Short Story Draft 1

Random Story #6

There are many things in this world that make sense: calculus, the Style Network, and the Patriot Act, to name a few. Of course, there are a few instances existing that are completely random…and things really don’t make sense at these times. But, when you come across a situation that completely thwarts all capability for rational thought, you tend to enjoy the ride…this story is one of the aforementioned situations.

Paul enjoyed these days. Nothing allowed for his mind to release all the stress of everyday life more than a secluded ice fishing excursion to the placid reservoir outside of town. His Subaru was filled to the brim with gaunt albacore (the fish have very little to eat in the frigid months) spiked on his trusty gaff. These fish were not necessarily caught for food, as much as they were for show. Paul and his bevy of friends had a covert tournament set up, where the winning person receives a cash prize from a group pooling of cash, not to mention the right to abase the losers. The main flaw of this event was that most tended to...well, let's just say they were jealous of the victor.

There were six participating in the GFC, and Paul was currently trailing Otis by 27 fingerlings, as these fish tended to be quite young. However, with today’s catch, Paul would be irrevocably in the lead. He had caught 59 tuna on this frigid Wednesday morning in northern Minnesota, and was extolled by his friends upon his return to the apartment building, where they all had rooms on two adjacent floors. Paul slid the key into his apartment doorknob, and ventured into his dimly-lit apartment, only to find a message requesting him at a fellow fisher’s abode, named Allan, who was rather pudgy and owned a lot of flora, as he was incredibly struck by the rainforest of Panama after his previous vacation. So, Paul went next door and was immediately complimented for his fishing prowess.

“DUUUUDE! How did you reel in all these suckers?” questioned Allan, his neighbor placed juxtapositionally to his apartment.

“I dunno, man, I just made my way out there at, like, six ‘o’clock, and didn’t really get back until like, fifteen minutes ago…” answered Paul.

“You were out there for seven and a half hours? Man, that’s dedication to the challenge. Otis is gonna be pissed, though.”

Otis, a large man of dark skin, was not exactly a daunting person, but he did care about the annual tournament, which took place from February 1st to the 22nd. These six guys, (Allan, Paul, Otis, Sam, Gerald, and David) had participated in this tournament for seven years now, all the way through college. But, since Sam and David were moving away in the summer, this was the final year, so the pot was especially large- $1000.

“Man, you better get cracking if you’re gonna move out of last place; I don’t think that you want to deal with...whatever it is that we'll do to you.” Said Paul.

To clarify, whoever failed to break out of last place became subject to a rather cruel prank, always involving (you guessed it) fish. On the group outing, deceased fish were chucked at one another, followed by large amounts of punching. This was a rather awful tradition, but the guys sold the fish to vendors, so the GFC was profitable for all. (Sam won five years ago and woke up with twenty fish heads surrounding his pillow) Sam's bed was just one of the jokes; David was the winner 7 years ago, so he was subject to a romp around town in a large suit, which coincidentally looked like a large trout.

“I really hope this finish is an exciting one…” replied Allan.

The day was February 21st, and tension was in the air. Otis had reclaimed the lead from Paul, who now resided in third, thanks to Gerald’s fishing prowess. In accordance with the earlier years, this was the Marathon Day. Paul was followed by Sam, David, and Allan brought up the rear.

“You’re goin’ down, Otis!” bellowed Gerald, as he was incredibly cocky.

“If you beat me, I will spike your head through the ice on the lake, man.”

Sam and David never really said much, so they were always the dark horses in the GFC. They had all packed into Otis’s mahogany colored Suburban, and Allan was becoming increasingly worried about the Punishment, so he had a plan…

“Yo, Paul, who you thinks gonna claim victory this year? Me, right?” shouted Gerald over the radio, which was blasting some of Otis’s favorite salsa music.

“Don’t get your hopes up, dude, I think I might make a run at this. My new GPS system can actually cast a sonar wave and find fish under the ice.” replied Paul.
“Just because you’ve got some technology mumbo-jumbo don’t mean anything, Paul. But I can predict one thing; ALLAN’S GONNA LOOOOOSE!”

“Shut the hell up, man.” muttered Allan from the back seat of the SUV.

The men arrived at Lake Latoka, the final designated ice fishing spot. Paul jumped out of the truck, ready to make a heroic comeback. He and Allan proceeded to the right side of the lake, and set up shop on the undulate shore of the crystalline waters. The barred fish swam back and forth through the reasonably shoal waters, and Paul stared at the cirrus clouds above. It was time to fish like never before. (cue the Eye of the Tiger song)

After two hours, Gerald had overtaken Otis, and Paul trailed The O by only 4 fish. Allan was growing incredibly nervous, as he did not want to be pranked or humiliated.

"Come ON, fish! Bite the f'n hook!" he yelled into the lake.
"Calm down, Al; it's just a fun tournament." said Paul.
"SHUT UP, MAN! I FREAKING HATE ALL OF THIS PRESSURE! GOD!" screamed Allan as he stormed away.
"Holy crap..." muttered Paul.
The tournament had raged on for another 4 1/2 hours, and there had been many dramatic events. Otis, Gerald, and Paul had all switched places varying from first to third. With only thirty minutes left in the history of the Go Fish! Challenge, Paul was in third trailing Gerald by 7 fish, and Gerald himself lacking behind Otis, who was ahead by 4 of the angled prey.
"OH! Ow! What the f*ck!?"
Paul scanned the Latoka to see where the anguished cry had come from. It was Gerald, who had been stung by a large bee. Being that Gerald was allergic to bees, he was taken to the hospital by Sam, who was in fifth, beating Allan by twenty fish.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Five minutes left!" bellowed David from across the lake.
Otis and Paul were both tied with little time left in the GFC, and bith were racing to the finish. The field (or lake, as it was) was split into two sections, the west half for Otis, and the Eastern side for Paul.
"You're in trouble, Paulie-boy!" shouted Otis from across the lake.
"Keep dreaming, big man!" replied Paul.
Paul had placed his lucky lure on the fishing hook, and the final face-off began.
*Author's note- To be honest, it is very difficult to show suspense in five minutes worth of fishing; so, we'll just skip ahead to the climactic ending--
"10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1...FINISH!" Shouted David.
"No one caught anything...Dang." said Allan.
"Well, that was very anti-climactic. What happened, O?" yelled Paul.
"I dunno, man, I guess we fished out the Lakota this year." Otis proclaimed back.
The 4 remaining competitors met up with Sam and Gerald at Abbot Northwestern Hospital to reveal the results.
"Well, guys, this was a pretty great year. As you all know, we had a tie for first place between Paulie and The Big O, so they will do what they will with the thousand clams." announced Sam.
After a brief yet hearty discussion, Otis and Paul decided to give the money back to the participants of the GFC, as a parting gift. This was a true sign of friendship to many involved.
"Also, just so everyone knows: Allan," said Gerald in his morphine-induced state of hysteria, "we've decided not to humiliate you."
"Wow...thanks guys. You have no idea how much this means to me...I'm gonna go get some water, ok?" gushed Allan.
Bang! A flying bedpan hurled by David (hiding in the hallway) struck Allan in the forehead, causing delight to fall upon his friends. They had been friends throughout, and their story was a nice one.
(Now then, wasn't that rather random?"

2nd Quarter ORB Review

First of all, the following review is written for two books because, by themselves, they do not provide enough depth for the ORB Presentation guidelines. Now then, as fate would have it, Douglas Adams wrote the two books back to back, and the two could basically be combined into one novel. The protagonist in the two books is Arthur Dent, a mild-mannered human living on Earth when (conveniently) his home planet is in line to be destroyed to create a hyperspace freeway. This is pure irony being that his house was also planned to be destroyed for a non-hyperspace, every day Earth type of freeway. He is whisked away by his friend Ford Prefect, and the two “hitchhike” their way onto a starship. After an unfortunate discharge into open space via a Vogon airlock, the two meet Zaphod Beeblebrox (the President of the Galaxy, escaping from stealing a Golden spaceship) and a few others; and all of the characters go on some less than pleasant adventures.
“They’re those kind of books you just want to pick up and hug it to bits. The turns of phrases are so different, they throw you off the sentence and you have to read it again to fully appreciate it,” says Hannah Dooling of sffworld.com, “[The books] have provided endless hilarious days quoting it to my classmates and pissing off my teachers, who I have insisted to, that the answer to any of their questions is 42.”
For your information, these books were written by a man who was once admitted to a mental institution, and the books certainly reflect Adams’ randomness. His is truly an odd style of writing, full of twists and obscure references to aliens and planets unmentioned previously in the books. However, Adams maintains the fact that he is an Earthling and he does stay with a storyline. But, as also in his other books (Life, the Universe, and Everything/ So Long, and Thanks for all the Fish/ Mostly Harmless) the odd yet wonderfully composed sections about things us humans understand are hilarious.
“For instance, on the planet Earth, man had always assumed that he was more intelligent than dolphins because he had achieved so much - the wheel, New York, wars and so on - whilst all the dolphins had ever done was muck about in the water having a good time. But conversely, the dolphins had always believed that they were far more intelligent than man - for precisely the same reasons.Curiously enough, the dolphins had long known of the impending destruction of the planet Earth and had made many attempts to alert mankind to the danger; but most of their communications were misinterpreted as amusing attempts to punch footballs or whistle for tidbits, so they eventually gave up and left the Earth by their own means shortly before the Vogons arrived.The last ever dolphin message was misinterpreted as a surprisingly sophisticated attempt to do a double-backwards-somersault through a hoop whilst whistling the 'Star Spangled Banner', but in fact the message was this: So long and thanks for all the fish.” (113)
These books have provided a generation with a source for clever and spontaneous writing. I particularly enjoyed these two books, and am currently reading the rest of the “trilogy”. I strongly recommend readers to indulge in these books, especially if you enjoy complete absurdity. Even though Mr. Adams is now dead, he knew the meaning of life: 42.

Ohh...the Stupidity

Are you kidding me, South Carolina?!?!?

_peter

Achmed the Dead Terrorist

Ha Ha Ha...funny.

_peter

Now I Can Die In Peace

Now I Can Die in Peace is a compilation of Bill Simmons’ columns working for ESPN The Magazine and ESPN.com, and the writing’s span from his boyhood experiencing the Boston Red Sox baseball team to their championship season in 2004. This New York Times best-seller is filled with comedic phrases about Bill’s life (with or without sports) and the heartbreak of 86 years and no championships with the Sox. They had come close during his childhood, his teen years, and his early adulthood, but they had never sealed the deal. But, about half of the book is about the Red Sox incredible 2004 curse-breaking season (if you don’t know about the Curse of the Bambino, ask anyone from New England about Boston baseball).

“Bill's style is a breeze to read and never gets boring,” says Rotoauthority.com, “His columns read like a barroom conversation, only more pithy.”

Mr. Simmons’ book is, at points, a gut-wrenching yet hilarious read for any Boston sports fan; then again, for anyone. His never-stale wit pops up every paragraph or so, and you could read this book for days without getting sick of it. His combination of pop culture and sports is delectable to any readers’ palate, and it reminds me of a book I read written by Stephen King and Stewart O’Nan, entitled Faithful; it’s not a horror book, it’s actually about the Red Sox ’04 season as well. However, a similar comedic style of writing can be found in both books.

The title of this book was actually put into place for two reasons. The first being that Bill’s editors at ESPN wouldn’t let him call it Love Child of the Impossible Dream; the second being that his dad called him moments after the Sox won in ’04 shouting, “They won it in my lifetime!” spurring Bill to name the book as such. So many of the Red Sox faithful had died before seeing this beautiful occurrence, and this book helps the people who did survive the years enjoy it a little bit more. Plus, Bill’s writing style is quite enjoyable. I actually laughed at loud during numerous points of reading this book. One of the breakouts happened after reading his point of view of the last moments of the ninth inning of the 2004 World Series:

8:40 pm: I’m staring at Edgar Renteria (shortstop for the opposing St. Louis Cardinals) wondering, “Does this look like the guy who will make the last out when the Red Sox win the World Series?”

(You know what? Yes. Yes he does.)

8:41 pm: One hopper back to Foulke (Red Sox closer), underhand scoop to first…

HEE-YAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

8:41 pm: HOLY $%#%@%@#^%#$@#$@!!!!!!!!!!!!

8:42 pm: All right…

I now, quite frequently, read Bill Simmons’ columns on ESPN.com and enjoy them thoroughly. His clever writing makes me chuckle, and even enjoy sports more than I usually do. I hope that he writes another book soon, so I can rush out to purchase it.

_peter

Thoughts

10 topics to think about in your collective lives:

1. Why is it that whenever a dog is "misbehaving" it has to be put into a sort of boot camp? Dogs shouldn't be considered as children; they are just dogs.

2. How does America get away with complaining about a poor economy when thousands are starving to death in Africa? America is great and all, but we are sort of being hypocritical here.

3. Can lobsters feel pain?

4. Have you ever stopped to realize what an amazing piece of technology a television is?

5. Who was the first person to invent shoes?

6. Did you know that in a few years, China will be the #1 English speaking country in the world?

7. A classic "mess with your brain" question: Is the green you see the same green that I see? Or is your green my purple?

8. Is there nothing sadder than a five year old dropping an ice cream cone just after buying it?

9. Do all rabbits remain unscathed after falling off a two story deck? (mine did.)

10. Finally, are grades truly important; or is the fact that you know you are learning just as good? In other words, are grades just worked for to please parents/colleges?

Wonder...

_peter

Listening to the World, One Red Sox Game at a Time

Have you ever seen one of those MasterCard commercials where they list the prices of random objects which end up leading to their favorite slogan? Priceless. But still, when does MasterCard know what is priceless and what isn’t? Things that can be purchased tend to have a price, but how come the commercials never end with something like “Listening to a quiet song on your iPod while talking to your dad about the Sox; priceless.”? When does something reach the pantheon of pricelessness? And furthermore, how does a cup of coffee cost $6.95??

My personal favorite activity these days happens mostly every night (or, on the weekends, in the daytime) and I don’t have to exert any energy, except for crying out in anguish at a moronic umpire. It’s a relaxing yet nervous nine innings of baseball on the stations of NESN, or FOX, or ESPN, or even the occasional TBS. I spend this time with my dad and we talk about the world, politics, families, friends, pets, and a lot else; but mostly it’s all about the Red Sox, baby.

It’s normally about 15 minutes till gametime, unless I have a prior commitment (homework, usually), and we crack open a couple of sodas and maybe a bag of chips. He and I comment on how it seems like JD Drew has been injured for about 6 decades, and how we can’t really hate the Rays, but we don’t care for them. The game starts with Lester on the mound (or Dice-K/Beckett) with the exception of either away games or one of the other seven starting pitchers we’ve had this season taking the hill. There’s usually one or two questionable (cough, cough) calls here and there, but mostly the game is fair. Somebody hits a homer, probably Youk or Papi, and Dustin Pedroia always seems to have 2 hits in the game. (Atta boy, Dustin!) If Jacoby Ellsbury is playing, we will have stolen a base, which causes Dad and me to whisper intensly…Yes! If the games are close, 99% of the time Papelbon comes in and shuts down the next three batters.

Once in a great while, the game we watch will be a little more important than the usual ones. A playoff game is almost more intense to watch than it is to play in, when it comes to our Red Sox. Dad and I are freaking out whenever the Sox are pitching; and then we can breathe for half an inning when Boston is at the plate. Once in an even greater while, it’s a World Series game (This has only occurred twice in my life) and we’re nervous and dysfunctional throughout the entire nine innings. If we win the series (God willing) there is much rejoicing and almost a little bit of sadness for those who we wish could have been around to see this glorious moment. Those are the best feelings in the world.

On the other side of the ball, material possessions are very nice to have. Specifically, my iPod is a great thing to own. The ability to simply touch a device two or three times and instantly hear “Hey Jude” is a pretty cool piece of technology. The emotions of all of my music are amazing, and the sheer rock-your-#@*$!&^-face-off ability of others is just a sickeningly delicious combination. To transition seamlessly between the two should be considered a federal crime.

I use my iPod whenever I need to get excited, get relaxed, or get Zeppelined. Except for school days, it never leaves my pocket (except to charge). Plus, I think that schools should allow students to bring in iPods for quizzes or even (shudder) standardized testing. Having a big exam with Baba O’Reilly (It's a song by The Who, might also be known as Teenage Wasteland) would get me to study more. My iPod is also a great thing to have because it doubles as a clock, light, and even a gaming device (BrickBreaker). So, with the MP3’s running through my head, I love listening to my iPod.

Now, when it comes to my Red Sox, there is almost nothing greater than those games; but my iPod is a close second. The way that anything can happen in baseball is quite related to the way that the music can change at any time on an iPod. Both are very valuable, but both can also be put together to make something great. Music and baseball make rooting for the game and enjoying the music so much easier. For example, “Tessie” was a great song about the Red Sox written by Dropkick Murphys, and I keep it on one device and one device only: …if you can’t guess it, you haven’t read this very well (Hint: a lot of things are valuable…including iPods!)