Canna Sylvan
Well-Known Member
Dr Kynes,
Do you write for ASSTR?
Do you write for ASSTR?
Confirmed: Fox News makes people dumb
- Thread starter deprave
- Start date
JustAnotherHead
New Member
People that believe this believe the government is there to serve their best interests. LOL
Dr Kynes
Well-Known Member
easy now, all in good time, wait till i get to the homoerotica! thats what it's all about! i figure it will be somewhere between Bare Back Biker Boyz 3 and Field of Dreams.
Red1966
Well-Known Member
OK, post the pics.
Red1966
Well-Known Member
"repeating something thats not true doesnt make it any truer". True, but you can get people to believe it if you repeat it enough.
Oh shit ! LOL...
That would be too much like work !
Dr Kynes
Well-Known Member
all right, i wont take the homoerotic undertones as far as Field of Dreams, i'll stop short of Waterworld's homosexual content. you dont have to panic, i wasnt gonna go full Dances with Wolves here, sometimes kids visit this forum!
Dr Kynes
Well-Known Member
no, I'm an Artiste! I prefer to work in the gentler mediums of limerick and humorous men's room doodles, but i also appreciate the immediacy and audience participation found in Yo' Mama snaps.
I'm not panicking as I am not a homophobe like UB, but I was laughing my ass off at the last chapter.
Canna Sylvan
Well-Known Member
ASSTR has some classy stuff on it. Look up mind control stories.
Dr Kynes
Well-Known Member
Greenhouse of Passion
Chapter Two
"Vegas sucks." Gyroscope was gonna have another long night, and an even longer day tomorrow. "What the hell kind of sane person chooses to live in this sweatbox?" The half
naked girl reclining on the silk draped bed behind him giggled, and stretched. "I dont know boss, but next week, that's somebody else's problem!" "Yeah," he muttered
quietly, "some other poor damned soul with just enough talent, and not enough brains to keep himself out of this line of work." He really hated Vegas. The girl began
dressing herself with quick efficient movements, displaying her lean smooth form in the refection of the window. Gyro watched this display for the hundredth time, and
still enjoyed the show. "I think Vegas is kinda fun, i dont know why you hate it so much." the girl moved to the window, and watched beside him and smiled. "What do you got
against Vegas Gyro?" she asked quietly, not really sure she wanted to hear his answer. "In the summer, the sun hammers down like the angry fists of a thousand ex-wives,
relentless and without mercy. In the winter Vegas is nearly tolerable, between the torrential rains, sometimes you have a nice sunny day when its not to damned hot for
humans to survive without mechanical air conditioning." Gyroscope shook another cigarette from the battered silver case he always carried, and watched the clear winter
night shroud the Mojave basin in darkness."Too bad the winter only lasts two weeks in this hellhole." Gyroscope peered out the window of his luxury suite high atop the
Luxor, into the clear chill desert night, taking in the millions of twinkling stars thrown to earth in this man made galaxy of sin in the desert. "Well Veronica," he said
with a grin as he stubbed out the curious pale green cigarette, "It's time to fuck shit up!" Gyro and his "Confidential Secretary" picked up the briefcases which completed
their covers as a wealthy executive and his mistress/secretary, and moved towards the door. "You know, I think I just might miss this room babe, too bad its in this fucked
up town." The pair moved through the hall, and into the elevators crowded with revelers headed to one of the trendy nightclubs popping up like pigeon turds on the top
floors of any building swankier than a doghouse in this town without a soul. None of the partygoers noticed that the businessman they casually dismissed as just another
suit, was carefully evaluating each of them in turn, watching how they moved, and where they kept their hands, and eyes as they went about their revelries. Likewise none of
them seemed to sense anything other than smouldering sexuality from the pretty and petite young woman he kept company with. More than a few men's eyes took in her shape,
and enjoyed a wandering fantasy or two, but that was her job, she was the cheese, Gyro was the steel spring quivering with tension waiting for the first foolish mouse to
trigger his strike. Thats why they worked so well together. As they moved across the casino floor, even the watchful and ever present security personnel didnt notice
anything unusual in the pair, besides her obvious beauty, and his curiously anonymous appearance. The house dick, and his highly trained observers in the security room
didnt notice the smooth graceful movements of the pair, almost like a dance as they passed through the teeming crowds, never disturbing the flow of vacationing families,
reckless gamblers and hopeless drunks that gave this town it's unique flavour. As they approached the hotel desk, to drop off the room's security cards for their departure,
a smiling bellhop darted up to offer his services. "May i carry your bags to your car, sir, maam?" he was slightly startled by their simultaneous "No thank you" issued with
an air of absolute authority, that drove any thought of big tips stright out of his head. "Certainly, umm, good evening sir, ma'am." he scurried away not even considering
their oddly emphatic refusal. Gyro watched the bellhop leave with the corner of his eye while his "secretary" completed the checkout, and paid for their nearly three week
stay with a corporate card. The desk clerk wasnt at all curious about this series of events, he had seen it all in this job, suits and their floozies usually did weird shit
here, in the town that never remembers. As they left he casino and stepped into the brisk night air, a cab was waiting for them, but at the cabbie's offer to load their
luggage (such as it was) into the trunk, they again simultaneously declined. It just wouldnt do for some dumbass cabbie to try and lift these briefcases, and dislocate his
shoulder, pop a hernia or worse, drop one. Though the curious pair carried the bags with ease, it was only due to long practice, careful training and a deeply conditioned
reflex to remain unnoticed by the everyday people who shared their world, never suspecting the dark secrets a few reluctantly carried.
"Why dont we just kick in the door, toss a few 'nades, and go all Schwarzenegger on their asses boss?" Gyro tried not to smile, Veronica was new to the game, and brash, but
thats why he liked her. In her short three years on the beat she had lost two senior training agents, and been the sole survivor of four strike teams, not bad for a rookie,
but she needed to cool her jets before she wound up on a slab, or worse. "We do this by the numbers V," gyro grunted, suppressing his involuntary grin. "We move in like just
another pair of well heeled marks, lookin for a good time, then we stick em, kick em, and run like hell!" "Thats the way we do it, and thats why I'm still alive, with all
my factory original equipment." "But its just so BORING doin it that way. Couldn't we like, say a few snappy lines when we blast em?" Fuck it, thought Gyro, i used to be
that young, and maybe just a little dumber. "What did you have in mind kid?" Veronica's eyes lit up like a schoolgirl's and she squeaked excitedly, "how about something
funny like "feel the burn" or "No Pain No Gain", wouldnt that be fun?" Gyro suppressed another chuckle and shook his head. "You just dont get it kid, this isn't supposed to
be fun, its not a movie, and we dont want to attract any attention." Veronica still wasnt having it, and said, "It's not like it'll hurt their feelings, shit they prolly
wounldnt even notice us if we shoved the charges up their asses!" Gyro silenced the pretty young rookie with a glare. "It's not their feelings i'm worried about. Most of
the poor bastards will be too far gone to notice us unless we really fuck up, but there may be a few of them that arent innocent victims who just deserve a chance to
finally rest." Gyro touched his cigarette case almost instinctively, and continued. "I've seen it before kid, somebody gets cocky and starts acting a fool, and maybe one or
two of the poor bastards isnt so poor, maybe they are just pure bastard! These things are fast, strong and vicious!" Gyro checked the driver to make sure he wasnt hearing
anything funny, and satisfied he turned back to his protoge. "Look V, i know you seen some action in Cleveland and St Louis, but this is Vegas, the big time. You fuck up
here and there wont even be enough of us left to identify." Veronica had lost the impish grin and listened to her mentor quietly, but inside she was still eager for action,
and hungry for the excitement only a life and death struggle could bring. Gyro wasnt done yet, this was a lesson she needed to learn, either by listening, or maybe getting
a few scars on her petty ass. Either way Gyro didnt intend on letting her lesson get nearly as emphatic as his own had been. Not a chance. "I know what the new kids are
sayin, despite everything the old timers try and tell em." Gyro lowered his voice and checked on the driver again, satisfied the guy was oblivious, he continued. "These
things arent just addicts, or crazies, they arent poor dumb fucks who got in over their heads, this whole thing isnt just an accident or a trick of fate, THIS SHIT IS
SERIOUS!" "I know you young pups think its always gonna be easy, like it is in the smaller cities, and towns, just step in, make a clever remark and blow the whole joint to
kingdom come, and just lay the sad pieces of shit to rest." Gyro eyed the driver once more, cautiously, and leaned in close to his student. "I seen one of em, THEY ARE
REAL, shit i even killed one of the bastards. Twice! The fucker still had enough energy to kill my partner. It ripped his head clean off his body right beside me. We
thought the piece of shit was dead, half it's head was missing, and it just grabbed Carlisle's skull and twisted it right off, like a fuckin ketchup lid. After that, i
NEVER got bored again. or careless, or cocky. Carlisle was a good man, dedicated, experienced and tough. The bastard made it all the way from Iwo Jima to Chosin without
ever taking a step back, or for that matter, brushin' his teeth, but this thing just walked up and killed him like he was a baby bunny. These big city joints are packed
with victims, poor dumb fucks who didnt see what was happening till they were too far gone to escape, but that makes this the perfect lair for the real danger, The Walkers.
If you ever have the misfortune to see one, i hope you survive the encounter. Personally, i think i already used up my luck, so i got a feelin that the next time a Walker
looks at me with those dead cold eyes, ill probably be joinin my ancestors." Gyro checked his map and whispered, "Class dismissed babe, time to break some shit and try not
to get killed."
Chapter Two
"Vegas sucks." Gyroscope was gonna have another long night, and an even longer day tomorrow. "What the hell kind of sane person chooses to live in this sweatbox?" The half
naked girl reclining on the silk draped bed behind him giggled, and stretched. "I dont know boss, but next week, that's somebody else's problem!" "Yeah," he muttered
quietly, "some other poor damned soul with just enough talent, and not enough brains to keep himself out of this line of work." He really hated Vegas. The girl began
dressing herself with quick efficient movements, displaying her lean smooth form in the refection of the window. Gyro watched this display for the hundredth time, and
still enjoyed the show. "I think Vegas is kinda fun, i dont know why you hate it so much." the girl moved to the window, and watched beside him and smiled. "What do you got
against Vegas Gyro?" she asked quietly, not really sure she wanted to hear his answer. "In the summer, the sun hammers down like the angry fists of a thousand ex-wives,
relentless and without mercy. In the winter Vegas is nearly tolerable, between the torrential rains, sometimes you have a nice sunny day when its not to damned hot for
humans to survive without mechanical air conditioning." Gyroscope shook another cigarette from the battered silver case he always carried, and watched the clear winter
night shroud the Mojave basin in darkness."Too bad the winter only lasts two weeks in this hellhole." Gyroscope peered out the window of his luxury suite high atop the
Luxor, into the clear chill desert night, taking in the millions of twinkling stars thrown to earth in this man made galaxy of sin in the desert. "Well Veronica," he said
with a grin as he stubbed out the curious pale green cigarette, "It's time to fuck shit up!" Gyro and his "Confidential Secretary" picked up the briefcases which completed
their covers as a wealthy executive and his mistress/secretary, and moved towards the door. "You know, I think I just might miss this room babe, too bad its in this fucked
up town." The pair moved through the hall, and into the elevators crowded with revelers headed to one of the trendy nightclubs popping up like pigeon turds on the top
floors of any building swankier than a doghouse in this town without a soul. None of the partygoers noticed that the businessman they casually dismissed as just another
suit, was carefully evaluating each of them in turn, watching how they moved, and where they kept their hands, and eyes as they went about their revelries. Likewise none of
them seemed to sense anything other than smouldering sexuality from the pretty and petite young woman he kept company with. More than a few men's eyes took in her shape,
and enjoyed a wandering fantasy or two, but that was her job, she was the cheese, Gyro was the steel spring quivering with tension waiting for the first foolish mouse to
trigger his strike. Thats why they worked so well together. As they moved across the casino floor, even the watchful and ever present security personnel didnt notice
anything unusual in the pair, besides her obvious beauty, and his curiously anonymous appearance. The house dick, and his highly trained observers in the security room
didnt notice the smooth graceful movements of the pair, almost like a dance as they passed through the teeming crowds, never disturbing the flow of vacationing families,
reckless gamblers and hopeless drunks that gave this town it's unique flavour. As they approached the hotel desk, to drop off the room's security cards for their departure,
a smiling bellhop darted up to offer his services. "May i carry your bags to your car, sir, maam?" he was slightly startled by their simultaneous "No thank you" issued with
an air of absolute authority, that drove any thought of big tips stright out of his head. "Certainly, umm, good evening sir, ma'am." he scurried away not even considering
their oddly emphatic refusal. Gyro watched the bellhop leave with the corner of his eye while his "secretary" completed the checkout, and paid for their nearly three week
stay with a corporate card. The desk clerk wasnt at all curious about this series of events, he had seen it all in this job, suits and their floozies usually did weird shit
here, in the town that never remembers. As they left he casino and stepped into the brisk night air, a cab was waiting for them, but at the cabbie's offer to load their
luggage (such as it was) into the trunk, they again simultaneously declined. It just wouldnt do for some dumbass cabbie to try and lift these briefcases, and dislocate his
shoulder, pop a hernia or worse, drop one. Though the curious pair carried the bags with ease, it was only due to long practice, careful training and a deeply conditioned
reflex to remain unnoticed by the everyday people who shared their world, never suspecting the dark secrets a few reluctantly carried.
"Why dont we just kick in the door, toss a few 'nades, and go all Schwarzenegger on their asses boss?" Gyro tried not to smile, Veronica was new to the game, and brash, but
thats why he liked her. In her short three years on the beat she had lost two senior training agents, and been the sole survivor of four strike teams, not bad for a rookie,
but she needed to cool her jets before she wound up on a slab, or worse. "We do this by the numbers V," gyro grunted, suppressing his involuntary grin. "We move in like just
another pair of well heeled marks, lookin for a good time, then we stick em, kick em, and run like hell!" "Thats the way we do it, and thats why I'm still alive, with all
my factory original equipment." "But its just so BORING doin it that way. Couldn't we like, say a few snappy lines when we blast em?" Fuck it, thought Gyro, i used to be
that young, and maybe just a little dumber. "What did you have in mind kid?" Veronica's eyes lit up like a schoolgirl's and she squeaked excitedly, "how about something
funny like "feel the burn" or "No Pain No Gain", wouldnt that be fun?" Gyro suppressed another chuckle and shook his head. "You just dont get it kid, this isn't supposed to
be fun, its not a movie, and we dont want to attract any attention." Veronica still wasnt having it, and said, "It's not like it'll hurt their feelings, shit they prolly
wounldnt even notice us if we shoved the charges up their asses!" Gyro silenced the pretty young rookie with a glare. "It's not their feelings i'm worried about. Most of
the poor bastards will be too far gone to notice us unless we really fuck up, but there may be a few of them that arent innocent victims who just deserve a chance to
finally rest." Gyro touched his cigarette case almost instinctively, and continued. "I've seen it before kid, somebody gets cocky and starts acting a fool, and maybe one or
two of the poor bastards isnt so poor, maybe they are just pure bastard! These things are fast, strong and vicious!" Gyro checked the driver to make sure he wasnt hearing
anything funny, and satisfied he turned back to his protoge. "Look V, i know you seen some action in Cleveland and St Louis, but this is Vegas, the big time. You fuck up
here and there wont even be enough of us left to identify." Veronica had lost the impish grin and listened to her mentor quietly, but inside she was still eager for action,
and hungry for the excitement only a life and death struggle could bring. Gyro wasnt done yet, this was a lesson she needed to learn, either by listening, or maybe getting
a few scars on her petty ass. Either way Gyro didnt intend on letting her lesson get nearly as emphatic as his own had been. Not a chance. "I know what the new kids are
sayin, despite everything the old timers try and tell em." Gyro lowered his voice and checked on the driver again, satisfied the guy was oblivious, he continued. "These
things arent just addicts, or crazies, they arent poor dumb fucks who got in over their heads, this whole thing isnt just an accident or a trick of fate, THIS SHIT IS
SERIOUS!" "I know you young pups think its always gonna be easy, like it is in the smaller cities, and towns, just step in, make a clever remark and blow the whole joint to
kingdom come, and just lay the sad pieces of shit to rest." Gyro eyed the driver once more, cautiously, and leaned in close to his student. "I seen one of em, THEY ARE
REAL, shit i even killed one of the bastards. Twice! The fucker still had enough energy to kill my partner. It ripped his head clean off his body right beside me. We
thought the piece of shit was dead, half it's head was missing, and it just grabbed Carlisle's skull and twisted it right off, like a fuckin ketchup lid. After that, i
NEVER got bored again. or careless, or cocky. Carlisle was a good man, dedicated, experienced and tough. The bastard made it all the way from Iwo Jima to Chosin without
ever taking a step back, or for that matter, brushin' his teeth, but this thing just walked up and killed him like he was a baby bunny. These big city joints are packed
with victims, poor dumb fucks who didnt see what was happening till they were too far gone to escape, but that makes this the perfect lair for the real danger, The Walkers.
If you ever have the misfortune to see one, i hope you survive the encounter. Personally, i think i already used up my luck, so i got a feelin that the next time a Walker
looks at me with those dead cold eyes, ill probably be joinin my ancestors." Gyro checked his map and whispered, "Class dismissed babe, time to break some shit and try not
to get killed."
Dr Kynes
Well-Known Member
Greenhouse of Passion
Chapter Three
Buck had another mission. Usually the Legates didnt assign missions so close together, as even the best operatives needed some rest, but Buck was the best, and he knew it. He studied the briefing carefully, and noted a few weak points in the proposed plan. As an experienced operative, and senior member of the Ordus Nordic Trac's elite militant order, Gradus Dominus, he was allowed the privilege of conducting his missions as he saw fit. His sometimes reckless disregard for protocol and tradition had made him few friends among the lower ranked initiates in Le Chateau, but the Senior Legates couldnt argue with success, and encouraged his "sense of improvisation". Thats what they called it, improvisation, Nothing could be further form the truth. Buck's success was due to meticulous planning, fearless execution and dogged determination to win, no matter what. Buck's detractors preferred to think of it as sheer luck, bravado and foolishness, but they generally kept their opinions to themselves, especially in the presence of the brash young commander. One of his early commanding officers in the Gradus Dominus referred to Buck as a "daring young idiot who could be either a shining light, and future hero of the Ordus, or a disgraceful embarrassment that will take a generation to live down." The Senior Legates didnt think Buck knew about his secret file, but they didnt know half the shit he had up his sleeves. Buck was a dedicated initiate, and proud of his service to the Ordus and it's ancient traditions, but the Legates were old men, set in their ways. They spent most of their days worrying about ancient prophesies and ancient threats. Buck was on the ground, in the shit every day, and knew that new threats and new dangers were cropping up like mushrooms after the rain. Even the vaunted secrecy of the order was in jeopardy from the waves of conspiracy theories, crazy secret society bullshit and general wackiness found in some of the less savory parts of the internet, and he monitored them constantly. One of his favorite tactics, was sowing disinformation among the conspiracy nuts, and encouraging their foolishness under one user name, and then deriding them, with insults under another, to enhance the feelings of persecution that convinced them to cinch up their tin foil hats a little tighter and press on into madness because "they must be onto something". Sometimes, it was even fun. Sure, his wife thought he was a little nuts, with his seeming compulsion to garden, the ducks, and his frequent visits to internet forums and message boards full of weirdos and nut-jobs, but he was a good husband, and she didnt even mind his frequent travel. Treadmill sales was a demanding business, but he seemed so passionate about it. Buck truly loved his wife, but even she could not be privy to the secrets he kept, it would only put her in danger. Snapping back to the mission at hand, Buck dismissed his wandering thoughts and focused on his new objective. Some unknown organization was infringing on the sacred territory of the Ordus, and Buck's new mission was to find out who they were, and if necessary, eliminate them. His superiors didnt have much to go on, just the final gasps of a dying operative who had been caught in some kind of explosion while on an unauthorized stake-out. The Legates frowned on operatives engaging in freelance operations, but Buck knew better. Initiates in the Gradus Dominus didnt indulge themselves in flights of fancy. If this operative's death had brought his actions to the attention of the Legates, something big was afoot. Something Really Big. All he had too go on was the dead man's final word, "Golds" and a suite number at the Luxor in Las Vegas. Vegas. After all these years, it was finally time to go back to the place he despised the most. Vegas, a carefully polished turd shining in the desert sun. From a distance it didnt sound so bad. on a weekend getaway it could be fun, Even an extended vacation could be great, if you didnt look to close at what was going on outside the casinos and theatres. Yeah, Vegas was now as "Family Destination" Just scratch the surface. inside the thin shiny veneer of wholesome fun, Vegas was still what it always was. A stinking festering crap, comprised of half digested dreams and sprinkled with chunks of organized crime. It was time to give the New Vegas an enema, and see what floats to the surface. Buck grabbed his bug-out bag which was always kept stocked and ready to go, for just such emergencies, and tossed it into the trunk of the car. "Now for the real trouble" he thought, time to try and explain to the wife that he had to go back on the road. Fortunately he had a few emergency plans prepared. Preparing himself for battle, but stepped into the kitchen and kissed his wife's neck. She stiffened, and turned, a most unpleasant look on her face. "well what do they want now?" she said, expectantly, with a glare that made it quite clear Buck was treading on thin ice. "Honey i know i just got back, but one of the guys is sick, down south. I have to cover for him or we will lose a big contract. Corporate wants me in San Luis Obispo by tonight." San Luis Obispo, pure genius. Buck was a little pleased with himself on that one. If he had said San Francisco, Los Angeles, Reno, or even Fresno, she might have offered to come with. But NOBODY wants to go to San Luis Obispo. Not even on a bet. San Luis Obispo could discover the fountain of youth, the cure for cancer, and physical evidence of the existence of bigfoot in the municipal swimming pool and still, NOBODY would go to San Luis Obispo. Brilliant. As soon as she heard the words SLO, Buck's wife immediately softened her expression. Now he was getting some sympathy, and maybe even a sack lunch! "Play it cool man, dont fuck up!" he thought to himself. "If you play the Obispo angle too hard, she might offer to come with just to spare you the agony of going there alone!" She was a good woman, but she didnt deserve the suffering they would both have to endure if she decided to come along. After so many missions, so close together, Buck was worried his wife might be reaching the end of her tether. if she insisted on coming with him he would have to bump the mission to another operative, which would be tough to explain at Le Chateau, but the worst part would be, to keep his cover, he would have to take his ever loving, long suffering wife to San Luis Obispo. If it came down to that, maybe he could just make up an affair, or get arrested for touching young boys. Anything to spare her the torment of a trip to San Luis Obispo. Finally after an eternity of gut wrenching terror, Buck's wife relented and said, "Ok but if your goin, I'm packing you a bag lunch!" "SCORE!!!" Buck thought, then muttered sheepishly "Can i have a cupcake too?" She thought for a moment, considered his journey then smiled sweetly, and dropped three cupcakes into the sack. "youre the BEST honey!" Buck exclaimed as he dashed upstairs to get his luggage and his "sample case" of treadmill and elliptical machine brochures. "Off without a fight, and three cupcakes, maybe this mission wont suck so bad after all." Buck whispered to his reflection as he shaved, and prepared for his journey.
Just a few minutes later Buck pulled into a small airfeild, normally used by crop dusters and a few municipal aircraft and helicopters. at the farthest rear of the runway was a small inconspicuous hangar, which contained a rather innocuous looking single engine Cessna. This was the transport Buck used to travel the world at the command of the Ordus. I'ts appearance was deceptive. instead of the usual rotary piston engine normally found in such aircraft, this "Cessna" was powered by a small turbofan engine, giving it the speed and range of a much larger craft. Only a G3 or better could match the performance of the Ordus' specialized aircraft, and few operatives were allowed the personal use of these expensive and prized machines. But Buck wasnt just any operative, and he had earned the right to fly this craft the hard way, by busting his ass on some of the most dangerous missions any operative had ever attempted, and coming back victorious each time. "The accountants can eat my shit" buck muttered as he prepped his ride for the flight to one of the small private airfeilds near Vegas. His briefing had already included his flight plan, and a car would be waiting at the airstrip to facilitate his mission. the flight was short, only a couple hours, and Buck was sitting behind the wheel of the car he had been provided for this operation. The Ordus spared no expense, and overlooked no detail in preparing for an operation, and this time was no different. The car was perfect. Every detail executed flawlessly. The paint was chipped, and faded by the desert sun, one of the wheels was painted a jarring traffic cone orange, the air conditioner barely wheezed along, and it smelled like some small animal was decomposing inside the vents. Even the beaded seat covers and Hack License were perfect, in that the beads hurt his ass, and the picture on the license made him look like a retarded chipmunk. Flawless. From every conceivable perspective, Uncle Buck was now Just another of the hundreds of cab drivers who plied their trade on the Vegas strip. He wouldn't be taking just any fares though. he had a particular target in mind. BUck, "No" he thought to himself, "not Buck, Robert Carruthers, cab driver" pulled into the parking lot of a nightclub, and waited, watching the Luxor, and listening for the signal from his informant inside. His earwig radio nestled comfortably in his ear as he waited for the time to make his play. Night was well settled in, at around 10:30 when he got the word to move in, his marks were checking out, and would soon be headed for the taxi stand. Rober Carruthers pulled hte earwig out and stashed it in his pocket, lest it's tiny antenna give him away to suspicious eyes, and drove unhuriedly to the taxi stand, arriving mere moments after the subjects had exited the hotel. A strikingly beautiful woman, and a man who's drab anonymity triggered buck's finely tuned instincts, alerting him that these two were professionals, and most likely extremely dangerous. He would have to play it tight. Surly, disinterested, and lazy. Just like a real cabbie. Now he wished he had opted for the disguise. Nothing says cab driver than a foreigner who doesnt speak english. A Nigerian would be perfect, and Buck had pulled that one off before. Oh well, Robert Carruthers will have to do.
The "cabbie" made a lazy half interested offer to put their bags in the trunk, and didnt press the issue, when they got in and they saw he he had the meter running already, neither mentioned it. "Good", he thought. "Professionals, so they wont get stupid. I'll play my part, and see how they play theirs." When the guy gave him their destination, Robert Carruthers grunted non-committally and drove in silence. He never looked at them in the mirrors or made any overt signs of eavesdropping, but made sure to be spotted ogling the chick. Bobby Carruthers doesnt get much play, so he has wandering eyes, and nothin to lose. fuck it. His seeming disinterest in anything other than the girl's boobs prominently displayed under the lapels of her business casual silk blazer concealed a dogged observation of every word uttered in the cab. Buck had trained his senses to preternatural sharpness, and intense focus allowed him to catch every nuance of their conversation. "Interesting indeed." thought Robert Carruthers, Cab driver and lecher, "seems i got more than the Legates bargained for." Upon reaching the destination, maybe 2 or 3 miles east of the strip, in a run down commercial and retail district. Not exactly the sort of place these two would frequent. They got out and walked to a nearby motel. Buck put his earwig back in and reported what he had heard to control. Just as he was finishing up his report, he spotted the two leaving the motel, this time, looking quite different. The girl was still stunning, but somehow trashier. Her hair wasnt quite so perfectly arranged, and her new outfit, consisting of jeans and a sweatshirt was baggy and spotted with bleach stains, but she still would catch any man's eye. The dude was totally different. Instead of anonymous and forgettable, he now looked like the prototypical MegaDouche gym rat, complete with strategically ripped gym logo sweatshirt, spray tan and trucker's hat. This guy was an expert. the two walked casually, like they hadn't a care in the world, sporting workout bags instead of briefcases, and walked behind a taco joint. Sprawling at the rear of the parking lot was a Gold's Gym, and not the pick of the litter, that's for sure. The place was in poor condition from the parking lot to the paintjob to the cracked and dusty windows by the stair-master banks. The girl behind the counter barely acknowledged the two as they swiped their cards and entered. Buck watched carefully from the outside, reporting his observations, until the two came running past the barely conscious desk chick, and dashed into the parking lot. Within moments they had rounded a corner, and by the time buck arrived they were gone, only the taillights of a van in the distance showed their means of escape. as he walked back to his cab, Buck reported, his additional observations, and the two digits from the van's plate he managed to spot through the gloom. Jut then, the earth rumbeld with a low groan, and flames shot through the roof of the gym. Moments later, the steel superstructure of the converted warehouse collapsed like a falling souffle, and silence ruled the night. Whatever device they used demolished the building quickly and quietly leaving hardly a beam standing in place. The whole structure was melted, and deformed, only the front kiosk remained, with the bewildered check in girl wondering what the fuck just happened, and peering out the dirty windows in confusion. "Professionals indeed" thought Buck, "but why a gym, and why so much effort to ensure it's complete destruction? And what the hell are these Walkers he was talking about, there must be a connection." Buck hurriedly left the area, removing all trace of Robert Carruthers from the cab and his person. All the while he pondered these new mysteries, and wondered why two obviously well trained and disciplined operatives would want to destroy a run down gym in Vegas. This report to the Legates would not be nearly as satisfactory as his usual after action summaries.
Chapter Three
Buck had another mission. Usually the Legates didnt assign missions so close together, as even the best operatives needed some rest, but Buck was the best, and he knew it. He studied the briefing carefully, and noted a few weak points in the proposed plan. As an experienced operative, and senior member of the Ordus Nordic Trac's elite militant order, Gradus Dominus, he was allowed the privilege of conducting his missions as he saw fit. His sometimes reckless disregard for protocol and tradition had made him few friends among the lower ranked initiates in Le Chateau, but the Senior Legates couldnt argue with success, and encouraged his "sense of improvisation". Thats what they called it, improvisation, Nothing could be further form the truth. Buck's success was due to meticulous planning, fearless execution and dogged determination to win, no matter what. Buck's detractors preferred to think of it as sheer luck, bravado and foolishness, but they generally kept their opinions to themselves, especially in the presence of the brash young commander. One of his early commanding officers in the Gradus Dominus referred to Buck as a "daring young idiot who could be either a shining light, and future hero of the Ordus, or a disgraceful embarrassment that will take a generation to live down." The Senior Legates didnt think Buck knew about his secret file, but they didnt know half the shit he had up his sleeves. Buck was a dedicated initiate, and proud of his service to the Ordus and it's ancient traditions, but the Legates were old men, set in their ways. They spent most of their days worrying about ancient prophesies and ancient threats. Buck was on the ground, in the shit every day, and knew that new threats and new dangers were cropping up like mushrooms after the rain. Even the vaunted secrecy of the order was in jeopardy from the waves of conspiracy theories, crazy secret society bullshit and general wackiness found in some of the less savory parts of the internet, and he monitored them constantly. One of his favorite tactics, was sowing disinformation among the conspiracy nuts, and encouraging their foolishness under one user name, and then deriding them, with insults under another, to enhance the feelings of persecution that convinced them to cinch up their tin foil hats a little tighter and press on into madness because "they must be onto something". Sometimes, it was even fun. Sure, his wife thought he was a little nuts, with his seeming compulsion to garden, the ducks, and his frequent visits to internet forums and message boards full of weirdos and nut-jobs, but he was a good husband, and she didnt even mind his frequent travel. Treadmill sales was a demanding business, but he seemed so passionate about it. Buck truly loved his wife, but even she could not be privy to the secrets he kept, it would only put her in danger. Snapping back to the mission at hand, Buck dismissed his wandering thoughts and focused on his new objective. Some unknown organization was infringing on the sacred territory of the Ordus, and Buck's new mission was to find out who they were, and if necessary, eliminate them. His superiors didnt have much to go on, just the final gasps of a dying operative who had been caught in some kind of explosion while on an unauthorized stake-out. The Legates frowned on operatives engaging in freelance operations, but Buck knew better. Initiates in the Gradus Dominus didnt indulge themselves in flights of fancy. If this operative's death had brought his actions to the attention of the Legates, something big was afoot. Something Really Big. All he had too go on was the dead man's final word, "Golds" and a suite number at the Luxor in Las Vegas. Vegas. After all these years, it was finally time to go back to the place he despised the most. Vegas, a carefully polished turd shining in the desert sun. From a distance it didnt sound so bad. on a weekend getaway it could be fun, Even an extended vacation could be great, if you didnt look to close at what was going on outside the casinos and theatres. Yeah, Vegas was now as "Family Destination" Just scratch the surface. inside the thin shiny veneer of wholesome fun, Vegas was still what it always was. A stinking festering crap, comprised of half digested dreams and sprinkled with chunks of organized crime. It was time to give the New Vegas an enema, and see what floats to the surface. Buck grabbed his bug-out bag which was always kept stocked and ready to go, for just such emergencies, and tossed it into the trunk of the car. "Now for the real trouble" he thought, time to try and explain to the wife that he had to go back on the road. Fortunately he had a few emergency plans prepared. Preparing himself for battle, but stepped into the kitchen and kissed his wife's neck. She stiffened, and turned, a most unpleasant look on her face. "well what do they want now?" she said, expectantly, with a glare that made it quite clear Buck was treading on thin ice. "Honey i know i just got back, but one of the guys is sick, down south. I have to cover for him or we will lose a big contract. Corporate wants me in San Luis Obispo by tonight." San Luis Obispo, pure genius. Buck was a little pleased with himself on that one. If he had said San Francisco, Los Angeles, Reno, or even Fresno, she might have offered to come with. But NOBODY wants to go to San Luis Obispo. Not even on a bet. San Luis Obispo could discover the fountain of youth, the cure for cancer, and physical evidence of the existence of bigfoot in the municipal swimming pool and still, NOBODY would go to San Luis Obispo. Brilliant. As soon as she heard the words SLO, Buck's wife immediately softened her expression. Now he was getting some sympathy, and maybe even a sack lunch! "Play it cool man, dont fuck up!" he thought to himself. "If you play the Obispo angle too hard, she might offer to come with just to spare you the agony of going there alone!" She was a good woman, but she didnt deserve the suffering they would both have to endure if she decided to come along. After so many missions, so close together, Buck was worried his wife might be reaching the end of her tether. if she insisted on coming with him he would have to bump the mission to another operative, which would be tough to explain at Le Chateau, but the worst part would be, to keep his cover, he would have to take his ever loving, long suffering wife to San Luis Obispo. If it came down to that, maybe he could just make up an affair, or get arrested for touching young boys. Anything to spare her the torment of a trip to San Luis Obispo. Finally after an eternity of gut wrenching terror, Buck's wife relented and said, "Ok but if your goin, I'm packing you a bag lunch!" "SCORE!!!" Buck thought, then muttered sheepishly "Can i have a cupcake too?" She thought for a moment, considered his journey then smiled sweetly, and dropped three cupcakes into the sack. "youre the BEST honey!" Buck exclaimed as he dashed upstairs to get his luggage and his "sample case" of treadmill and elliptical machine brochures. "Off without a fight, and three cupcakes, maybe this mission wont suck so bad after all." Buck whispered to his reflection as he shaved, and prepared for his journey.
Just a few minutes later Buck pulled into a small airfeild, normally used by crop dusters and a few municipal aircraft and helicopters. at the farthest rear of the runway was a small inconspicuous hangar, which contained a rather innocuous looking single engine Cessna. This was the transport Buck used to travel the world at the command of the Ordus. I'ts appearance was deceptive. instead of the usual rotary piston engine normally found in such aircraft, this "Cessna" was powered by a small turbofan engine, giving it the speed and range of a much larger craft. Only a G3 or better could match the performance of the Ordus' specialized aircraft, and few operatives were allowed the personal use of these expensive and prized machines. But Buck wasnt just any operative, and he had earned the right to fly this craft the hard way, by busting his ass on some of the most dangerous missions any operative had ever attempted, and coming back victorious each time. "The accountants can eat my shit" buck muttered as he prepped his ride for the flight to one of the small private airfeilds near Vegas. His briefing had already included his flight plan, and a car would be waiting at the airstrip to facilitate his mission. the flight was short, only a couple hours, and Buck was sitting behind the wheel of the car he had been provided for this operation. The Ordus spared no expense, and overlooked no detail in preparing for an operation, and this time was no different. The car was perfect. Every detail executed flawlessly. The paint was chipped, and faded by the desert sun, one of the wheels was painted a jarring traffic cone orange, the air conditioner barely wheezed along, and it smelled like some small animal was decomposing inside the vents. Even the beaded seat covers and Hack License were perfect, in that the beads hurt his ass, and the picture on the license made him look like a retarded chipmunk. Flawless. From every conceivable perspective, Uncle Buck was now Just another of the hundreds of cab drivers who plied their trade on the Vegas strip. He wouldn't be taking just any fares though. he had a particular target in mind. BUck, "No" he thought to himself, "not Buck, Robert Carruthers, cab driver" pulled into the parking lot of a nightclub, and waited, watching the Luxor, and listening for the signal from his informant inside. His earwig radio nestled comfortably in his ear as he waited for the time to make his play. Night was well settled in, at around 10:30 when he got the word to move in, his marks were checking out, and would soon be headed for the taxi stand. Rober Carruthers pulled hte earwig out and stashed it in his pocket, lest it's tiny antenna give him away to suspicious eyes, and drove unhuriedly to the taxi stand, arriving mere moments after the subjects had exited the hotel. A strikingly beautiful woman, and a man who's drab anonymity triggered buck's finely tuned instincts, alerting him that these two were professionals, and most likely extremely dangerous. He would have to play it tight. Surly, disinterested, and lazy. Just like a real cabbie. Now he wished he had opted for the disguise. Nothing says cab driver than a foreigner who doesnt speak english. A Nigerian would be perfect, and Buck had pulled that one off before. Oh well, Robert Carruthers will have to do.
The "cabbie" made a lazy half interested offer to put their bags in the trunk, and didnt press the issue, when they got in and they saw he he had the meter running already, neither mentioned it. "Good", he thought. "Professionals, so they wont get stupid. I'll play my part, and see how they play theirs." When the guy gave him their destination, Robert Carruthers grunted non-committally and drove in silence. He never looked at them in the mirrors or made any overt signs of eavesdropping, but made sure to be spotted ogling the chick. Bobby Carruthers doesnt get much play, so he has wandering eyes, and nothin to lose. fuck it. His seeming disinterest in anything other than the girl's boobs prominently displayed under the lapels of her business casual silk blazer concealed a dogged observation of every word uttered in the cab. Buck had trained his senses to preternatural sharpness, and intense focus allowed him to catch every nuance of their conversation. "Interesting indeed." thought Robert Carruthers, Cab driver and lecher, "seems i got more than the Legates bargained for." Upon reaching the destination, maybe 2 or 3 miles east of the strip, in a run down commercial and retail district. Not exactly the sort of place these two would frequent. They got out and walked to a nearby motel. Buck put his earwig back in and reported what he had heard to control. Just as he was finishing up his report, he spotted the two leaving the motel, this time, looking quite different. The girl was still stunning, but somehow trashier. Her hair wasnt quite so perfectly arranged, and her new outfit, consisting of jeans and a sweatshirt was baggy and spotted with bleach stains, but she still would catch any man's eye. The dude was totally different. Instead of anonymous and forgettable, he now looked like the prototypical MegaDouche gym rat, complete with strategically ripped gym logo sweatshirt, spray tan and trucker's hat. This guy was an expert. the two walked casually, like they hadn't a care in the world, sporting workout bags instead of briefcases, and walked behind a taco joint. Sprawling at the rear of the parking lot was a Gold's Gym, and not the pick of the litter, that's for sure. The place was in poor condition from the parking lot to the paintjob to the cracked and dusty windows by the stair-master banks. The girl behind the counter barely acknowledged the two as they swiped their cards and entered. Buck watched carefully from the outside, reporting his observations, until the two came running past the barely conscious desk chick, and dashed into the parking lot. Within moments they had rounded a corner, and by the time buck arrived they were gone, only the taillights of a van in the distance showed their means of escape. as he walked back to his cab, Buck reported, his additional observations, and the two digits from the van's plate he managed to spot through the gloom. Jut then, the earth rumbeld with a low groan, and flames shot through the roof of the gym. Moments later, the steel superstructure of the converted warehouse collapsed like a falling souffle, and silence ruled the night. Whatever device they used demolished the building quickly and quietly leaving hardly a beam standing in place. The whole structure was melted, and deformed, only the front kiosk remained, with the bewildered check in girl wondering what the fuck just happened, and peering out the dirty windows in confusion. "Professionals indeed" thought Buck, "but why a gym, and why so much effort to ensure it's complete destruction? And what the hell are these Walkers he was talking about, there must be a connection." Buck hurriedly left the area, removing all trace of Robert Carruthers from the cab and his person. All the while he pondered these new mysteries, and wondered why two obviously well trained and disciplined operatives would want to destroy a run down gym in Vegas. This report to the Legates would not be nearly as satisfactory as his usual after action summaries.
Doer
Well-Known Member
We in the left coast get our drive time news from ABC radio, 740 on the AM dial. Yesterday they lead with story of the Feds printing the money, lending it, and then covering the loans with more printing. It's got a double-think name, Easement.
ABC says, "There is hope for this financial crisis, the Feds have a way to help. More on this story with Bob Blah."
ABC says, "There is hope for this financial crisis, the Feds have a way to help. More on this story with Bob Blah."
Dr Kynes
Well-Known Member
Quantitative Easement is a tried and true practice in macro economics. Since a fiat currency is based on the people's trust, the more you can squeeze that trust, the more money you can print! As long as the press keeps stroking our hair and telling us to bear down, the federal reserve can keep ramming their throbbing tumescent cocks up our delicate and bleeding assholes, until finally, we achieve Prolapse, or in economic speak, Default. either way its OUR colons hanging out of our bleeding asses, while the federal reserve board members wipe the blood off their dicks and tell us to catch a cab home, as they are finished with us. We wont even get a reach-around, or a kiss on the cheek.
you can read more about this in upcoming chapters of Greenhouse of Passion, coming soon. Now with ZOMBIES!
abandonconflict
Well-Known Member
Faux Nooz story?
abandonconflict
Well-Known Member
Anybody have a video link to the "fox news" version from Colbert?
[video=youtube;pc0mxOXbWIU]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pc0mxOXbWIU[/video]
[video=youtube;pc0mxOXbWIU]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pc0mxOXbWIU[/video]
Dr Kynes
Well-Known Member
Why so butt-hurt over fox news? they aren't any worse than MSNBC, CNN, ABC, CBS, BBC, or Al Jazeera. every one has an agenda, and sells the narrative that agenda requires. A "news" story is just a headline. You have to dig into the facts to get the truth. If a "news Story" doesnt tell you where they got the data for their main thrust of narrative, then they are hiding something. The "study" which shows fox news viewers are "dumb" is a perfect example, or CNBC's bullshit tale about the Remington 700 series rifles being unsafe. After and hour and a half of bullshit, lies and pure falsehood disguised as "investigative journalism" they still never reveal the facts of the gunsmith's evaluation of the rifles at question. Every single rifle that was subject to accidental discharge was either amateurishly modified, rusted and busted, or was being carelessly handled LOADED by unsupervised idiot teenagers.
If fox news' mortal sins make it unacceptable to you, then every other "news outlet" is just as unacceptable. You'd do better to read the headlines then Google the details. Blaming fox for every ill is the agenda of the previous holders of the title "most trusted" news agency. the newspapers made the same accusations of bias and agenda driven "reportage" against TV news when it was new, then the TV network news leveled the same accusations against cable and satellite news networks, who then regurgitated the same garbage at talk radio. Fox is just the newest of the new kids on the block, and unique in that it's spin leans to the right rather than the left.
Let go your anger homey, Fox News isn't gonna force you vote for Romney, and they are even more virulent in their hatred for Ron Paul than Obama, even when they secretly revel in the truth and power of his ideas.
