Koralo, you are to good for me.” He placed his hand on top of hers and she squeezed it.

The Government trucks arrived a month ago, sealing the town . The doctors arrived and let anyone without the disease to go. His friends told him to leave. His wife begged him to go. He had gone to the edge of town, the soldiers with MK-47s stood guard, and he clutched his laminated pass in his hand, but he could not go.

The mosquito’s, the agents of death, buzzed in a crescendo outside as he placed the flower into her hair.

A Tribute to James Kim

They huddled as close together as they could in the freezing temperature of their car. They had just witnessed the third tire’s fire dwindle. A week snowbound in their car, eating on small crackers and baby’s milk. James knew the inevitable that he had to do something. He looked his wife in the eyes and she knew what he was thinking. Her eyes grew sad, welling up, her lips started to quiver.

He wouldn’t be gone long, he reassured her. Surely there are people living around here. They had just left the main road.

Gathering an extra pair of sweatpants, James went outside to set their last tire on fire. As he poured the last drops of gasoline, the car door opened and Kati came out. She threw her arms around his waist, burying her face into his chest.

I love you, he said. H e than kissed his daughters before heading in the direction they had come.

The snow had been unrelenting for the past week and had covered any sign of the road. He headed for a familiar tree line. The terrain soon became relentless. He would sink to his waist in some areas but he pressed on, keeping his right shoulder in the direction of his family.

After several hours he stopped under a large pine tree and removed the snow from every crevice. His hands and face shook violently and he hopped up and down for warmth but there was none. He trekked on. He needed to make it to the ridge that was his only hope.

The burning started at his feet, seeping into his legs. It itched and burned horribly and he put ice directly on his thigh, giving relief. Minutes later the his legs throbbed again. He blocked it out, determined to continue. Liquid heat soared through his veins burning his arms. He removed his sweat pants and the cool air blew the pain away.

And James Kim ran.

Our Ultimate Achievement

Humans have always been inventors, forever discovering but no creation is more important than that of the internet. For all other inventions have not approached the scope or the potential that lies in the internet. Walls that once held us bound, locked within a single community have been shattered. The internet is the ultimate library, instant access to knowledge, all knowledge. Don’t believe me than Google it. It has given a voice to the individual and brings together like-minded people.

The newest metamorphoses of the internet is happening now. It is the phenomenon of user submitted information, file sharing and user-created content. The iron bars of the Gate Keepers are beginning to erode. Individuals now have instant access to content and driving the market.
With sites like Digg and Reddit users are submitting articles to be viewed and then vote to see which article is on the front page. And with the additions to blogs where educated writers are given voices that would otherwise be sequestered are creating outlets that our drawing eyeballs away from magazines.

And file sharing has come out of its infancy stage and has started to walk. After blunders with Napster and the Kazaa, file sharing has become much safer. Though the record companies are crying foul, they still made their money and the artists still sold out concerts. But what file sharing has done is destroy how radio works, spur the creation of the Ipod, and give indie music relevance. And with the MP3 player came the creation of Podcasting.

Podcasting is a user submitted audio show. But what it does is create another artistic outlet to the individual. Now you can create something inexpensively and submit it to the world to hear. This is total freedom, no restrictions, except bandwidth.

The internet is going to forever morph and change because it is a representation of us. It is not a connection of computers but a connection of individuals and from our generation to the end of our existence we will forever be intertwined, that is why the internet is our greatest gift to mankind.

A Momentary Lapse of Reason

A snowflake collided with her brothers and sisters inside the dark cloud of her mother. Around and around she swirled until she was rocketed out. She waved as she saw her mother shrink behind her, turning to notice her brothers and sisters floating beside her. They yelled in exultation. The canvas in front of her was bright with a kaleidoscope of colors. As she drifted, the colors became shapes and objects, growing larger with each passing second. She turned to her nearest brother.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” she asked.
“I feel so alive,” he replied.
“I wonder what’s the meaning of it all?”

She looked back down. Two figures stared up at them, their mouths wide open and she landed gently onto one of their tongues.

The Neglected

Foreigners stampeded into Habeesh’s town in the middle of the day. Their large camouflaged vehicles sent a trail of dust into the air as they passed. The last truck had a pack of armored men huddled in the back, eyeing him as they careened by. He heard the man inspecting his hanging chickens sputter profanity in the trucks direction and then throw a few coins on his table.

He knew the man was Pakistani by his thick accent but he had less contempt for the man then the American strangers, who he had such respect for years ago. How they had rode through this village like heroes, throwing candy to the children and gaining respect from the elders in the town but now that welcome had eroded. There were so many broken promises, so much neglect taken that it became obvious that they didn’t care about his people.

Four months ago, Habeesh’s daughter fell ill. He carried her in his arms to the hospital in the other town, a hospital newly renovated by the Westerners. It was overcrowded, with sick and bleeding people begging for mercy. The ceiling sprang leaks, leaving puddles of pungent and nauseous smells. Raw sewage flowed freely from the bathrooms and into the hallways. Doctors, with hunched shoulders, helped with what they could, seeing his daughter in a tent outside. They couldn’t help her because the medicine had not arrived yet but they made her a comfortable death bed.

Habeesh pulled the chicken down, handing it to the Pakistani and watched the man stroll down the road, disappearing into the crowd. He was a man torn, sandwiched between two worlds, just looking for someone who truly wanted to help.

The Fissures in the Dam

How far has America come from its bigamist past? We still see ethnicity, sex and class first and the individual second. Why is there a big debate on the question of Muslim Congressman Keith Ellison swearing into office on a Quran?

We are not determined by our religion or philosophies, it is only a part of what makes us. Let the man swear on something that he holds dear, not something another man cherishes. It is the symbol not the tradition that a person must adhere to when swearing in. He is placing his trust in his constituants and working for their good in the eyes of a higher power. Congressman Ellison should also be judged by his work ethic, social skills and prior job experiences.

The ferocity that has swirled over this non-issue shows how the dam separating Church and State are springing leaks. America, please stop soliciting your beliefs. We, the collective individuals, are what makes this nation the strongest in the world. Don’t stifle the freedom that drives that strength and leave Keith Ellison alone. Stop filling the airwaves with non-issues steering time away from true pressing needs that our country faces.

Excuse Me But There's Negative Energy In My Water

For all those that say that science is coming up with answers to questions is mistaken. Science is coming up with more and more questions than answers these days. It is in the way science is executed, by observation. The more we observe the world around us, the more we question. Let’s take water for an example.

We have come a long way with technology of water but we don’t even fully understand the basic structure of H2O. Richard Saykally of Berkeley said, “The structure of water is a major question in chemistry and physics.” And for forty years science has been divided into two groups, the continuum model peeps or C-side and the Two-State model or T-State Homies. Each group believed that this was how the atoms connected themselves together in a rain drop.

Water is a very complex substance. Comparable substances usually turn to gas and when water turns to solid it expands instead of contracting, which is due to the hydrogen atom. This is called the bond, the hydrogen bond. The thing is that the oxygen atom has more negative energy than the hydrogen and gives the hydrogen atom a positive pole, causing an attraction to other molecules. When two oxygen atoms touch a hydrogen, then they bond, hydrogen bond. This is the mystery. Why does ice float? Why is it that when something hits it at such a high rate of speed, it becomes solid? How does it trap heat so well?

"We show, using a combined experimental and theoretical approach, that many of the features of the Raman spectrum considered to be hallmarks of the two-state system actually result from a continuous distribution of intact hydrogen bonds," says Richard Saykally, from The Saykally Group.

English translation: T-State Homies, you got hosed. C-side is all up in that.

But this does not end the water debate. It only creates more questions. The stable broken hydrogen theory is wrong because in water the hydrogen are continually breaking up, getting back together and traveling. But the real question was never answered. Why?

Science is based on observation and with each answer, two more questions pop up. Will we ever answer them all? That may be the most important question of them all.

The Pigeon Lady

She pulled her hands out of the crumpled paper bag, holding a handful of dried breadcrumbs. Hundreds of pigeons fluttered their wings, growing impatient. Her frail hands sprinkled the crumbs around her. Peck. Peck. Peck. Other birds from across the park flew over to join the fray. One hopped onto the bench, cocking its head to the side, staring at the old lady. Taking her index finger, she stroked its head and placed a crumb on the bench . Peck. Peck. Peck. They came closer as the crumbs disappeared, encircling the bench, some hopping on her lap and a few landing on her shoulders. She giggled, digging her hands back into the bag and scattering more.

A Christmas Tea Party

The top of the Christmas tree looked like Mount Washington to old Miss Henderson but she still climbed the chair and placed the angel in its proper perch. She wobbled her way down the chair, holding on for dear life. Once securely on the ground, she finished the tree off with some tinsel and lights. It looked like the ones she made when she was young, even though it was plastic.

She loved this time of year, the sparkling wrapping paper tied with twirling ribbon and the smile of ecstasy on the children’s faces as they tore the paper apart. Another part of the holidays that she loved was the music that played over all the shopping centers.

Miss Henderson opened a cardboard box, pulling out several stockings, one for each of her children and hung them on the wall near the tree, wishing her apartment had a fireplace. Each stocking had a name: Cindy, Mark, Emily, Mom and Dad.

It was Christmas Eve and she was growing excited for her children’s arrival. The sky had grown dark and a few snow flakes drifted against the pane. She stopped by the sink to fill up a tea kettle.

When she finished turning the stove on, a heavy knock fell on the door and it opened. Four people entered, three dressed in nurses outfits, two women and one man and an old gentleman dressed in a black sweater with a red reindeer on it.

"Hello Miss Henderson," said the younger male. One of the women nudged him with her elbow. “I mean, mom."

"How wonderful," Miss Henderson said, embracing each with a hug and giving the older man a kiss. His eyes grew with surprise. "I was hoping that you would miss the storm. Come in. Come in."

They entered and sat on her small couch; the older gentleman went for the rocker. The tea kettle gave out a sharp whistle.

"Oh, excuse me," Miss Henderson said, heading into the kitchen. "Can I get anyone a tea?"

"Sure," they answered.

When she left, the three took off their coats.

"What are we here for?" asked the younger male.

"Just pretend you're her son," said one of the nurses.

"She kissed me," said the older man still flabbergasted.

"You're her husband," said the other nurse.

"I am?"

"No. Just pretend to be."

Miss Henderson returned with a tray of tea. When she sat the tray down, the older man stood up and kissed her.

"Oh my," she yelped, "Now Walter not in front of the kids."

The five drank the tea, ate crackers and talked. After an hour the three nurses rose.

"Thank you mom but we have to get going. Merry Christmas," said the nurse playing Emily.

They stood giving their good bye hugs. They waved from the hallway, motioning for the older man to follow them.

"Come on Hurley," said the male nurse.

"Good bye kids," he replied, holding Miss Henderson around the shoulder and waving at them, closing the door. "Now what did you mean not in front of the kids."

Police State

With the sad death of a former Russian spy, Alexander Litvinenko, by a radioactive weapon, we must take a hard look into Russia's government. It is clear that Mr. Litvinenko's death and the death of Anna Politkovskaya are related and there is an easy connection that points in the direction of Putin and his government. It is also clear that Russia is a police state in democracy clothing. The sad thing is that they're not even going to put on make-up.

Anna was gunned down in an elevator and Alexander ate radioactive soup. This is straight from a James Bond movie.

Russia looks like it is being run by the mob. How did this new democracy end up this way? Well, during the collapse of communism, the top tier of the Russian government, called the oligarchs, gobbled up the remaining industries that were formerly owned by the regime. Now these men hold enormous power. According to Forbes, Russia now houses more billionaires than any other country. In fact 25 out of the world's 100 richest men are in Russia. These people are the arms and legs of the Russian government and Putin is it's head.

Their power to control is enormous. Russia hand picks its governors instead of using elections, leaving no oversight or representation and if you don't agree with the government, they'll come after you with armed men, radioactive soup, or for Mr. Khodorkovsky, considered Russia's wealthiest man and oil tycoon, the courts. And who do you think runs the oil business? That's right, Putin.

So don't believe that Russia has changed into a flourishing democracy, for behind this facade is a shady underground shadow government, pulling the strings that bind Putin and repressing the freedoms of Russians.

A Winter's Tale

Kenneth Walton stopped in the lobby to adjust his scarf, while outside the glass doors giant snowflakes swirled in an updraft. A doorman opened the door for him as he gathered his briefcase and left. He ducked his head in the direction of the wind. Snowflakes slipped down the back of his neck, as he trenched on towards a line of cabs. Entering the nearest one, Ken slid in, setting his briefcase on the seat.

“97th street,” he said, brushing snow from his shoulders.

“You got it,” answered the cabbie in a think Arabic voice.

The cab slithered out of line and down the road. A thick smell of incense filled the cab and Kenneth traced the thin trail of smoke to a small looking Egyptian idol, a woman in robes holding the burning incense.

" Are you working late tonight?” asked the driver.

“Just concentrate on the road,” retorted Ken, looking out the windows and noticed that they were tinted so dark, he couldn't see through them. “What’s up with these windows?”

“I can’t answer that Mr. Walton. I’m Driving.”

Kenneth’s hands grasped his cell phone inside his jacket pocket.

“How do you know my name?” he questioned. Looking down at his phone, he noticed that it showed no signal. He tried to open the door handle but it was locked and there was nothing there to unlock it. “Unlock this door now!”

“Relax Mr. Walton. We’re just going to take a little ride.”

“I don’t care who you’re working for. I’m going to make your life a living hell. I’m going to deport you’re a**.”

“Perhaps this will help,” said the cabbie, holding a business card in his hand.

Kenneth snatched the card. It was all red except a giant K.K on it.

“No. It can’t be,” he blurted.

The cab pulled to a stop. The doors clicked, then opened.

“You can get out now,” said the cabbie.

Ken reluctantly opened the door and got out, looking around. This was his garage. He walked up to the door leading inside and turned the knob, getting one good look at the driver before entering. The kitchen lights were off and he turned them on, scanning the room. Down the hall a flickering light told him that a fire had been stoked. He approached the living room. There on his large leather couch was an overweight old man, his white beard spreading over his bright red suit. He held a glass of milk to his lips, eyeing Ken as he entered.

“Sit down Ken,” he said, gesturing to the sofa. “We need to talk.”

Ken sat, watching the light cascade off the old man’s face as he leaned forward. “Now Ken, you do know why I’m here don’t you?”

“Um, no idea.”

“But you do know who I am right?”

“Yes. But I don’t know why you're here."

“Oh because you and Sam have been on my naughty list for some time now. You’re costing my elves jobs and shutting down Ma and Pa workshops throughout the Poles.”

“It’s a free market and the consumer controls the market. We have no power over it and there’s nothing you or I can do.”

“Listen young man. Your chump change compared to what I had to do to take Christmas from Jesus. Now listen, we’re both on the same team. Give my elves a break or else.”

“Or else what?”

“Or else your wife gets a picture of your Aruba trip.” Kris laughed, holding his belly. “You don’t think I’m up north all year round.”

Ken flipped open his phone and hit speed dial.

“Hello Susie this is Ken. I need you to pull all the Tickle Me Elmos off the shelves. Just do it!” he yelled and hung up. “Are we good here?”

“Yes,” said Santa, rising. “Oh and Ken have a merry Xmas.”

A Sixty Word Story

Dylan’s hangover caused dots to flash in front of his eyes, as he pulled the lever of the car compactor. He looked both ways, holding his breath, sweating, as the machine began to work. Edwin rounded a heap of cars, holding a cup of steaming coffee.
“Wild night last night, huh? ” asked Edwin.
“Yeah.”
“Hey isn’t that your car?”

Hello Emptiness

Hello vast void of nothingness. This is the first blog entry. I am starting this blog to help myself write everyday. It will be filled with nonsense, abstract things and just about everything that is nothing.-DavidG