Helium.com Flash Fiction ---Playing The Game

 (Author's note: Another Helium.com flash fiction with the prompt being "skull and bones." Same as last time, they strictly enforce a four-hundred word limit and I wanted to expand my idea. "Joining the Established Order" is the shorter version at the Helium website.) 


 Michael Garcia leaned back into the comfortable leather chair enjoying the culmination of all the years of discipline and grim determination he had spent working towards his goal of making a real mark on the world. The realization that everything had finally fell into place was as if the proverbial impossibly heavy weight had been lifted from his chest.  

Dressed in his only decent suit he watched the procession of important men wearing elaborate robes and masks solemnly file out of the ceremonial chamber of Yale University’s Skull and Bones Society. The lighting in the chamber had been kept low during the ceremony but along the walls Michael saw elaborate portraits of long dead members that had already reached the pinnacles of power and influence in the United States, an eclectic bunch given their outward beliefs but all ultimately dedicated to the advancement of the Skull and Bones Society above all else. This brought an unwanted and needless realization of the fact that the faces behind the hideous masks that had just welcomed him into their group belonged to several United States senators and congressmen, various fortune five-hundred CEO’s, and assorted other members of established high society. 

The burning incense used in the ritual still hung in the air along with the memory of the strange chants those wearing the robes and masks performed. Michael and the two other individuals seated on either side of him, who were also joining, knew the ceremony was overdone theatrics and each person viewed the activities differently.

The man to the left of Michael viewed the ceremony with a practiced boredom. Coming from a family who could trace their lineage to colonial America his membership was always a foregone conclusion. The man to the right of Michael, while coming from a family with a far more humble history, was the son of a billionaire banker and observed the proceedings with a mild disinterest. Not Michael, he reveled in the fact that the grandson of an illegal immigrant was not only about to graduate Yale University but had become a “Bonesman” and would now join the elite of American society.

The three stayed seated after everyone else had vacated the chamber. A strange silence hung in the air as if each believed to speak first would bring a bloody curse down on them all.

“Greetings gentlemen,” a voice boomed from a hidden loudspeaker, “and congratulations on being accepted to the Skull and Bones. Before we conclude there is one matter that needs to be cleared up. Each of you knows this particular ceremony is well outside the usual procedures of our society. During the normal evaluation of candidates someone in the Society’s inner circle noticed each of your potentials and sponsored your appearance here today. What this means is membership in the most powerful secret organization that exists in the country. Without exaggeration those who belong to the inner circle control this country in a way the commoners cannot fathom and we are offering each of you the chance to sit among us. However only one can go on to realize that prospect.”

Michael was quick to notice that his compatriots began to take an interest in the proceedings the second the gaining of national power and influence was mentioned. Given their backgrounds it was almost a foregone conclusion that the inner circle would chose them if he did not act quickly but he was lost as to what action he should take.

“The inner circle does not offer these privileges lightly,” the mysterious voice said after a momentary pause. “While the Society’s collective wealth is massive all power is ultimately an illusion if it is abused. Before we committee our resources to your individual advancement each of you must explain how you will seize power and hold on to it.”   

For a moment nothing happened, but Michael could feel the two men seated beside him collecting their thoughts getting ready to present their cases to the hidden inner circle members. Acting strictly on instinct Michael jumped up and leveled carefully aimed punches to the throats of the other men which left them on the floor gagging for air.

 “Well now,” the voice said as a door across the room opened,” that settles the issue. Mr. Garcia, please come join us.”

***

Three days later Michael Garcia takes a seat at and open air café. After ordering a cup of coffee he leans back and seems to do nothing but relax and watch the people strolling by. A few minutes later a blonde lady wearing jeans and casual sweater takes the seat at the table behind him. Their back are facing each other and neither makes any movement that suggests the know each other.

“So, you’ve been accepted into the inner circle?” The blonde lady asks as she fishes an item out of her purse.

“Yeah,” Michael says staring off into space, “after graduation they plan on having me spend a year working for some corporation then run me for the Congress. Their plans go as far as the presidency in twelve years. They say my origins are a unique advantage and that they were especially pleased I proved myself at the induction ceremony.”

“Excellent,” the woman whispered, “I’ll tell the council. Stay cautious though, out of all our other attempts to penetrate the Society’s inner circle you are our first.” With that the blonde lady’s cell phones rings and immediately she jumps up and runs off begging forgiveness for leaving her friend waiting. Michael smiled as he caught a glimpse of the ring emblazed with the pyramid topped by an all seeing eye the blonde woman was wearing. It was poor spy craft he thought to himself.

Despite the assumptions of both Michael and the blonde lady their encounter was noticed. The waiter that served Michael his coffee approached an apparent coworker sitting inside the café.” It appears the cabal wars might be restarting after so many years of peace.” The waiter said after exchanging a special handshake with the customer.

The coworker took a deep and unsettled breath after hearing the news. “The last time the secret orders came into conflict with each other it resulted in the country almost destroying itself in the Civil War. We must inform the others immediately."

Helium.com Flash Fiction---Ghosts That Force Us Home

(Author's note: This the first attempt at flash fiction in a very long time. Found a great website called Helium.com that offers a multitude of avenues for wannabe writers like yours truly to express themselves. The one problem is that their flash fiction prompts strictly limit stories to only 400 words. I was able to accomplish that nearly impossible task but I wanted to flesh out my characters explaining the reasons behind their behaviors. Not happy with the results but what the heck? The prompt was "The Lost Love Letter and here is the link to the 400 word version.)   

My wife, Sarah, and I had spent nearly week cleaning out the home of her recently deceased parents when I found the old steamer trunk inside the closet of an unused bedroom. Made of cardboard it must have spent years forgotten in that musty closet because it fell apart the second I tried to pick it up. That is when I found the letter scattered amongst the collection of knickknacks that fell out the bottom to scatter on the floor. Given the nature of the items it was easy to assume they had belonged to my mother-in-law, Lisa Cunningham.

My belief was confirmed when I picked up the letter and saw it was addressed to her in what was obviously a man’s handwriting. At first I just presumed the sender was my father-in-law since the year on the postmark was 1969 but instead of the letter originating from West Germany, where he was stationed at the time, it listed Atlanta, Georgia. With my curiosity piqued, I looked closer at the handwriting, and while I could not say for certain it did not look my father-in-law’s.

That was the moment when I should have dumped everything into the trashcan I had been dragging around tossing the other refuse my late in-laws had left us to clean up. But something just didn’t add up about the letter and before I really thought about it I grabbed a nearby chair and began reading. In four short handwriting pages I learned more about my deceased in-laws than I ever wanted to know.

Written by a man named Frank, I learned that both he and my mother-in-law had been lovers long before she had ever married her husband, Ben. He lamented the fact that bad decisions on both their parts condemned any chance they had to spend their lives together. Frank also freely acknowledged the fact that he was the real father of all Lisa’s children. However, he summed everything up by explaining that while Lisa was the love of his life and that he dreamed of running off with her, his duty to his own wife came first.

Dumbfounded by the revelations, I slumped back into the chair with my mind churning over what I had just learned. I realized if my wife found this letter it would destroy her. Not only was Sarah dealing with the loss of her parents who she idealized but her health had gone downhill since the birth of our child the year before. That night during the drive home, I realized what I had to do.

After pulling into the driveway we both stumbled into our house and collapsed on opposite ends of the couch. “Daniel,” Sarah began, “you think your parents would mind if we let the baby stay with them until the morning?”

I looked over at my wife and for the first time in a long while realized the load she was carrying. Sarah’s two siblings had moved away years ago leaving her the sole duty of caring for their mom and dad. The demands Lisa and Ben put on Sarah created a great deal of friction in our marriage. Both had suffered from various physical and mental ailments requiring almost constant care for five years which Sarah had gladly provided. With the demands Lisa and Ben put on her and my job on me, our time as husband and wife was few and far between during those years but somehow, after long since giving up, she became pregnant with our child.

Sarah’s siblings actually offered to take over the care of their parents when they found out she was pregnant but she was adamantly against the idea since it would have required they be moved across the country and put in a rest home. Only when her water broke did Sarah finally let a hired nurse take care of her parents. This was almost more than I could stand, I still deeply cared for my wife but I greatly resented the burdens she so willingly accepted to the point it endangered her and the baby.  

“Yeah,” I said looking at the exhausted woman across from me,” mom and dad will be perfectly fine keeping the baby tonight. Why don’t you head upstairs and go to bed, I’ll be here for a little while, I want to finish reading the last couple of chapters in my book.”

Without another word Sarah dutifully marched up the stairs, about a minute later I heard her in our bathroom brushing her teeth, after that it was utter silence. I pulled the old letter out of my back pocket and reread it over and over again feeling Frank’s ghostly presence stoically staring at me from across the room.

When I was sure Sarah was fast asleep I went out the back door but not before grabbing my cell phone. The night was moonless letting the stars above shine brightly but somehow the usual comfort they provided was totally absent. Combine that with the lack of any breeze and it created an oppressive mood weighing me down almost like Frank was again standing close by making sure I did my duty.

The cell phone seemed alien in my hand as I looked at it, I chalked that up to the part of me that screamed I had played the part of the understanding husband for long enough and that I now deserved my life back.  But yet I dialed the number and cringed when Donna answered it only after the second ring.

“Daniel,” she said eagerly, “I was getting worried. Will we see each other tomorrow night?”

I knew the words I had to say but they were still difficult.”No,” I said while my other hand held up the letter Frank had long ago sent my mother-in-law. “In fact we can’t see each other anymore.”

George Orwell and Ben Franklin walk into a bar...

 ...What would they talk about?

War is a way of shattering to pieces... materials which might otherwise be used to make the masses too comfortable and... too intelligent.

George Orwell

 

They who can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.

Benjamin Franklin

My grandfather was very wise man. Now he was ornery and such a curmudgeon that if there was a hall of fame for such people his likeness would be craved in the finest marble and set atop an equally ornate pedestal but as wisdom goes I base my distrust on established hierarchies and beliefs on his teachings. While a white Southerner who had grown up in its dominate culture and ideas during the absolute worst part of the Great Depression he nonetheless had a progressive side that would often shine through his admittedly rough and inherently conservative exterior.

“Americans sure do love to live on the edge of the slippery slope.” He said to me once in the early 1980’s as we watched the evening news. I forget the exact point in time but I believe Ronny Reagan had gone and invaded the Caribbean island nation of Grenada with numerous politicians and pundits warning anyone who would listen that the United States had no business trying to play policeman of the world again. The disaster that was Vietnam was still fresh in the memory of most Americans and very few had the stomach, at that time, for half-assed crusades.

Contrary to the naysayers and the worriers the invasion of Grenada did turn out to be a “minor” military campaign that did liberate a small country with really nice beaches. However only an idiot would disagree that its primary purpose was to tweak the nose hairs of the old and nearly senile Soviet leadership and give Fidel a heart attack as he sat in his Oceanside villa dreaming of his lost baseball career.

“Watch my words boy,” my grandfather said to me as we sat in the living room watching his huge and now incredibly old fashioned cabinet television, “a few years from now American soldiers will be going all over the world fighting wars again.” He said this during some of the most anxious years of the Cold War when most pundits thought any major deployment of American troops overseas would be just a short prelude to letting the missiles fly resulting in a deep fried planet and Homo sapiens learning to walk like the dinosaurs.

What I do clearly remember is just nodding my head in a semi-condescending manor since I was just a few short years from starting my military career. Never the swiftest in mental operations and with my head filled with scores of Ramboesque movies where super soldier saves western civilization and then sails off into the sunset with some hot babe. I had dreams of “being all that I could be”, which like the steroids using film twits generally involved defeating godless communism then having some attractive young lady fawned over my war wounds.

Who would have thought, besides all those with foresight and a little knowledge of how power corrupts, that First Bush would launch the United States down the road to nice little wars in both Panama and Kuwait. Curiously enough our antagonist in both conflicts were individuals formerly on the payroll in some fashion of the American government but that little fact was both largely sweep under the media rug and ignored by a population hyped on Ronny Reagan patriotism. No one could screw with the United States, we had cut the balls off the Russian bear then watched it crawl off to cower in some corner allowing Americans to bask in the glow of their own awesome awesomeness.

Of course Clinton followed First Bush by deploying troops into the former Yugoslavia and then conducting an aerial campaign against Serbia but it was Second Bush, a longtime trust fund loving slacker, who came after him with the single goal of rising above the shadow of his famous father.

Being in a semi-good mood I will not throw around volatile accusations of possible foreknowledge of the 9/11 attacks or how once informed of the situation his staff let him continue with his appearance at an elementary school classroom surrounded by children. My point being that Second Bush’s visit had been long scheduled and while he later had fighter escort after Air Force One was in the air they did nothing to pull him out and get him to a safer location right then. DISCLAIMER: I am not suggesting anything. That is just one of several curious points that have never been answered to my satisfaction. Unlike many, I realize life very rarely ties all situations into nice little bows with the gift card having all the “T”’s crossed and little “I”’s dotted.

Nevertheless, the nation was primed for war and even more importantly, vigilant for any manner of behavior that might suggest possible terrorism both foreign and domestic. This new threat called for increased measures to secure our corporations and other economic interests from attack. Scratch that, I mean homes, hospitals, schools, and other crumbling infrastructure.

This insidious danger called for the technological might of the United States government to be brought to bear. No, we did not gear up to rationally take on the causes of the insanity that breed terrorism. All available government intelligence resources were mobilized along with the call going out to the patriotic private sector to help out in the “War on Terror.” The private sector, seeing this as a great way to make a profit jumped onboard and began helping out the government listen in on billions of phone calls along with overseeing the internet as people played Angry Birds and surfed around for decent porn.   

This now brings to center stage Edward Snowden, who worked for a private intelligence gathering contractor, and decided to play Don Quixote and start attacking the windmills of the monolithic National Security Agency by letting all the spying cats out of the bag. Since Snowden skipped the country the United States government has tried its best not to look completely incompetent but despite stamping its feet in a full-fledged tantrum and threatening to hold its breath like a spoiled toddler all demands for his immediate return have gone unanswered.

Various polls of the American people seem to suggest the country is relatively split on the merits of Snowden’s actions. For me he is a hero as well as a well meaning idiot who will more than likely spend the rest of his life in jail when the United States government gets its dirty hands on him. You simply do not embarrass the current military and economic superpower of the world without paying a heavy price.   

As far as my feelings on Snowden are concerned I believe what he did was right. I do not trust the government to listen in on phone calls and watch what people do on the internet without a warrant. I do not give a rip if a Democrat or Republican is in the White House, power corrupts and the one thing all elected officials crave is more power. That being said where I start having Orwellian fits of nervous anxiety is over the establishment of a corporate Espionage/Intelligence gathering complex (Yes, a trademark is pending on that phrase). The Military/Industrial complex is long established and has considerable interest in making sure our glorious and wise elected leaders not only always feel there is a need for their current weapons but that huge amounts of taxpayer dollars are always being pumped into their corporate weapons research coffers.

This corporate Espionage/Intelligence gathering complex has similar DNA and is certain to look after its own interests by making sure our stalwart elected leaders and the more malleable segment of the American population always believe some evil boogeyman is lurking in the shadows. I guess depending on your point of view it could be said both of these corporate industrial power blocs are one Hydra-like creature. Whatever the case even now they essentially own a significant timeshare in the United States government along with the oil industry and the bankers.

The military/Industrial complex and its minions in the media have already whipped up enough patriotic froth amongst the intellectually compliant that the very idea of war is peachy keen cool for every international issue that even remotely plagues the United States. Hell, Senator John McCain, his very, very good buddy Sweet Lindsey, and others in their entourage have never heard an idea for war they did not like. Once the Espionage/Intelligence gathering complex comes up to full steam I can only imagine the Big Brother-like policies they will say the United States has to buy from them or fire will rain from the sky, chaos will rule, and the nasty enemy de jour will soil your sons and daughters.

On the other hand, it may already be too late and we are sliding down that slippery slope of authoritarian oppression my grandfather worried about.  Here are a couple of videos that might prove interesting. The first is a more in depth and coherent examination of Orwell's vision. And the second shows a man being arrested for simply recording the actions of the local police who then arrest him and kill his dog.  

Saying Goodbye to My Little Buddy

The last time I developed a deep emotional connection with a dog had to be around my ninth birthday in 1973. The dog was a thoroughly mixed breed puppy that my siblings and I named “Barney” after Fred Flintstones’ short but far funnier best friend and neighbor. If I remember correctly our previous dog had passed away of some illness and probably to placate his anxious children our father grabbed the first puppy he happened to run across to shut us up. Back in those days very few people thought to spay or neuter their pets and there was always someone trying to find homes for the latest litter of pups the family dog had produced. This might sound cruel but most unwanted puppies and kittens back then were comparable to Christmas fruitcakes, something very common but often disposed of as quickly as possible by the easiest means available.   

Barney’s fate, at first, was far better than the most likely outcome his littermates endured. He was the very embodiment of the stories of how common mutts are the most loyal, loving, and patient of dogs. All important traits because my siblings and I were not the most well behaved or calm children.    

My parents’ marriage was always a disaster waiting to happen and sometime around 1975 when it finally melted down it was Chernobyl-like in magnitude. In the aftermath while our father largely drifted off the stage of our lives my two younger brothers, baby sister, and I were forced to follow our mother as she began an inglorious series of journeys crisscrossing the southern portion of the country. The exact details are excruciatingly complex but our mother would travel bounce around chasing a semi-derelict boyfriend one month then for reasons that were often nebulous at best load us up again the next and drive all the way back to our father for a temporary and half-assed reconciliation.

Somewhere in all this Barney disappeared in the midst of all this adult relationship realpolitik. Whether he was “taken off” by my father who had long since developed his own unique and separate interests or by my mother’s boyfriend who found him inconvenient is a question that will never be answered.  

After a couple of years of the best trailer trash drama I eventually had to separated myself from my mother and her boyfriend who still had control of my siblings and went to live with my maternal grandparents. After that, various circumstances never allowed me a chance to bond with a dog the same way I had with Barney. Even after my lovely spouse, Dragonwife, and I were married in 1993 I never got close to the three dogs we both owned at various times. I was fond of them and treated each with the kindness and respect every living creature deserves but they were totally devoted to my wife. For the longest time I just assumed I was not the type of person who could get emotionally involved with an animal. That changed about ten months ago when little Jaxx entered my life.

Generally speaking it’s never a good idea to wake me during the day when I am trying to sleep; working night shift is a pain all by itself without having to constantly answer ridiculous phone calls.  However, I take my parental duties seriously and stand ready to do what is necessary if one of the kids’ schools call. Needless to say I was ready to say some rather terse words to my wife when she called and began explaining how I needed to load her dog Sparky into the car and bring him down to a local pet shelter to see how he got along with a dog she wanted to adopt.

After I did my standard fifteen-minutes of husbandly protesting I began my usual wheeling and dealing seeking an angle to this situation that would be to my benefit. Truth be told I am a bit of a sucker when it comes to hard luck cases, as my wife explained was the case with this new dog she was interested in,  and pretty much go with the philosophy that there are room to spare here at the house and more than enough to eat for everyone. We already had adopted Sparky the Dog and Spock the Cat in the past couple of years and frankly I did not want to deal with cleaning up another mess. My children are Jedi Masters in creating residential disorganization chaos by themselves and I selfishly felt another dog would only add to the overall work load. All that changed when I arrived at the pet shelter.

Pets Inc. is an independent animal rescue agency located in the Columbia, South Carolina area that has taken upon the Herculean task of caring for and finding homes for abandoned dogs and cats. While it was a foregone conclusion that since my wife wanted to adopt another dog it would happen but the second I spotted that forlorn seven pound very dirty fuzz ball all unspoken opposition evaporated. Jaxx’s sad story only made sure I would welcome him as part of the family. However like Sparky the Dog and Spock the Cat I figured his attachment would be with my wife.

Pets Inc supplies a brief biography of each animal it sponsors which mentions how the dog or cat relates to adults, children, and other pets. For Jaxx it was painfully brief. The staff at Pets Inc figured Jaxx had been a stray for an extended period of time. Even worse he had never been spayed suggesting several possibilities, none of them good.  And they based their opinion on how Jaxx interacted with people and other animals from their observations since he came into their custody. They considered him rather docile and non-threatening. Oh boy, were they off on that one.

Jaxx’s adoption was far from a simple, happy ending. When we brought him home he immediately staked out an isolated spot in the living room and began growling fiercely whenever anyone came near. While he went along with having a collar put around his neck to approach him with a leash would cause him to nearly attack the person holding it. House training was a whole other world of poop.

Jaxx had the very strange, at least for my family and me, habit of backing up to a wall to poop. We never actually caught him doing this behavior but the smelly evidence was overwhelming. And of course the adage about small dogs having even tinier bladders proved very true, Jaxx, at first, always seemed able to make a puddle someplace in the house, as the months passed though we developed something of a rhythm that mostly solved that issue.

Because of the aggression issue it fell to me to attach Jaxx’s leash and often times walk him. Yes, it was often a battle of wills but eventually Jaxx began accepting the leash, but only when I was the one holding it. This began the general practice of having me put the leash on Jaxx while my wife or one of the kids walked him. Funny thing, as soon as they came back in Jaxx would run to my location and want me to pick him up. So the habit of him either laying on my lap if I was sitting in the easy chair or spread out next my head if I was sleeping on the couch began. Not long after that Jaxx was always sleeping with me when I went to bed, he would make sort of a bed out of the other pillow. It was a total reverse of the same practice my wife and Sparky the Dog have established since I work third-shift, in fact on the weekends when I can sleep like a normal person on Friday and Saturday nights Sparky seems put off whenever I steal his usual spot next my wife.

Long story short, Jaxx and I developed a deep attachment to the point there were many times I caught myself thinking about how happy I would be to see him running around my feet when I made it home. Several times My wife laughed at the sight of me, a six-foot, five inch guy who weighs, unfortunately, two-hundred and seventy pounds fussing over an energetic ball of fur that was never over ten pounds. What can I say, Jaxx was my little buddy and I took great pride that he trusted me so much.

This all ended while my wife, daughter, and I were on vacation just two weeks ago. On the Wednesday afternoon of that week my nearly eighteen year-old son, who we had left at the house to watch over everything, called to tell us Jaxx was dead. I will not repeat how he said Jaxx died because it was a lie. For it to be true Jaxx would have had to behave in a way I know he never would, I told my son as much over the phone. He still keeps to his utterly impossible story.

Needless to say I weep like a baby down in Florida after hearing this news. After I recovered enough to be coherent we all had a very short discussion and canceled the rest of the vacation. We left Orlando around eight o’clock and arrived home around three o’clock Thursday morning the entire drive was very quiet. This has been very tough for me, I never could have imagined the huge hole I feel in soul from Jaxx’s death.

I have my theory as to what actually happened to Jaxx and it involved one of my son’s friends who I find obnoxious in many ways and who did not like Jaxx in the least because my dog would go into fits of barking when he came into the house and make every effort to bite him. My attorney wife has advised me to avoid all speculation about what I think happened since I have no real evidence but the one thing that keeps bothering me is how that particular friend of my son has not come over since our return. This is a teenager who my wife has joked we could declare as a dependent because of number of times he has slept over and the large amount of food he has consumed in our house over the years.

There is no simple ending here, for reasons that should be apparent my son, Darth Spoilboy, now has to deal with all the yard work and home improvement projects my wife had assigned for me. I assured my son he will receive no compensation for his efforts and in fact will pay my wife and I back the money we lost in having to cancel the rest of the vacation. More to the point I told him that until I learn the truth his summer is over and that I should not get any hint that he is bored because I will find something for him to do. Curiously enough he seems resigned to this, a confusing attitude since he considers Jaxx’s death an accident.

Yeah, I know this acquiescence does not necessarily support my theory that someone else is responsible but like his explanation of Jaxx’s death it is not my son’s usual behavior to act this way. The little secret he fails to understand is that I have been involved in his life since the moment he was born, I know him better than he knows himself.

Fear and Loathing at a Water Park

 Yes, I am in a really bad mood and stole from Thompson again.



The world was a physically comfortable but curiously mentally unsettling and slightly nauseating blur as I sat atop my Chinese-made, beach-themed inner tube drifting down the “lazy river” of one of Mickey’s water parks. Despite the bright and sunny Orlando day complete with soft and fluffy white clouds idly floating overhead I was able to identify several reasons for my unease.

The first being that I had accidentally emptied my six-ounce flask of tequila into the strictly non-alcoholic twenty-ounce orange smoothie before heading off into the crowded and confused waters of what was supposed to be a restful activity. While I love Disney as much as my socialistic-minded philosophy can find any affection for an ultimately soulless corporation, no sane person visits the Mouse as much as my family and I have without evolving certain cost saving strategies. See Disney’s various bars sell an alcoholic version of the same drink I enjoy immensely in which they add a half-ounce of very weak tequila. Throw in a name change to something sounding more adult and presto, the result is an exponential increase in price few tourists seem to notice.

Now I admit pouring the entire contents of my flask with not something I planned but the nubile young lady strolling by my lounge chair wearing a tiny bikini bottom and one of those stretchy, neoprene water shirts above distracted me. In fact my attention was diverted long enough that I did not even feel it when my wife slapped me across the back of my head.  Once I returned to reality the look of righteous indignation on her face made me realize my spousal transgression and  I was forced to remind her about how breathless she became when a male beefcake dude walked by minutes earlier. That brings me to the second reason I was feeling uneasy.

For several minutes afterward my lovely wife and I discussed the implications of the cosmically arbitrary law that allows women to admire individuals of the opposite sex without any repercussions but if men do the same thing it opens a whole other world of shit. Once I realized my wife and I were at an impasse I decided a short change of venue was in order. I quickly drank my hyper-tequila augmented orange smoothie and proceeded down to the entrance of the lazy river to contemplate the injustice of it all.

Thirty minutes after entering the lazy river the tequila began to take hold. Add to the fact that I was occasionally bobbing along in three spatial dimensions along with still dealing with the aftereffects of having been toss, rolled, dunked, and thrown through the various water rides that day my brain was not entirely secured to this reality. Things only got worse after that.

These lazy rivers that most water parks have some version of are designed to be places of rest and relaxation well separated from the organized chaos that make up the other more active attractions. This theory soon fails once the full force of all those frustrated and anxiety-ridden people rush in all seeking relief from their crappy lives chasing the illusion called the American Dream. In fact, as I drifted down I realized the lazy river with all cleverly decorated inner tubes looked like human corpuscles with the waterway taking the appearance of a clogged human artery whenever people started clumping together like a cholesterol laden clot.

I honestly do not know if the sight of so many people viciously splashing around like a school of fish caught in a net trying to free themselves from a human-made clot in a desperate attempt to relax and enjoy themselves was funny or sad. The thought that came to my motion rattled and alcohol soaked mind was that like me they were desperate to make the most of the short amount of free time our corporate overlords allow for vacations these days.  

Way back in the 1970’s my dad, while being an expert chump, was a simple appliance repairman for Sears. Even without a union he got a certain amount of paid sick leave along with two weeks paid vacation. Statistics suggest that the average American worker still gets about twelve days paid vacation after being employed by a company for three years. It is one of those nice statistics people far wiser than I could ever hope to be, like Mark Twain and Benny Disraeli, said were worse than damn lies. When you throw in the general tendency by companies to reduce or outright eliminate paid sick leave people have to dip into their vacation time for things like a bout with the flu or dealing with an ill child.

Needless to say once a person burns off the majority of vacation time dealing with the twists and turns endemic to modern American life those twelve days become something far less. Of course this brings up what is to me the very Orwellian term of, “staycation.” A clever word that while useful and innocent in many ways is for me nonetheless stained with touch of corporate marketing to, once again, get people to expect less of their lives and free time. Call me crazy? I would have to say there is a relatively high probability of that being the case. But like I have written, my wife and I are Disney fanatics and I cannot describe how many times I have been standing in line at the Magic Kingdom and see some man or woman in front of me answer their cell phone, discover it was their employer calling, and either promise to work on something later that day or immediately leave just to keep the boss happy.

Whenever that happened the idea that came to my mind was that we were devolving from the supposed free and independent Americans we claim to be into nicely dressed medieval serfs on temporary and conditional leave from our masters. The sad thing is that most of us appear to readily accept this condition while mindlessly mouthing the words that America is the most wonderful and exceptional place on the planet with everyone else being barbaric shits mired in outdated socialistic concepts like workers rights and universal health care. But hey I thought to myself at that moment, who am I to complain? I am just some helpless and irresponsible and depraved man floating on an inner tube suffering from a tequila binge.

That is when I decided just too clear and my mind and accept the fact that the lazy river I was somewhat floating on was the classic affirmation of our national character. On my left was a family of archetypal rednecks all wearing matching plastic crushproof containers around their necks designed to protect their cigarettes and lighter. To the right was an upwardly mobile family looking on in overt trepidation as their daughter talked with the son of the redneck family. The divide between the rich and poor might be growing wider but as long as there are overly crowded lazy rivers the words “E Pluribus Unum” can still be uttered without breaking into total fits of laughter.

Doing Disney's Animal Kingdom

What can I say? Darth Wiggles wanted a picture with the famous Native American princess and after my attorney, my lovely spouse Dragonwife, assured the management I would be on my best behavior the Disney SWAT team stood down  and my daughter got her picture.  I still had to stand one-hundred feet away though.

Yeah this is strictly a very unconfirmed urban legend but one of the Animal Kingdom Lodge front desk staff once told me in hushed but urgent tones that all guests need to keep their curtains drawn to assure their privacy while staying here at the resort. See many of the rooms here have balconies that face the simulated African savannah so the guests can have views of the animals as they roam around. The designers also realized that since we have an overabundance of idiots these days some might try and harm the animals by feeding them. So to protect the animals IR cameras were installed that face the balconies so things can be rightly monitored but there was one problem the designers did not foresee. These same IR cameras can also "see" straight into the rooms if the curtains are open. This became an issue as more and more guests decided to make the Shakespearean "beast with two backs" completely unaware that their activities were being caught on camera. Long story short whether or not this bit of information is true if you come to this beautiful resort it is best to close the damn curtains.        

I could really ignite a nice gender-based firestorm with this picture but all I will say is that we need to give each other a little consideration. Oh what the hell, when my wife saw this picture her first thought was that the male lion was a lazy bum while the lioness was just trying to get him to spend time with the kids or do some much needed yard work. My first thought was that nagging crosses all species lines. No hate mail please.

Going to See Some Lions, Tigers, and Mickey

Salvation is at hand in the form of a much needed vacation in the Florida sun chasing my daughter at the Walt Disney World parks. Going to hit the good old Magic Kingdom, Animal Kingdom theme park, and the awesome Typhoon Lagoon water park. We leave first thing in the morning but will spend our first night in Orlando at a Radison Hotel close to some outlet malls so Dragonwife and Darth Wiggles can shop. 

 I have two chief concerns for this trip once we settle in at Animal Kingdom Lodge where we will be staying. The first being the ever present worry my wife not allow me to run a tab at the poolside bar. The second is the fear that the Disney princesses such as Jasmine, Ariel, Snow White, and Pocahontas will renew the retraining order forcing me to keep one-hundred feet away.

Will be posting the usual boring pictures once we arrive. Until then here is a video of Darth Wiggles at her end of school year violin recital.