An Excerpt From "A Betrayal Of Vows"

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            “Do you Jorge Lakemere take this woman, Gwendolyn Jaxson, to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

            “I’m sorry, what was that again?”

            “Are you asking me to repeat what I just said?”

            “Well….yes.”

            The minister looked at Jorge, who made a gesture that said ‘get on with it’. Shaking his head, the minister began to repeat the question, when he was interrupted by an irritated Gwendolyn.

            “Did you just ask him to repeat the all important question?!? Are you just that stupid?!?”

            Jorge thought long and hard before answering his wife to be. A smile soon appeared on his lips.

            “Nah, I’m just pulling your leg.” Turning back to the minister, he said, “Of course I take this bodacious woman to be my lawfully wedded wife.”

            “You better.”

Exhaling, Gwendolyn got back to her place on the grass.

            Sighing, the minister continued with the ceremony.

            “Do you Gwendolyn Jaxson take this man, Jorge Lakemere, to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

            Gwendolyn gave Jorge a very dirty look before saying, “Yes, I do.”

            “I now pronounce you man and wife. Jorge, you may kiss the bride.”

            “With pleasure!”

            Jorge brought Gwendolyn a little closer and lifted her veil over her head. Gazing deeply into those baby blues, he gently grabbed her face and planted a very long passionate kiss. Returning the favor, the happy couple was presenting such a show of affection, that the minister began clearing his throat.

            Breaking off the kiss, Jorge and Gwendolyn turned to face the crowd. The minister, now having everyone’s attention focused back on him, said, “May I now present to you for the very first time anywhere, Mr. & Mrs. Jorge Lakemere.”

            Receiving a non-verbal cue from the happy couple, the band launched into a reggae tune. After getting bombarded with dandelions for a few minutes, Jorge raised his hand to silence the band. Looking over at his wife, who nodded in agreement, he cleared his throat and began speaking.

            “The Mrs. and I would like to thank everyone for making their presence known here today. We can see that everyone is dressed backyard casual, as per the invitation, so in order for us not to be out of place at our own reception, we’ll be taking a brief absence to change into more suitable clothing. We leave you now to the alternative sounds of Paisley Pumpkin. Enjoy.”

            As the band restarted by playing ‘Highway Calls’, Jorge and Gwendolyn made their way to the house to change. Three minutes later, they were both changed and on their way back to the reception.

Jorge was tastefully dressed: wearing an oversized half buttoned Hawaiian shirt; blue khaki cargos; Panama hat and sunglasses. Staying in theme, he was also barefoot. Gwendolyn came out dressed devilishly hot: light short sleeve floral cotton print dress with partial slit up the side; coral blue tube top; gold ankle bracelet; long hair lightly teased and highlighted, with sunglasses. Staying in theme, she was also barefoot.

            Jorge observed his wife putting on the last of her make up and said, “Gwen, I’ll have to beat everyone off with stick, you look just that delicious!”

            Gwendolyn blushed heavily from the compliment. Then with a toss of her hair, she walked over to Jorge and lightly punched him in the arm.

            “Fresh! Come on, the reception needs us before it can get into full swing.”

            “Meeowww!”

            She punched him again before grabbing his hand. As they were opening the patio door, a partygoer yelled, “Here they come!”

            A low murmur rumbled through the air, originating from the side of the yard. The band, which had stopped when the happy couple reappeared on the deck, started up again with a long version of ‘Misirlou’.

            Jorge and Gwendolyn stepped onto the deck and paused to gather their collective thoughts. Exhaling, they descended the stairs, where they were met by a crush of people. They slowly maneuvered themselves towards the stage area as they waded through the crowd. Fifteen minutes later, they were at the front of the stage.

Jorge hopped on up, and held out his hand to Gwendolyn, who took it. Pulling her up, he then grabbed a microphone and placed it in front of her. While she was doing a sound check, Jorge whispered something in her ear. Blushing, Gwendolyn shook her head. Undeterred, he kept the pressure on by bringing the crowd into play as well.

            On cue, the crowd chanted, “We want a song! We want a song! We want a song!” The band took up the chant as well, playing a lengthy drum and guitar cue. Jorge then got down on bended knee and pleaded his case. Embarrassed by the attention, Gwendolyn finally nodded in the affirmative. Grinning, Jorge confidently strolled to the microphone. Raising his hands to quell the crowd, he then cleared his throat to speak.

            “I can see that everybody is having a good time at our wonderful wedding reception. I like to thank everyone for helping me convince Gwendolyn that the only proper way to officially kick this off is for her to sing a song. As some of you know, my wonderful wife has an excellent singing voice, and has shown it off at the salon. I’ve tried to convince her on numerous occasions to share it with the general public, but had no success.”

            A sympathetic sound of understanding came from the wedding guests. Holding out a hand to quell the aura of sympathy, Jorge continued his intro.

            “Last night, I asked once again. I said, ‘Sweetie, could you possibly show off your golden pipes for one song, just to kick off the festivities?’ She thought about for quite a while, but eventually she said yes. But when the time came to perform, she understandably developed stage fright.”

            An even more sympathetic sound wafted over the backyard. Again, Jorge held out his hand to quiet everyone before continuing.

            “So, with the help of all you good people, and my blatant disregard of my self respect, we were able to convince the wonderful Miss Gwendolyn to grace our get together with a song. So without further ado, I would like to present for your listening pleasure, our new Mrs. Gwendolyn Lakemere! Let’s give her a standing ovation!!”

            On cue, the entire gathering erupted in applause as an embarrassed Gwendolyn approached the microphone stand. Briefly adjusting the stand, she waited a full minute before raising her hands to calm the boisterous crowd. Clearing her throat, she began to speak.

            “Well, I would like to thank my husband for his intro. Sweetie, you’ll get yours tonight.”

            The crowd erupted in laughter as Jorge turned beet red. Throwing an air kiss his way, Gwendolyn then continued her spiel.

            “Anyways, I would like to jumpstart the party by singing one of the few slow songs you’ll hear tonight. My voice was unfortunately designed for country music, so country is what you’re going to get. Please enjoy this song, it’s one of my favorites, and I hope it becomes one of yours.”

She then leaned over to the lead guitarist, told him the song and asked if there would be any problems. Shaking his head, he then went to each member and told them the song in question, and they nodded in agreement. Signaling that they were ready, Gwendolyn stepped back to the mike and spoke.

            “For your listening pleasure, here’s my rendition of John Denver’s classic ‘Take Me Home, Country Roads’. Hit it guys!”

            The melancholy sound of the dobro drifted out from the stage and over the backyard. Hovering for a minute, it gently engulfed the crowd in a melodic haze of country life. Joining the fray was the sweetness of the steel pedal guitar and the gentle bluntness of the upright bass. Together, this alt country trio of instruments, created a passionate sound of Americana, beautifully penetrating the unified soul of the crowd.

            After a couple of minutes, the bass faded from the extended intro, soon followed by the steel pedal, leaving only the dobro playing in the background. Gwendolyn was keeping time while the extended intro was being played. As the steel pedal fell by the wayside, she began to prepare herself so that when the bass came to a halt, she could segue right into the opening stanza.

            “Almost heaven, West Virginia. Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River. Life is old there, older than the trees. Younger the mountains, blowing like a breeze. Country roads, take me home. To the place, I belong. West Virginia, mountain mama. Take me home, country roads. All my memories….”

(c) 2009 by G.B. Miller. All rights reserved.

The Muse Is Thy Master 3

Click here for part 1 and part 2


Stunned, the young lady grabs the handrail to steady herself as the realization that her ultimate play toy was turned on by similar looking play toys and not by play toys such as herself sank in. Once that realization snagged its talons in her soul and turns her from an overly sexualized society lady to the ugliest girl in the village, the young lady starts to cry. Not tears of sadness but tears of rage.

Rage over a public humiliation. Rage over being played for a fool. Rage for trusting her personal writer to do the right thing. With her rage sufficiently amped, she climbs the handrail and before the painter can intervene, executes a perfect swan dive off the veranda.

The sun playfully bounces off her skin and somehow the young lady briefly finds peace within her troubled spirit. However, being focused on the task at hand, the young lady pulverizes that sliver of peace and everything suddenly turns pitch black. Unable to see either forward or behind, the young lady pulls her arms in and goes into a major power dive.

The writer, happily oblivious to the pain that he's about to experience, is pounding the keyboard at such a furious pace that smoke is pouring out from the monitor and keyboard. Suddenly, his attention is diverted by three very large words that appear on his monitor.

LOOK BEHIND YOU.

The moment the young man turns around, his world is rocked by a deafening explosion and he's pelted by a plethora of debris. Within seconds the young man is buried up to his neck with organic and inorganic debris and dust.

When the dust finally settles, the young man sees the young lady standing some twenty feet away, breathing heavy with smoke billowing from her head. He tries to stick out his hand but the amount of debris has him snugly and safely entombed. Failing in that endeavor, he says in his chirpiest voice, "My favorite sparkly person! What is going on?"

The young lady doesn't respond right away. Instead, she snaps her fingers and raises her arms. Instantly, and much to the young man's disappointment, the young lady is now dressed in a slightly form fitting casual ensemble of b-ball sneakers, jeans, chain belt, blue flannel shirt and long-john top. She shakes her head for several seconds, then pulls out a scrunchy and puts her long carmel colored hair in a ponytail.

She steps forward and within a couple of minutes, methodically climbs the rather large twenty foot pile of debris until she hits the top and stares down at the young writer. Flashing an evil smile, she sits down and wraps her legs around the young man's head. Normally, the young man would be in heaven with the breathtaking view he was experiencing. However, in this particular instance, the young man simply closes his eyes and mumbles a silent prayer.

When he opens them after finishing his prayer, he finds himself staring into the young lady's belly button. He tries to look up, but an incredible weight keeps his head still. He tries to speak but a strong yet highly fragrant hand covers his mouth, and a voice soon bathes his ears with a few choice words.

"I thought when we'd last spoke," said the young lady as she stretched her arms for a minute. "That we had come to a mutual understanding of what needs you were to fulfill for me. I specifically stated that I wanted to be in something that was more in line with your early stuff, than what you were currently working on."

"But I did," said the young man emphatically.

The young lady clamps her hand over his mouth and says, "No, you didn't. You put me into a fairy tale setting that had the makings of an absolutely over the top unforgettable experience. And when I went to act on those feeling, you made my love interest a hot homosexual painter!"

The young man mumbled for a moment, and the young lady removed her hand. "Did you bother staying for the rest of the story?"

"I didn't need to. I saw what I needed to see," said the young lady defiantly.

"I figured as much," said the young man, who at this point had managed to wiggle a hand free. He sticks a finger in a belt loop and starts to pull on it.

The young lady suddenly finds herself losing her balance and with it, her grip on reality. "What are you doing?!" she yells.

"Trying to put you back into the story."

"Why would you want to do a stupid thing like that?"

"Because there's more...to...this...story...than...meets...your...sensual...eyes," answers the young man emphatically, as with a burst of strength, he pulls the young lady into a somersault.

The young lady goes into an unstoppable somersault and seconds later disappears into a small supernova. The young man takes a deep breath and spends the next several minutes plowing his way through the mountain of debris. When he finally breaks through, he walks around the pile and goes into the bedroom. A minute later, he reappears with pen and paper.

Opening the front door, he says, "Trust me on this. I promised you a story that would rock your world and I intend to keep my word. I'm going to the park, which should give you ample enough time to do whatever tantrum you want to throw."

(c) 2012 by G. B. Miller. All rights reserved and enforced

The Muse Is Thy Master 2

click here for part 1

"Milady? Milady?"

The young lady awakens to the sound of an elderly gentleman's voice bathing her ears with a softness that defies description. She looks around at her surrounding and finds to her surprise that she is no longer sitting on the beach.

"Milady? Milady?"

Instead, she finds herself laying on a soft grassy knoll surrounded by waves of wildflowers. She also finds to her surprise that she's completely nude.

"I'll be damned. That little peon stuck me somewhere in the past," says the young lady to herself.

'I strongly suggest you answer your footman, as he's turning a major shade of red.'

The young lady momentarily narrows her eyes, then in her chirpiest voice says, "Yes?"

The footman quickly faces the other direction and says, "Milady,  you wanted me to remind you when yo had a half hour left to your sunbath."

"Thank you...um..."

"Gerald, milady," answers the footman.

"Thank you, Gerald," says the young lady as she sits up.

"Will there be anything else, milady?"

The young lady looks around for a moment, then asks, "Clothes?"

Gerald points to a rock some twenty feet away and says, "Over there, milady."

"Thank you again, Gerald. That will be all."

"As you wish, milady," says Gerald as he walks slowly back to the carriage.

The young lady waits until Gerald is out of sight, then collapses back on the grassy knoll and happily rolls herself into the bank of wildflowers. When she sits up some several minutes later, her hair is completely festooned with brightly colored wildflowers. She crawls over to the rock and starts going through her clothes. A minute later, she pulls out a small handheld mirror and crawls back to the grassy knoll.

When she looks into it, the mirror jumps out of her hand and impales itself in the ground. The young lady squats to pick it up, but the mirror takes root and rapidly grows into a full length mirror made of dark cypress and edged with honeysuckle.

Taken aback, the young lady peers around the back side and spies a rather large snow white owl. The owl hisses its displeasure at being looked at, and quickly takes flight. It zooms so close to the young lady that she is momentarily knocked from her feet. Before she can touch the ground, a honeysuckle vine shoots out and wraps itself around her toned stomach to keep her upright.

A peaceful feeling comes over the young lady as the honeysuckle vine pulsates vibes through its leaves and coats her skin with an intoxicating scent. A few minutes later, a soft whistle breaks through her psychedelic haze and the young lady suddenly finds herself not on the grassy knoll, but on the veranda of a medium sized English country house.

She starts to walk around but a sharp voice from behind stops her cold.

"Please don't move. The sun is finally in the perfect position for me to paint."

The young lady turns around and finds herself staring into a pair of the darkest hazel eyes she's ever seen. For the next minute, her heart literally melts as those eyes carefully and passionately bore a hole straight into her heart. A snap of the fingers makes her blink and when she refocuses again, the painter's muscular physique comes to the forefront and brings her to her knees.

A yearning to be hungrily ravished slowly comes over the young lady, and every key component of her body becomes so overly sensitive that if the painter exhaled in her direction, the result would be orgasmic.

With her heart racing and her body aching to be touched, the young lady slowly walks towards the painter. When he turns around to pick up his palette, she is right there in front of him. He sighs for a moment and waits for her to make the first move. When she touches his cheek, he holds it there for several seconds, then removes it and sensually kisses her fingers.

He stands up and walks her back to the railing. Caressing her cheek for a moment, he clears his throat and takes a couple of steps backwards.

"If I was that kind of man, I would give you such a day of passion that I daresay would take you forever to recover from. However milady, I am not that kind of man. I do keep my body in superior condition for my lover, and not only does he appreciate it, but so do the other discreet members of the same circle that milady travels in. Which is why my nudes are of the highest quality and of the highest demand on the continent."

To be continued...

(c) 2012 by G.B. Miller. All rights reserved.

The Muse Is Thy Master

The young lady spends several minutes walking along the beach, zig zagging this way and that, before finding what she feels to be the perfect spot to relax and get in touch with her inner self. She plops the chair at the edge of the shoreline and carefully sits down. She quickly unties her braid and after spending a few seconds shaking it loose, stretches out her legs, drops her shades and allows the ocean spray to caress her body and ticker her spirit.

As the spray coats her carmel skin, the sun beats down to gently break down her resistance and before long, she is dropping the back of the chair to full embrace the sun God.

A young man, dressed in bermuda shorts and down nip bottles of tequila, is staggering down the beach. Oblivious to his surroundings, he starts singing a few dirty songs at the top of his lungs, and a few minutes later spies a delectable looking woman about one hundred yards just off to his left.

With a spring in his step, he quickens his pace and in no time at all is standing next to what had t be the hottest looking babe he's ever seen. With the incessant hammer of "booty call" permeating his brain, he sits down next to the babe and taps her on the shoulder.

She turns and to his horror he recognizes her. Almost instantly he starts blubbering, but she quickly puts a finger to a his mouth. Flashing a ambiguous smile, she delivers a vicious open hand slap that sends him tumbling head over heels.

It takes him a few seconds to recover and when he does, he sees the young lady tapping his recently vacated spot. Reluctantly, he crawls back and gingerly takes a seat. He turns to speak but is instantly removed with another vicious slap to the head. Again after coming around, he reluctantly crawls back and sits down.

He turns to speak but thinks better of it and instead holds his tongue.

"I'm not happy with you," says the young lady in a voice dripping with anger.

"What do you mean?"

"Excuse me?" says the young lady as she sits up.

"Let me rephrase that. Why aren't you happy? You're working again, aren't you?"

"Yes, but I expected to be used in the same vein as your other stories. Not like this."

"Like what?"

She grabs hold of his neck and forcibly shoves him down in her lap. Squeezing his face, she repeats, "Not like this."

The young man looks and is horrified by what he sees staring back at him. Gulping hard, he reaches up to touch her face, but she grabs his wrist. Flashing a tight smile, she bends his wrist back while pulling him up at the same time.

She stares at him for a moment, then quietly asks, "What are you going to do about it?"

"About it?"

"Yes. What are you going to do about it?"

The young man pauses for a moment, then spins around until he is standing behind her. He gently removes her hand from his wrist, then kneels down and whispers, "Not a damn thing."

She turns around, locks eyes and says, "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. You needed to get back to work and I needed to write, so this is the best of both worlds. I have a story that is chomping at the bit and oozing out of my pen, and you have a starring role in it. What more could you ask for?"

She reaches up and embraces him. Caught off-guard, he goes to return the favor but suddenly finds himself being flipped over onto his ass. Before he can respond, the young lady tightens her grip and nuzzles his ear for a moment. After giving it a light nibble, which unnerved the young man, she answers his question.

"I could ask for respect. I could ask for to be treated in the manner that I'm accustomed to and deserve. I could ask for a story that better suits my talents." After that last sentence, the young lady stands up, drops the young man in the surf before sitting down and pinning his shoulders with her knees.

With the water crashing the beach at leisurely intervals, the young lady unties her bikini top and arches her back for a moment, before readjusting her position. She sits cross-legged in such a way that the young man's head is now resting semi-comfortably in her lap. For the next couple of minutes not a word is exchanged. The young lady, using the young man's waist as a prop, is busy taking an impromptu sunbath, while the young man, with a view that most others would die for, tries to wait out the impending shit storm that he finds himself in.

The young lady finally sits up, and after shaking some of the water off, puts her bikini top back on. She stretches out her legs for a moment, then stands up and returns to her chair. The young man waits for a minute, before getting up and walking over to the young lady. Squatting in front of her, he moves a few strands of hair out of her face and gives her a light kiss on the cheek.

She quietly nuzzles his face and gives him a light one as well. Smiling, he takes a seat next to her and for the next few minutes stares out at the horizon, letting the warm breeze and cool spray bathe his spirit. Eventually he comes to a decision, so after squeezing her neck for a moment, leans in and says very quietly, "I'll see what I can do."

She doesn't say anything but gives his thigh a gentle squeeze, before clearing her throat and shooing him away. the young man takes his leave and within a few minutes, disappears from the beach, leaving behind a thoroughly contented muse, who drops the back of her chair to work on her tan and gradually falls asleep.

When she wakes up.......

(c) 2012 by G.B. Miller. All rights reserved

Book Trailer For My Upcoming Debut

My friends, this book trailer will knock your socks off, or at the very least, make you sit up and take notice.

This trailer was created, as well as the book cover, by the talented Kelly Abell and her graphics company Select-O-Grafix. Seriously, if you need any kind of marketing product created, be it cover or a book trailer like what you see, by all means please check them out. In addition to being a talented graphics artist, she is also a multi-published author.

Feel free not only to leave a comment here, but at the video as well, since it is searchable on YouTube.

Again, major props to Kelly Abell for her fantastic work on my book cover as well as my book trailer.

A Very Short Excerpt

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The inspiration for my latest writing project "Time To Go" was unfortunately found while I was channel surfing earlier this year on Direct TV. The channel in question was called "Audience" and it was sponsored by the Smithsonian. The movie in question was from Australia, but I don't remember the title. All I remember was a one minute scene in which a criminal confronted a woman who stopped by at his apartment about whether she had talked to the police. He moved over to where she was sitting, brushed her hair out of her face, then covered her nose and mouth with his hand. That one scene managed to stick with me for the past four or five months, until around mid July, when I decided to write a story using that method of dispatching someone to the hereafter. As of the date of this post, I have fifteen pages and a shade over 9K words written

My friends, here are the opening paragraphs to my latest short story "Time To Go".

I took a couple of hard sniffs, and after chewing back the vomit so I wouldn't asphyxiate, I knew it was time to go. You would think that after experiencing twenty-three straight days of pure hell, I would long be used to the smell by now. But I wasn't. In fact, after twenty-three days, my sense of smell was so amped up that I could tell whether or not a mosquito was draining blood from a human or an animal.

It really didn't matter much to me that I was being abused. So long as the two gorillas were satisfied in using my body as a punching bag and a deformed sex toy, I was happy. I was happy that Davy, in his own sick way, really liked me. Or obsessed over me. I don't remember which anymore. After twenty-three days, I was just happy that I didn't join my friend Angela on the most frightening trip of her short life.

Air That Is Fresh

I love fresh air.

To me, there is nothing more invigorating or intoxicating than taking that first hit of fresh air the second that I step outside.

However, the level of freshness that one experiences, depends on one key factor.

Location.

Being in the proper location allows you to fully maximize the health and spiritual beliefs of inhaling fresh air.

I'm pretty sure that at this early point in the post, you're asking yourself, "What in the world are you talking about? Fresh air is fresh air and location don't mean diddly."

Au contraire mon ami. Location is everything. I'll give you examples, from worst to best, of what I consider to be the four main locations in which we get our junkie fix of fresh air.

1} Bad section of the city: Over the past two decades, I have worked in three different section of the capitol. The sector I'm going to focus on is what I consider to be the worst place to experience fresh air, only because from time to time, a special bonus is involved to make it extra putrid.

The extreme southern en of the city contains the state's trash-to-energy/compact plants and thus when you step outside in the morning (or afternoon or evening) the fetid scent of rancid chocolate tortures your olfactory and leaves you chewing it back throughout the day. Throw in a wind shift from the local landfill and the city more than lives up to its reputation as "a shitty cesspool".

2} Good section of the city: The section I'm now going to talk about is the one that contains my office building. When I step outside for my morning or afternoon break, I experience what the locals call "a wind tunnel". Because of the lay of the landscape, the wind picks up speed when it blows across the parking lot. Brutal in the winter and pleasant in the summer, the breeze does cleanse the area of all the surrounding yucky shit and allows you the small pleasure of sampling the neighborhood restaurants aromatically.

3} The country: Since I don't live in the country, it becomes number two on my short list of essential locals to get your junkie fix of fresh air. Sadly, because I don't live in the country, I don't think I can give a description that would do the experience of getting that fix justice.

But if I would hazard a guess, I would have to say that the experience of living and breathing the clean crisp air is simply incomparable to anything else.

4} Suburbia: Is my number one choice for getting that junkie fix of fresh air. The cool breeze wafting down from the mountain, flavored with a multitude of floral and fauna scents and seasoned with an intoxicating symphony of birds calling out in joyful exhilaration, just does something for me and to me.

And lest you think I live in a typical suburban neighborhood with tons of traffic and the other assorted irritants associated with a typical suburban neighborhood, I don't.

I live in a neighborhood that could be described as an open ended cul-de-sac, in that while the neighborhood is considered upper end middle class, the surrounding area is decidedly dead ended. The main road that runs by the mountain dead ends, thus making it perfect for pedestrians and bicycle traffic. And noise whatsoever from the surrounding streets.

So really, you can call my neighborhood, a slice of country smack dab in the middle of suburbia.

So there you have it, my personal short list of the top three locales that one can get their junkie fix of fresh air, and one locale that you can get a "hot" fix of fresh air.

How 'bout you? Do you haven any places that one can get their junkie fix of fresh air?

An Open Letter To An Ingrate

Beyond a shadow of a doubt, you are the most bonafide narcissistic useless piece of human flesh that it has been my misfortune to meet.

Not only do you think that the world revolves around you, but you have gone above and beyond the normal definition of slacker. Never have I seen someone so incredibly and utterly demanding yet such a walking definition of a loser as you.

Not only do you give microscopically less than the minimal effort, but you become utterly stupid should someone not accept your "maximum" effort to whatever task or job that you happened to be assigned to.

You are thoroughly contemptible individual who brings all kinds of misery and stress on the people you happen to come into contact with, and yet, hold yourself completely blameless for the shit storm that you leave in your wake.

Think I'm joking?

The type of people that I've had to talk to in the month of April completely blows me away, as never in my entire life have I had to deal with those people on any kind of level.

But only you, with your special ability to do stupid things should someone have the audacity and temerity to question your word or not acquiesce to your demands, would force our little family business unit to deal with the hard-working people who work in the front lines of the legal community.

Twice.

In three years.

And not only did our little family business unit have to deal with those hard-working people on the front lines, but our little family unit had to deal with the continuing fallout from Big Brother as well. How the hell am I supposed to weather this special little shit storm that you'd created just for me?

I just can't simply do what I'm supposed to do for the foreseeable future now, because of the shit storm you decided to unleash in my direction. Now I have to go through other people in order to do what I'm supposed to do. How fuckin' fair is that? Do you think I enjoy having other people do certain things for me, simply because I'm not allowed to?

That is complete and utter bullshit.

Bottom line is that even though you'd like to think that this little shit storm will go the way of the others, you would be sadly mistaken to think that way. Enough things are in place so that if you don't show a little initiative, a little gumption, a shade more than the minimal effort that you normally give, the end result will be something that you may not have thought would actually happen.

Maybe, some day, I'll come to terms with what you've done to me and the family business this year, and maybe some day I'll even start dealing with you on a normal basis.

But until then, just go about your business of digging a deeper hole for yourself, having your business associates use you as a tool and leave me the fuck alone.

When "He's So Gay" Meant "He's So Happy" (2)

please click here for part 1

Language in the English speaking world has been for the most part hijacked by narrow minded people who have cavalierly decided that certain words should not be used because they might offend people.

I will concede that certain definitions of a particular word are indeed hurtful, but expunging an entire word because of that one definition, is incredibly close minded at best and 1984ish at worst.

I am a child of the seventies and thus do not believe in the nonsense that is called "political correctness". I subscribe to the belief that a word is just that, nothing more and nothing less.

I grew up believing that there was no ulterior motive when a particular word was spoken. I knew what the normal aspect of a word was and I knew what the abnormal aspect of a word was, and I adjusted myself accordingly.

For example, let's take the word "gay". The definition of the word that I grew up with is the actual title of this post: gay meant happy. Gay did not mean "homosexual". In fact, the way I described someone who was homosexual, was calling them "homosexual". The now accepted definition of the word, which in my personal dictionary is #3, did not come into common usage until the mid 80's, when I was in my early 20's.

The accepted definition is such a common place occurrence and practice that when people try to use it the way it was originally intended, they get jumped on.

For the record, the Gay Nineties does not mean that people were homosexual in the 19th century, it means that people were happy and carefree.

Example #2: "retard". We all know that the abnormal aspect of the word is highly offensive and as such, most people don't use it like that. Because of that highly tuned sensitivity to that particular aspect of the word, trying to use it the way it was originally intended is often compared to hopping in a rocky minefield with one arm tied behind your back.

My early exposure to the word "retard" was confined to two distinctly unique worlds: music and medical.

In the musical world, the word "retard" meant "slow". So if you were playing a piece at a tempo of allegro (brisk, lively) and the word "retard" popped up, that meant you should slow down the tempo of the piece.

In the medical world, I was also exposed at an early age to the longer version of the word, which was coupled with the word "mental", and this was due to two main factors: my mother, who was a nurse during my childhood, and the group home, both private and state that were located just down the road from here I currently reside. The phrase "mental retardation" or "retarded" wasn't used in my family to describe someone who had Down's Syndrome. The phrase "Down's Syndrome" was used instead.

One other little fact: in the Psychiatric world, the word "retard" is often used as a medical diagnosis to describe someone of low intelligence (non-Down's Syndrome). This is something that I'd learned while entering old prisoner's records in a large database maintained by the CT State Library.

There are numerous other examples of other words that the language police are trying to expunge, simply because one particular definition, be it slang or otherwise, is either offensive to a normal person's sensibilities or shameful to a particular group's sensibilities. However, with this post, I wanted to concentrate on the two words that seem to bring out the most hysterical/overkill responses in all facets of society.

So, armed with your personal knowledge and memory, are there any words that you can think of that people have been trying to expunge from normal usage, simply because one particular definition of the word happens to be grossly offensive to normal people?

Prologue From "Line 21"

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Prologue

Sunday

            “I need an extension.”

            “I’ve already given you two.”

            “Please, I’m asking you as a close family member. You know what I’ve been going through for the past couple of months.”

            He thought about it for a few seconds, gave an audible sigh, and said, “Okay. Because you’ve been the only one in the family who still speaks to me on a regular basis in spite of what I do for a living, I will give you until Friday evening to get me the money. That’s five days from now. Otherwise, I take what they want. Understand?”

            “Perfectly. Thanks a lot, Uncle Rudy. This really means a lot to me. I won’t let you down.”

            “You better not, because I would really hate to do to you what I do to everyone else.”

            Gulping hard, she said, “I promise.”

            “That’s my niece. I’ll talk to you on Friday at my usual place. Take care.”

            “You too.”

            Jeannie hung up the phone and thought about what a mess her life had become. Her company had downsized her about a year and a half ago, and between the unemployment and the severance pay, she was just barely making ends meet. With no permanent job prospects on the horizon, her lazy boyfriend decided to break with her when she told him he had to start paying his own way. Money had gotten to be so scarce that she was forced to take out a loan on her motorcycle. Since her credit wasn’t very good, she had to use an acquaintance of her uncle’s to secure the monies.

            He really didn’t want to do it, because he had a lot of respect for her and Rudy, but by using her natural assets, she was able to wear down his resistance to the point of not only getting the loan, but getting it on her terms. Initially, she made her payments on time, which was due to being able to supplement her dwindling monies with the occasional temp job, but that fell by the wayside and soon thereafter, became tardy with her payments.

            The tardiness finally got to be so bad that her Uncle Rudy had to step in and deliver an ultimatum: money by Friday or face the consequences. She shuddered at the prospect of what would happen if he was forced to do to her what he normally did everyone else who was late with their payments. Still, she was appreciative of the fact that he thought enough of her to give her a five day window to get current with her payments. What bothered her now was how she was going to raise two thousands dollars by Friday evening.

            Sighing, she pulled out the afternoon paper and stretched out on the park bench. As she was perusing the want ads, taking notes and circling potential job opportunities, somebody sat down next to her and began whistling a lively tune. Intrigued, she looked up to see who was whistling and was surprised to find a rather doughy looking young man tipping his baseball cap to her.

            “Hi there.”

            “Hi yourself.”

            “Great day to be out at the park, isn’t it?”

            “Not if you got problems like I do.”

            “Oh? Sorry to hear that. Anything I can do to help?”

            “Not unless you know where I can come up with two thousand dollars by Friday.”

            “Ouch, two k is a serious chunk of change. However, I may be able to help.”

            “Really?”

            “Really. By the way, my name is Ken.”

            “Jeannie. So what kind of help could you possibly give me?”

            “Well, for starters, here’s my card.” Ken pulled out a small blue and yellow business card and handed it to Jeannie.

            Jeannie took it and read the contents. “Ken Epee, Line 21 Productions. So Ken Epee of Line 21 Productions, what is it that you do?”

            “I help good looking men and women use the vast potential of their beings to earn the maximum amount of money that they’re entitled to.”

            “Come again?”

            “Exactly.”

            Jeannie thought about Ken’s last comment for a moment, then went wide eyed. “Not on your life. I’m not that desperate. I have morals you know,” and went to hand the card back to Ken.

            Ken held up his hand and said, “I know you do. But sometimes we can reach a point in our lives where we ask ourselves, ‘Am I doing the very best for myself and my family? What can I do to stave off the bill collectors, foreclosure, bankruptcy, welfare?’ If you got the attributes, why not use them to your advantage?”

            Jeanie scrunched up her face and said, “I don’t know, this just doesn’t sound right. It sounds….”

            “Dirty? Of course it is. But if you approach it like a business, then you can rise about the dirtiness and make a good living at it. Look, there are plenty of good looking women like yourself who are doing it in other parts of the adult entertainment industry. Pole dancing, stripping and lap dancing are just a few segments of the industry that people are making a good living at. The movie industry is just another segment that can specialize in whatever turns people on. You’d be amazed at what people get their rocks off on. So why not take full advantage of it? Besides, you said it yourself, you need to come up two k by Friday, and I’m assuming that if you don’t, something bad will happen, right?”

            Jeannie shuddered again, and said, “Something very bad.”

            “Well alright then. Look,” Ken took the card and scribbled an address on the back of it. “Be at this addy tomorrow by nine sharp, and I promise that we’ll find something for you that will maximize what you got, and from the looks of it, you got a lot to maximize. Besides, what do you got to lose?”

            “My self respect.”

            “No, you’ll always have that. Remember what I said, if you treat it like a business, then you can rise above the dirtiness. Don’t let it own you, you own it, and by owning it, you’ll always have that self respect. Nobody can take that from you. Nobody.”

            Jeannie watched as Ken pulled out his cell phone to take a call. Giving her a quick four finger wave, he got up and walked towards the park entrance and in a matter of minutes, disappeared from sight. Sighing, she took the card and read the addy on the back, before sticking it in her jeans and turning her attention back to the help wanted ads.

            Jeannie spent the next couple of hours reading, but not comprehending, the help wanted ads. Every time she tried to take notes or make phone calls, her mind kept going back to the business card that Ken had left behind. Every time she got distracted by that card, she would take it out and study it for a couple of minutes, before returning it to her pocket. The distraction soon got to be so bad that she finally packed up her newspaper and went home.

            Even at home the card was still a distraction, because every time she got to thinking about her current situation, her mind kept wandering back to that card. Finally, six hours after Ken had left his card, Jeannie decided to have a long talk with her symbiont.

            The first thing she did was to make sure that the front door was locked. On her way to the bedroom, she grabbed a chair from the kitchen and placed it in front of the full length wall mirror. She then went to the window and closed the curtains and was about to take a seat in the chair, when her symbiont popped in and started giving her what for over the prospect of doing adult movies.

            ‘So, you think you got what it takes to do adult movies?’ asked her symbiont.

            “Yes. I believe I do have what it takes to do adult movies. After all, I got the looks and—“

            ‘Doesn’t mean a thing sweetie, because you can’t even wear something like a tight T-shirt, because heaven forbid someone might compliment you on your natural assets.’

            “Excuse me? I have you know that I’ve worn tight T-shirts before.”

            ‘In your apartment doesn’t count. It’s out there that counts and if you’re gonna do adult movies, you’ll really have to flaunt everything.’

            “So how hard can that be? I can flaunt them just as well as anybody else.”

            ‘How hard can that be? I can’t believe you just said that. You can’t even get nude in the daytime unless you’re getting ready to take a shower, and as for sex, pfft.’

            “That’s a lie and you know it.”

            ‘Okay. Prove me wrong by taking off your shirt and bra.’

            “What?”

            ‘You heard me. Take off your shirt and bra. Better yet, strip so we can get a good look at that fantastic bod of yours.’

            Jeannie hesitated for a moment, but that hesitation was all that her symbiont needed to prove her point. ‘Loser. I am so out of here.’

            “Oh yeah? I don’t recall asking your permission to do what I see fit with this body of mine. If doing adult movies gets me the money that I need in order to not wind up like one my uncle’s deadbeats, then so be it. Furthermore, I’m gonna prove just how wrong you are about me being ashamed of flaunting it.”

            Jeannie grabbed the chair and flung it out of the bedroom. Giving the mirror a couple of hard taps to get her symbiont’s attention, she then took a couple of steps back and sat on the bed. She then untied her sneakers and threw each one at the mirror. Lying down, she sucked in her stomach and unbuttoned her cutoffs and started to take them off, but then changed her mind and simply kept them on.

            Sitting back up, she untied her blouse and after taking it off, threw that at the mirror. By the time she was ready to take her midriff off, her symbiont decided to reappear.

            “About time you showed back up. So I’m afraid to flaunt it, eh? Well, take a look at these ebony pearls.”

            Sticking a couple of fingers underneath, she quickly pulled off her midriff and showed to her symbiont what had to be the shapeliest ebony pearls that anyone had ever seen. She tapped them a couple of times so as to air them out, then after blowing the mirror a kiss, walked out of the bedroom to spend the rest of the evening getting used to parading around topless without freaking out.

            She first went into the kitchen to grab some leftover Chinese from the fridge, and when she opened the door, the blast of refrigerated air gave her body a major shock, as goosebumps instantly appeared on her arms and chest. Shivering, she grabbed the leftovers and a bottle of beer and strolled over to the living room. Turning on the big oscillating fan, she then sat down on the couch, grabbed the remote and spent the rest of the evening pigging out on leftovers, chilling out to the sensual stylings of 70’s Chicago Soul and finally falling asleep on the couch.

            Around midnight, her symbiont poked her head into Jeannie’s mind to see how she was handling being topless. After observing her latest dream for a few seconds and turning a deep shade of red, she quietly stepped all the way in and took control of Jeannie so that she could get her to bed.

            After a couple of false starts, in which Jeannie kept falling back onto the couch because she couldn’t quite coordinate the legs properly, she finally was able to establish a good rhythm and within a minute had her in the bedroom. It took another minute to get her tucked in and when she felt that Jeannie was back in regular sinus rhythm, quietly stepped out, gave her a kiss on the cheek and disappeared back into her world.

(c) 2012 by GBMJr. All rights reserved

Customer Service That Seriously Bites My Junk

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New Year's weekend 2011. Saturday December 31st to be precise.

Being in a shitty mood due to the fact that my friend (to whom I'm forever grateful for) told me about a little something that happened earlier in the week, the absolute last thing I wanted to deal with was someone telling me no.

So while I was out making a food stop at the local supermarket to pick up something for dinner, the wife calls and asks if I could pick up a prescription for the son at CVS on my way home. Naturally I asked how much was it going to be, simply because his meds have high co-pays (brand name + no generic = high co-pay), so naturally she told me that it would cost me an Andrew Jackson.

None too thrilled about this, I nevertheless agreed to pick up his prescription.

I walked up to the pharmacy and said I was here to pick up a prescription for my son. They asked for what, I said I had no idea for which one, all I was told that it was on hold and ready for pick up.

A couple of minutes came and went and they said that they couldn't find the 'script. So I called up the wife to tell her that and she said they had it on hold since Thursday (two days ago). So I relayed this to the pharmacy tech.

Another couple of minutes went by and I get called over to the drop off window. The head pharmacy tech proceeds to tell me that because the doctor wrote the 'script with refills, by federal law they weren't allowed to fill it and that I needed to get another 'script.

I went ballistic.

I slammed my hands on the counter (wrong move) and basically said something like this: "What do you mean I have to get another prescription?! How the hell am I supposed to get another prescription on a Saturday? What the hell am I supposed to do when my son runs out of his meds?! You guys knew about this error since Thursday and yet you didn't have the fuckin' intelligence to call us about it?!"

Her response to my wrong move was to step away from the counter and ask me if she should call the police because she was feeling threatened. Imagine, her asking me for permission to call the police.

I continued going ballistic, mostly because this was the second time in one calendar month that CVS pulled this bullshit. Last time was Thanksgiving weekend and I was forced to purchase six pills totaling $40 so that my son would have a particular med through the weekend until we were able to talk to his doctor on Monday.

Her response to my continuation of going ballistic was to ban me from ever having a prescription filled there.

My parting shot before storming out of there was, and I quote: "Go fuck yourself."

I spent the next couple of hours at home waiting for the police to show up. Fortunately for me, they didn't. However, during those next two hours, the wife (who is the voice of reason whenever I go this ballistic) was on the phone to Caremark (the company that handles the prescription plan for the State of Connecticut, which is actually a subsidiary of CVS) and to the doctor on call trying to get things straightened out.

I will admit that my response was seriously over the top and wickedly inappropriate, but the reality of the situation is that CVS sat on an incorrect prescription for two days and didn't think it was necessary to call us to let us know that there was a problem with it, thus creating a potential serious medical issue that was completely avoidable.

Overall it was a pretty tense weekend, but the son and us came through remarkably unscathed, which made us proud.

There was a decent ending to this predicament. They eventually filled the prescription, I was able to get Caremark to send me a claim form, we filed a complaint against this particular CVS with Caremark and we're moving all of his prescriptions to a 24 hour CVS located in the next town.

My friends, this is a good example of extremely poor customer service. Having a customer go nuclear because you didn't make a simple phone call to let him know that there was problem with a prescription of a highly regulated narcotic and instead waited until the holiday weekend to tell him shows everyone that you have serious issues in performing the duties of your job.

However, I will give major props to Caremark for effectively handling this particular situation and taking the time to work with us in a good faith attempt at solving the issue at hand.