Saturday, May 30, 2009
Friday, May 29, 2009
But Lechuga - a former district administrator who was recently demoted - filed a police complaint saying she felt pain and feared what he might do next."
The 58-year-old former Marine now finds himself under attack by his Dallas homeowners association for displaying seven decals on his vehicle supporting the Marine Corps."
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Men's Health magazine decided to take a look at which major U.S. cities most need a little Viagra."
Katinka Simonse, also known as Tinkebell, has assembled the thousands of e-mails she received since twisting her cat's neck and skinning it with her own hands in 2004, and she has published them along with the names, ages and addresses of each sender, according to the English version of the Dutch newspaper NRC Handelsblad.
The book, 'Dearest Tinkebell,' is especially controversial because it also includes YouTube videos, MySpace profiles and any other embarrassing information available on the Web pertaining to the e-mail authors, NRC International reported."
This is the scene at the back entrance to the California Academy of Sciences building in Golden Gate Park during the early hours of a recent nightLife night - it’s famous Claude the Albino Alligator chilling in his crib, the Swamp. Unseen is Bonnie the banal, non-albino gator who cut him with a quickness earlier this year.
Hat tip to Janet Rudolph.
News for Dallas, Texas | Dallas Morning News
| Latest News: "A sword-wielding man dressed in black robbed a 7-Eleven in McKinney, demanding cash and cigarettes, authorities said."
And check out this post, for sure.
In the Last Episode, Mike Cane blew our minds with some computer magic.
Steel God and Lafitte watched from the roof of the Virtual Dive Bar as they rode into town. The way everyone on the streets stopped what they were doing and watched as if these guys were the Pope or the Devil.
Lafitte said, “Well?”
“I think this is the beginning of the end.”
Steel God barked a laugh. “Shit, boy. I mean the Rally. We’re going to get out just fine. It’s the rest of the town that might not be so lucky.”
Their engines sounded deeper and uglier than any Lafitte had ever heard. They looked caked with grime and sludge. They whooped and hollered, made animal noises.
“You know them?”
A nod. “Los Muertos. One’s Rapper. Other one’s Nellie. Texas. They like fire.”
The big man sighed. Watched the two park in front of the Dive Bar. They dismounted and headed up the steps. Even on the roof, they could hear the two shouting and laughing once inside.
“You got your Glock?”
Lafitte instinctively reached behind him, checked, but he already knew. “Yeah.”
“All right. let’s go greet the fuckers.”
They had taken a table near the back, surveying everything happening on the main floor. Looked like lazy kings on their thrones as Steel God and Lafitte approached.
“Well, well,” Rapper said, a deep drawl he made heavier on purpose. “If it ain’t the Tin God and his Boy Wonder, Feet. How the hell are ya?”
No handshakes or bro-hugs or any of that. Just a wary distance.
“Just wanted to welcome you humps to the Rally. Took you long enough to show up.”
Nellie laughed like a hyena. He already had two empties in front of him and half a third of piss-poor beer. Rapper had his hand wrapped around a bottle of bottom-shelf tequila.
Rapper said, “Well, goddamn. I just wanted to make sure all the pussies got shaken out before the fireworks began.”
Steel God grinned. “So, planning some fireworks?”
Rapper looked at Nellie. Nellie balled his fists together, then flicked all his fingers out, spread em. “Boom!”
Steel God joined in the laughing, and so did Lafitte, although he didn’t find this shit funny.
It died down. Rapper and Nellie getting serious, knowing what was next.
Steel God said, “No fireworks.”
“Well, fuck you with bells on. Who made you Sheriff?”
Lafitte remembered the poor Sheriff he’d helped recently after Smith orchestrated abeating on him in this very bar. That man was still in the hospital down in Sioux Falls. ICU. So pretty much, Steel God was the law this week.
Rapper shrugged. “Gee, Mister. I’m frightfully sorry. We’ll be good little boys.”
Nellie tapped Rapper on the arm. “No Boom?”
Rapper winked at him. “Suuuuuure. No Boom.”
Steel God crossed his arm. Set his jaw. A good ol’ fashioned staredown. Lafitte damn near expected a Spaghetti Western movie whistle or a Wah wah wah. None of that. Just the jukebox burbling along in the background.
Rapper downed a big slug of tequila, then stood. “Anything else, your highnessty?”
Lafitte thought Steel God might give him the sign. Have him pull the gun, blast a kneecap. Kill the retarded one.
But instead, Steel God nodded, subtle but deep as a bow among this crowd, and turned to go. Showing his back to these guys. Wow.
Lafitte followed him out the door. Caught up. Said, “Why’d you play it gentle with those guys?”
“They saved my ass once. But before I could repay them, they got tangled up with a Sheriff down there, name of Rhodes. And that landed me in jail. I gotta say, Rhodes is a good one. He gets it. Let me go after a week. Told me those two nuts had killed three people when their meth lab blew up. Then they added fuel to the fire, watched it burn. So…maybe I owe them., maybe not. I haven’t decided yet.”
Lafitte said, “Can’t say I’d blame you if you cut them loose.”
Steel God stopped, turned a bit, and Lafitte thought he might have an answer, some wisdom, anything. Instead, after letting the wind blow around them for a few moments, Steel God looked at Lafitte, blinked, and then kept walking.
It happened late that night. Eight people dead, twenty more injured. A bone-shaking explosion, especially with Lafitte right next door, asleep in what looked to be a teenager’s room, he and Kristal sharing a small bed, naked and sweating like the tropics after some asshole had bashed the A/C unit in on a crank binge.
They both woke up, the explosion cracking the window, everything going orange.
Up and out of bed, Kristal wrapping herself in the sheet, and Lafitte grabbing for his gun first, his underwear second, and he was off to check on Steel God.
He wasn’t in bed, so Lafitte was frantic, down the stairs and shouting his name.
Found him in the front yard, still dressed, like he’d been expecting this. The house next door was belching yellow and orange, plus plenty of black smoke. Embers blowing around in the wind. You could already see smoke coming off the tees and the roof of the surrounding homes, including Steel God’s HQ.
Lafitte said, “We need some hoses, sprinklers.”
“No,” Steel God said. “We need to clear out, head to town. I figure we’ve got a day before this blows over that way.”
“Jesus, we can still hold this off! What the fuck?”
And then, across the circle of the cul de sac, another house suddenly exploded, splinters and glass raining down around the two of them.
Steel God turned to Lafitte. “Ain’t no garden hoses going to work on what they’ve got planned. Find them. Meet me at the back of the Dive Bar.”
Lafitte went back inside to get dressed, grab a couple of men. But the whole time he tied his boots on, he felt as if the whole world might crack beneath him, and down he’d go to hell.
An hour later, Lafitte pulled up to the Dive Bar, both men in tow at the end of a long rope. He’d found them on the road out of town, trying to escape but too drunk on homemade hooch to kep their bikes upright.
Even beaten and rope-burned, they were still a giggling mess. Saying Boom and Wheee and nonsense. Steel God walked up to Rapper and slapped him so hard, Lafitte thought skin might come off. He did the same for Nellie. They both sobered up instantly.
Rapper immediately spit at God’s feet. “You owe us! You can’t do a goddamned thing and you know it. Word gets around, you’re dead.”
“I’m not going to kill you.”
“Then let us go. What’s the other choice? Lock us up? You think anything can hold us? Shit, you won’t do anything. Just going to pound my nose and my gut then let me go. See Nellie?”
Nellie said, “Like ground beef.”
“Yes, like ground beef. So get on with it.”
Steel God smiled. “I’m not going to kill you. I’m not going to lock you up. But you two, I’ve had enough of this. As long as you both remember what’s about to happen to both of you, and you remember I’m the one that caused it, I’ll be satisfied.”
He grabbed both by their necks and told Lafitte to loosen the rope. After that, he told Lafitte to unlock the padlock on the basement door.
Lafitte stopped. Waited.
“You remember who’s down there, right?”
“What’s he talking about?” Rapper, getting worried.
Steel God said, “Unlock the door.”
Lafitte’s hand shook as he did. And then he opened the door, stepped away quickly. Steel God pushed the two men closer to the door until they were right outside. Looked down into the darkness at the bottom of the stairs. After a few moments, they saw the burning tip of a cigarette and heard the echoing music: Oo Ee Oo Ah Ah, Bing Bang, Walla Walla Bing Bong…
Steel God shoved them both down the stairs. They screamed and yelped and bounced all the way down. Then there was a burbling laugh. Evil, growing in volume, crazier by the moment.
Steel God slammed the door, slammed the padlock home. Then he leaned against the door, breathing heavily. Head bowed.
Lafitte said, “When do we check on them?”
“Steel God said, “We don’t.”
The sky south of town was like sunrise, even though it was only four a.m., from the fire. It would work its way north tree to tree, brush to brush, house to house.
Lafitte cleared his throat, tried not to imagine what was going on beneath their feet. Figured it would take many bottles of red wine to wipe him clean. But all he had was beer.
Steel God said, “That might just be the worst thing I’ve ever done.”
A shrug. “Okay, maybe not. How about an early breakfast?”
They started around towards the front door. Already out on the main street, many bikers were packing up and leaving.
Steel God said, “See what I mean? Beginning of the end.”
One of the nicest guys in the biz, and one of the writers we turn to when we want to feel good about how twisted we are in all this creepy stuff we write. He makes it all feel like home.
Sheriff Dan Rhodes, now there’s a guy who can trick you into thinking he’s not as hardcore as he is. It’s like Andy Grifftih if Mayberry had meth labs instead of moonshine stills. Don’t let Crider fool you: there’s meat in them thar books. And a bunch of sugar, too. But don’t’ call on Dan Rhodes if you need someone to carry a tune, as is made clear in his new book, MURDER IN FOUR PARTS.
Thanks for the support, Bill. I reckon all those people who read Dan might be a bit sniffy about a guy like Lafitte, but you know what they say: making assumptions makes an ASS out of U. ME? I’m just peachy. So grab up HOGDOGGIN’ on June 1st. For you Texas types, I’ll be at Houston’s awesome Murder By the Book on june 8th with Sean Doolitte, so if you want to wait til then, I understand. I’ll see you there, shake your hand, and deface your book.
Tomorrow…now this next gang, you’ve never seen anything like the ragtag mismatched First Offenders. Hide your eyes and ears.
On the Main Stage: ZZ Top “Beer Drinkers and Hell Raisers”
KIRO Team 7 Investigative Reporter Chris Halsne discovered security has already ejected 432 patrons in the first four months this year for offenses like assault, drug dealing, intoxication and lewd conduct."
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Researchers compared the genetic profile of 90 married couples with those of 152 random pairs of people."
According to a news release from the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission, Antonio Prado was using a net to catch fish at Nubbin Slough in Lake Okeechobee on Monday afternoon when he was attacked by the alligator.
Prado was dragged under the water by the alligator, which bit him on his arm and chest. The alligator released Prado after the man's 24-year-old son threw a pair of pliers at it."
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Hilton and her boyfriend were kicked off the private yacht party at the Cannes Film Festival after they were caught toilet pashing."
Monday, May 25, 2009
The Powell family is among the best-kept secrets in film, having performed Bond’s stunts for more than 40 years. In 20 films, Fred “Nosher” Powell, 80, and Dennis “Dinny” Powell, 76, or Nosher’s sons Greg, 54, and Gary, 45, have helped successive Bonds from Sean Connery to Daniel Craig do the dirty business of making Bond look good."