Dangerous Fun In The House Of The Scorpion

[Lord_Xerxes]

Heh. That's some funny shit. You definetly shold consider bundling that up and trying to get it published.

And seeing as how this thread has started to grow into the place to leave rants of the random stupid things that happen in our lives, I'll go ahead and leave mine, more or less.

You can find them at http://www.gotdoom.com

That's my site. Many of you will like it. Many of you will hate it. But then again, it's angled to both insult and amuse at the same time.

[HemlockGrey]

My father and I have a deal; I give up smoking when he gives up drinking; he seems to have the concept backward. At any rate, he'll die before I will, so eat that, old man! Ahem, beg pardon.

Yeah, but when he dies, he's technically given up drinking.

[Slartibartfast]

I didn't quite get the brainless rythmless Capoeira dancer part...

[haas mark]

Round 1

Walking along at uni, am approached by a Greenpeacer with a clipboard. Before he has the chance to say a word I say: "No." And keep walking.

Round 2

Walking along at uni, same Greenpeacer approaches me again. "I've told you once." Keep walking.

Round 3

Walking around uni, another Greenpeacer attempts to interdict me by placing his clipboard across infront of me like a toll-gate. Before I realise what I am doing my hand has gone back to wind up for one fucker of a king-hit. Greenpeacer spots it, removes clipboard from my path and backs away.

Round 4

Walking downtown, yet another Greenpeacer approaches me, asks: "Are you interested in -", I reply pre-emptively: "Fuck off."

Round 5

Again downtown, absolutely sick of Greenpeacers, (are they just attempting to clog our streets or something) am accosted by another one who has carefully positioned themselves in a position that would put most military tacticians to shame. I decide to have some fun.
"Are you interested in helping Greenpeace?"
"Why?"
"Well, the worlds environment is constantly being put at risk."
"Why?"
[I think you can see where this is going, after about seven more questions they let me go]

Round 6

Walking through Sandy Bay see a friend talking to a fairly attractive Greenpeacer and is looking like he might do something silly like give them money. "Dunny! No! Don't do it! Don't believe the lies! Jesus is the only way to heaven! Away from him whore of Babylon!" And then I just walked away leaving avery amused friend and a very confused crowd as well as one hell of an insulted Greenpeacer.

Suggestion: Just tell them that you've already joined. Then, when they say thank you, look at them blankly and say, "For what? I didn't join your stupid cult!"

[Raoul Duke, Jr.]

My father and I have a deal; I give up smoking when he gives up drinking; he seems to have the concept backward. At any rate, he'll die before I will, so eat that, old man! Ahem, beg pardon.

Yeah, but when he dies, he's technically given up drinking.

I'm sure I can find a loophole.

[Kuja]

Every time I read one of these stories, the Sopranos' theme song starts running through my head....

[Mr Bean]

You could claim your finding beer and spirts missing from your supply that only a Ghost(Your father of course ) could have stolen so tecnicaly in death he still never gave it up

[Raoul Duke, Jr.]

Every time I read one of these stories, the Sopranos' theme song starts running through my head....

I don't get it. What's the connection?

[Kuja]

Every time I read one of these stories, the Sopranos' theme song starts running through my head....

I don't get it. What's the connection?

I don't know, I just get that impression. I like the stories.....

[Raoul Duke, Jr.]

Long overdue, but here it is:

12-31-02, Or Why I Will Never Be Drafted

City Planners be damned; I don't do crowds. But once again, I was outsmarted by my old arch-enemy, the Tostitos Corporation and here they were.

You see, the yuletide season in Tempe is not only the time for celebrating the joyous passing of the old year into the new, it is also the time for celebrating Football and corn chips. On any given Tuesday night, Mill Avenue is the sort of place where you can stroll idly through the streets admiring Tempe's nightly Cleavage Gallery, or have yourself a nice relaxed pub-crawl... but not tonight. Tonight, drunken with excitement and cheap beer, the swine were loose in the streets...

It was a Very Important Event, I was assured. Everyone who was Anyone was there. Indeed. 140,000 had flocked like mad sheep to our fair city, and riots were a near-certainty...

It only made sense, then, that I would go to the safest place on the block, the last, best hope for keeping peace on our streets, or at least of having some kind of Fun while the rest of the town went to shit. Thus I found myself standing before a large black truck lettered, U.S. Army -- Be An Army Of One. Well, that sounded good to me -- in fact, I had been described thus by my third grade teacher...

"What's in there?" I asked the grim-looking young men attending the vehicle. One took out a clipboard as he replied, "Simmalaters. What'cher name, boy?"

"Duke," I replied. "What kind of simulators?"
"Tank simmalater, hell-copter simmalater, an' a firin' range. Duke what? What're you laffin' at, boy?"
"Oh!" I gasped, catching my breath. "Nothing, just sounds like fun. Raoul Duke."
"Ra-oool?" he sounded suspicious. "Arraight. You ever been convicted of a felony, boy?"
"Nope." I answered right away. "Never convicted." His eyes narrowed.
"You a Yoo-Ess citizin?"
"Si, senor." He looked like he wanted to hit me for that one.
"Git in the truck." he said.

It was wonderful -- no, it was magnificent. I stepped around a corner inside the truck. There sat an EOD (Explosive Ordnance Disposal) simulator consisting of a robot arm behind a glass window. It was controlled by a pair of joysticks. Instead of the two "fingers" you'd expect, it had 3, and a "thumb". Perfect.

I took the joysticks as people filed by behind me. It took a few seconds to get the hand of the thing -- it was extremely sensitive, the Staff Sergeant informed me, because EOD is extremely sensitive work.

"That's strange," I said distractedly as I wrenched the arm around in something resembling an epileptic fit. He sighed and started to wander off. That's when a tapping at the window brought him back to see a mechanical fist shaking at him from the other side of the glass -- and then I found the button I was looking for and gave him a mechanical salute. This made him angry for some reason, but everyone else thought it was the finest kind of humor, so he was forced to laugh it off as well. But I could see he wanted to kill me, so I moved on to the helicopter simulator.

The helicopter was a Comanche, which is a fine machine in real life. In the Army's simulator, however, it more closely resembles the Goodyear Blimp, or a badly damaged Sopwith Camel whose controls have been tampered with by an angry mime with something to prove.

My "copilot" an 8 year old boy named Mikey, jumped around in his seat until the simulator lurched into the air. The Sergeant explained that he must hold on, for the cockpit would tilt, bump and grind to imitate my flight instructions to the computer. Mikey seemed greatly excited by this idea. I decided to see if I could toss the little bastard.

As we approached a hill, I spotted a T-65 (Russian tank) creeping along its base. It would have been easy, at that point, to simply do a flyby, reverse course and try to hit it from behind -- but that wouldn't have produced the excitement I was looking for. So instead, I threw the thing into a counter-clockwise lateral drift. Ahh, yes. Great fun. Machine all tilted. 8 year old boy howling for his mother, clinging for dear life to a joystick and a slippery plastic chair. Yes.

The sergeant was pissed. Panic. He followed me to the firing range, bellowing like a lunatic; little Mikey, on the other hand, decided that he'd been having fun after all, and what'cha so mad about, Mister?

I got to the Firing Range, and saw that it was the same unit I have at home -- a replica of a 9mm Beretta (with working slide) fires a laser pulse at plastic "targets". A sensor at the center of each target detects the laser and the target drops. When all 3 targets drop, the CPU resets and they all pop up again. I picked up the pistol.

Meanwhile, the Sergeant, whose Kentucky Bourbon drawl reminded me of Foghorn Leghorn, continued, "...an' iff'n yew evah, Ah mean, evah! expect ta serve in this man's Ahmy, yew will learn ta shoot straight--"

"Like this?" I asked, and shot his coffee mug.
"Yew do thet agin, boy, yew'll be in a world o' shit." he said very quietly.

Well, as anyone who's seen a certain film knows, that opening was simply irresistable. I had no choice -- I had to oblige him. I rolled my eyes back in my head, started breathing heavily -- this made Sergeant Leghorn back up a step -- and said, very slowly, "Ah am... in a werld... of shyit..." and shot myself bang in the head with the laser...

As I careened down the stairs and into the crowd, laughing maniacally, I am almost certain I heard applause...

[Ghost Rider]

Those some great stories...ah the Taco bell one is quite nice...ah.

[XaLEv]

Brilliant work as always, Duke.

[Raoul Duke, Jr.]

Those some great stories...ah the Taco bell one is quite nice...ah.

Um, ah... that was, ah... Jack In The Box, actually... ah...

[HemlockGrey]

So which movie was it from?

[The Dark]

I'll throw in a story of my own. It's rather old, but I still like it.

To set the background, one must understand that my father works for Lockheed Martin, a defense contractor. Every year they have a family day, where the families of employees can come on-site to see unclassified stuff (I've been through a building where they do classified work, but didn't see anything interesting. Nuts).

One particular year they had an F-16 simulator they had just put the finishing touches on for the military. They had disengaged the motor system and put it out for us to use, with two AF techs running the equipment as training. They also had set up a wall screen for everyone to watch on, roughly 10'x10'. Well, I get there about 2 o'clock, all little 4'8" of me (I was 14 at the time, grew 11" over the next 2 years). The AF guy looks down at me, trying not to laugh, and asks "you sure you want to do this? No civilian's been able to control this plane all day." I just nod and step into the cockpit.

Well, stupid me forgot the F-16's Fly-by-wire, so the joystick doesn't move. After about 20 seconds of wild gyrations (and one laughing man in blue watching the screen), I get the controls down. I shove the throttle to the blocks and pull into a backwards loop. Once I get the nose pointed straight down (the joys of the HUD), I let the altitude drop and pull the throttle back. Pulling out, I level off at ten feet and barrel roll down a mountain valley. The simulator automatically cut out after three minutes to keep the line moving, but when I stepped out, I looked to the AF guy, who was pale as a sheet as I walked away. I found out later he'd had a bet that nobody could fly the simulator outside of the military. He should've known that at least one of us Martin kids would've become interested in our father's work and begun learning everything possible about aircraft.

[Frank Hipper]

So which movie was it from?

Full Metal Jacket.

[Asst. Asst. Lt. Cmdr. Smi]

I've finally decided to read these stories, I found them funny, enjoyable, and interesting. Will you be posting more?

[Raoul Duke, Jr.]

Whenever sufficiently weird things happen to me (or vice versa) you can bet you'll see them here.

[Raoul Duke, Jr.]

As of this past week, there may be an outside chance that these articles (the ones authored by myself, I wouldn't dare try to sell anyone else's work without permission) may appear on internet radio, courtesy of www.knotradio.org.

On a whim last week, I collected what I've written here so far into a single hardcopy (10 pages single-spaced) and took it into Knot Radio's offices here in Tempe.

The Programming Director, a wonderful young woman named Debbie, had only a couple minutes before been dragged off by the heels into a meeting of some kind, but she skimmed through them briefly, said she quite liked what she saw, and advised that there is a show for which they would be perfect.

I'm still waiting on follow-up, and I will bring you all news as it happens.

[Einhander Sn0m4n]

As of this past week, there may be an outside chance that these articles (the ones authored by myself, I wouldn't dare try to sell anyone else's work without permission) may appear on internet radio, courtesy of www.knotradio.org.

On a whim last week, I collected what I've written here so far into a single hardcopy (10 pages single-spaced) and took it into Knot Radio's offices here in Tempe.

The Programming Director, a wonderful young woman named Debbie, had only a couple minutes before been dragged off by the heels into a meeting of some kind, but she skimmed through them briefly, said she quite liked what she saw, and advised that there is a show for which they would be perfect.

I'm still waiting on follow-up, and I will bring you all news as it happens.

Umm dood.
Write.
a.
fucking.
novel.






please.

And Yes I'll buy a copy too!!! LOVE the writing style!!!

[Raoul Duke, Jr.]

I write pure fiction, too, Ein. You'll love it. It's a way of life.

[Einhander Sn0m4n]

I write pure fiction, too, Ein. You'll love it. It's a way of life.

Kewl! Thanks. And to think you had a VI title so long ago?......

[LadyBarbara]

EDIT: Who says I collect them into a book or something and try to get them published?


I do. Your stories are funny as hell.

[kheegster]

Well, as anyone who's seen a certain film knows, that opening was simply irresistable. I had no choice -- I had to oblige him. I rolled my eyes back in my head, started breathing heavily -- this made Sergeant Leghorn back up a step -- and said, very slowly, "Ah am... in a werld... of shyit..." and shot myself bang in the head with the laser...

As I careened down the stairs and into the crowd, laughing maniacally, I am almost certain I heard applause...

You should have put the barrel in your mouth...more authenticity that way...

[Raoul Duke, Jr.]

Empress Donut Goes Home

I find it helpful, when dealing with unpleasant situations, to keep in mind that even Misery can be made to entertain us, on some level. Instinctively, we all know that human suffering is the dirtiest, vilest kind of entertainment -- this is why horrible traffic accidents attract scores of gawkers and are broadcast on the evening news with all the fervor and excitement of any sporting event.

Any jerk can enjoy the suffering of other human beings. But it takes a real humanitarian, a truly giving soul, to enjoy his own misery and to share it with those lucky enough to wallow with him. I have always considered myself to be quite generous, and I am always careful to share my agony with others, in order to alleviate the boredom success and happiness inevitably inflict upon the unfortunate. I am doubly generous with those who are kind enough to provide me with the raw material of suffering. It would be an incredible gesture of ingratitude not to entertain them with the product of their contributions...

I was sitting at Coffee Plantation one evening, enjoying a medium-rare Plantation Blend coffee, when I overheard two girls:

Girl 1: Men are scum! All they're good for is fucking and moving furniture, and half the time they can't even do those things right!
Girl 2: Well, you know, women have the XX chromosome and men have an XY chromosome, so, you know, they're like, incomplete women. I mean, science has, like, proved it. So, like, they're really just mutants, or sub-human or something.

The first girl nodded as she brutalized a helpless apple fritter. I gingerly set down my coffee mug and looked away as I reached into my pocket for a cigarette. The conversation was interesting, but nothing I haven't heard before -- I do live in a college town now, and I've gotten used to hearing such indoctrinated stupidity -- so I was only mildly amused.

But I was sitting too close to the tank, apparently, and the piranhas had spotted me...

"For instance," the girl with the donut said imperiously, nodding toward me, "look at this loser here." I looked back innocently. "Yes, you." she sneered. "Do you even understand what we're saying, you pathetic primate?"
I lit my cigarette. "As a matter of fact," I said, "I think I do. You're saying that another group of human beings is inferior to your group, based on a difference of genetic arrangement. Is that right?"
"Yes!" she chuckled fiendishly. Her compatriot was obviously amused as well. "You are inferior. All men are. Science has proven it! Look at you! You must know that you are sub-standard, for you are already attempting suicide by tobacco! Good for you!" She tore into the fritter again, and viciously ripped off a chunk in a motion reminiscent of a Rottweiler ripping an arm from a burglar.
"Indeed." I nodded. "Can you show it to me?"
"Show you what, you stupid pig?" she mumbled around a mouthful of pastry.
"The proof." I said. "That men are in some way genetically inferior to women. That we are less than human. I'd like to examine it."
She choked on a crumb, then said, "Show it to you? Well, it's so obvious--"
"Then it shouldn't be any trouble, should it? Unless you haven't seen it yourself..."
She made a derisive sound. "Are you calling me a liar?!" she huffed. She was standing directly over me now. I took a long drag of my Lucky Strike and exhaled, driving her back out of my space.
"That depends," I said reasonably, "Do you lie often?"
Her complexion turned a deep and fascinating shade of crimson. "I-- You--" she stammered.
"Yes?" I prompted.
"Fuck you, you fucking fucker!" she blurted, and stormed off, her stricken compatriot stumbling along behind.
A moment later, a young man ambled over to the table, smiling. "I can't believe it man." he said, shaking my hand. "You're the first one who ever shut her up. Congratulations."