You Line 'Em Up God, I'll Knock 'Em Down.

I just thought you should know boss, I ain't going out like that.

It's on now baby.

And you have no idea what I'm capable of.

No idea.

Be Strong & Stand

"You're sinking."

"I know."


"What are you going to do about it?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Hi.

Remember me?

I'm the guy who really wishes he wasn't...well, anywhere right now.

I got problems.

Where do I start?

Oh yeah...right here.

Teetotaled

"Way I figure if it takes a 12 year old Scotch and a 19 year old Russian to keep me from putting a gun in my mouth at the end of the day, well then, there's really not much reason to argue with it."

Well...there wasn't. I'd stopped drinking for awhile, but then I realized that I really drank so little that it wouldn't affect my problem. So I started drinking just a little bit again. But then I decided that even though I wasn't drinking too much I was drinking more often than I wanted to. So I slowed down again. But now every time I have a drink (which isn't that often) I think 'Should I be drinking this?' which is totally irrational and just pisses me off. But I can't help it.

The other half of that equation is of course a problem in all sorts of different ways. I like go-go bars. I'm not going to go-go bars. This is good because I don't spend money and I'm not drinking. This is bad because I'm friggin' bored. It also makes me feel like an ass when I do go to a certain bar to visit a certain "old friend". As it turns out I really do like talking to her. In fact when I don't talk to her for a few weeks I miss talking to her. How frigged' is that? I've spent almost as much time talking to her in the past year as I have talking to my friends. It's cool to have someone to talk to that it doesn't matter how stupid what you say is because at the end of the night you just fork over some cash and it's like you didn't say anything at all. It's like having a really hot shrink. There's more to it than that of course. In a time where I was desperately searching for anything to help me not lose my god damn mind she was a really big help. I have a hard time forgetting debts like that. Which makes it really suck that I might just have to stop going to visit her altogether.

"But..."

"Don't say it."

"What if I love her?"

"Motherfucker."

Familial

"But you forget, we're Palombas. That means we can do pretty much anything that doesn't involve talent, grace, skill, or intelligence."

I've learned a lot about both sides of my family in the past few weeks. Not necessarily good things, but things I'm glad to know. Everyone is hurting right not for a variety of reasons, everyone is getting ready to face some pretty stiff challenges. Myself included.

What frightens me here though is how much of it will affect me and how little control I'll have over all of it. I want nothing but the best for everyone, but as my father often reminds me I can't save everyone. It's not my job. It's not my responsibility. Nobody expects me to be able to...except me of course. It's one of my fatal flaws. Not only do I want to fix everything...but I really think I can.

"Everybody can see, it's plain as day, we Palomba's, we fall hard. Real hard. But not everybody knows our secret. You see, we may fall hard but...we bounce."

Sacrilege & Blasphemy

"I can't stop the rain, and I can't make the sun come out. But I can tell you it's only water, and there are worse things than being wet."

A certain unfortunate situation has arisen in the past few days. One that is by and large of my own making. I count among my great failures of the past year the fact that I couldn't nip this in the bud last time it came up, but I had really hoped that a year of growth and change would have solved the problem for me. How foolish of me.

And then I had another chance to fix it this year. Another chance to make it go away. But I couldn't do it. I just didn't have it in me. I readily admit now that was a mistake, even though I'm still adamant that it was the right thing to do.

It won't ever sit right with me what I'm about to do.

I can make a lot of excuses, but I know the truth.

I know why I'm really doing what I'm doing. And it makes me sick.

"You hung a man who was meant to hang. What's so wrong about that?"

"Everything Hob. Everything."

Sludge & Monotony

"You don't dull a knife because its blade is too sharp, you simply find tougher things to cut."

Last week at this time I was thinking of taking a vacation. Thinking of finding a new way to get my head sorted out. Trying to break out of this...funk.

A lot's happened since then.

My basement filled with water again. I failed at my resolution to get back to exercising everyday. I haven't been doing great with my diet. My house stinks like shitty dog. I'm constantly tired. I'm bleeding a lot again. Nothing is going very well.

There's an official complaint with the state against me. In the complaint the guy says the he came to me on May 19th, 2004 to ask me about something, but I told him I was too busy to deal with it. May 19th certainly was a busy day for me seeing as I was graduating from SCILS that day, wasn't working at the bus company yet, and hadn't even met the fellow in question at that point. But that's just the sort of week I'm having.

I really don't have a lot going for me right now. In addition to being fuck all crazy I'm coming dangerously close to letting this perpetual melancholy evolve into an actual depression. That scares me a little. I'm also spending entirely too much time alone. This doesn't really help the situation.

But still...

"You don't hold on because everything's perfect. You hold on because there's always just enough that's right to keep holding on to."


Ode To Joy

"A legend ain't a legend just because you say it is. Legends walk the walk."

And finally...

I'm beginning to wonder if I don't work better when everything is going to hell. Beginning to wonder if the potential to right a wrong does more for me then something being right all along. Maybe it's just another way I'm fucked up.

I've been thinking a lot lately about going over the edge and seeing where it takes me, but I know that would just be me asking for a whole lot of hurt that I really don't think I can handle right now. So instead I'll keep on not being normal, keep on being amused by anything and everything that catches my fancy, and keep on trying to figure out exactly how this all works out.

"Are we ever going to be ok?"

"I don't know about you kid, but I'll be just fine."

"No, really..."

"Really? We'll be alright."

"How do you know?"

"I don't. But can you really imagine this ending any other way?"

Focking Smashed: Vignettes

"Strippers and Heroin. Two of my favorite things. Nah, I'm just kidding folks, I've never done heroin. Come to think of it I've never done a stripper either, but a guy can dream." - Lazzy Jones ~

"I think I love her."

"Which one?"

"I can't love both of them?"

"No, I think you'll have to choose."

"What the hell sense does that make? Loving either one of them is totally base and irrational, so how much more irrational could it be if I loved them both?"

"Hey, don't get mad at me. I didn't make up the rules."
~

"I don't know about you, but if I'm not completely shitty in the next fifteen minutes this night has been a complete and utter failure." - T.O. Hob, The Open Bar Theory


~
INT. RESTAURANT - NIGHT

A man sits alone at a table facing a mirrored wall, his back is to the door. The tables all around him are filled with people eating, drinking, celebrating. The door to the restaurant opens, the man sitting at the table, Hob, slowly pulls on his leather gloves, stands up and turns to face the door.

The man standing in the doorway, Groome, is younger than Hob but dressed much the same in a sharp black suit. Groome notices Hob as he turns to face him. Neither man moves.

Hob:

Who sent you?

Groome:

You know who sent me.

Hob:

What's your name?

x

Groome:
My name?

x

Hob:

If they sent you after me it means you're the best they have. In which case there's very little chance either one of us are walking out of here tonight. You already know the name of the man who will kill you. I would expect the same courtesy.

Groome:

They call me Groome.

Hob:

Your full name Groome, none of this agency shorthand.

Groome:

Jacob. Jacob Groome.

Hob:

Thomas Hob.

Groome:

A pleasure to meet you sir.

Hob:

Certainly.

Groome:

Shall we do this?

Hob:

No.

Groome:

No? What happened to you being so sure you could kill me?

Hob:

I already have Groome.

Hob points his gloved hand at Groome again and Groome notices a tear in one of the fingertips. Hob taps his finger against his own chest, Groome glances down at his breast pocket. There is a small hole in his shirt.

Hob: (continued)

A poison tipped projectile, so fine and sharp it will cut through any body armor and pierce the flesh so finely that its target likely wouldn't even know he's been hit. The poison acts fairly quickly, numbness in the jaw within fifteen seconds.

Groome wiggles his jaw. His eyes go wide.

Hob: (continued)

Total loss of motor functions just inside of thirty. Paralysis sets within a minute. Death follows shortly after.

Groome falls to his knees.

Hob: (continued)

So you see Mr.Groome, I have killed you.

Groome's lips move, no words come out.

Hob: (continued)

They didn't send you here to kill me Mr.Groome, they sent you as a message. It's their way of letting me know that they won't be letting me go. That they'll keep sending boys like you to do a man's job. No Mr.Groome they didn't send you here to kill me, they sent you here to die.

Groome's face contorts in pain.

Hob: (continued)

Open your mouth boy.

Hob removes a vial of liquid from his inner pocket and twists the top off. With one hand he yanks Groome's mouth open, with the other he tips the liquid into Groome's mouth. He pushes the boy to the ground. Groome suddenly gasps for air.

Groome:

What...

Hob crouches down next to Groome and pulls his head up by the hair.

Hob:

They killed you. I give you life. The antidote takes about fifteen minutes to do its work which will give me a comfortable head start in case you haven't seen the light. I can see the confusion in your eyes. I've killed but I'm not a killer. That's your lot. If you want to see the real bad guy here, look in the mirror. They sent you as a message Groome, and now I do the same. You head back to the Arch and you tell Garrison and any other of those right bastards who will listen that I'm not running anymore. All I wanted was for them to leave me and mine alone, but they couldn't even do that. You tell them that they can stop looking for me now, because I'm coming for them.

Hob lets go of Groome's hair and his head smacks the floor with a dull thud, drool runs from his lips. Hob opens the door to the outside, pauses, and turns back.

Hob:

And Groome, if I were you I wouldn't be standing too close to any of those pricks when I come for them. Few enough men have lived after crossing me once...no one's ever survived crossing me twice.

Hob heads out into the darkness, the door closes behind him. The other occupants of the restaurant stand stunned, no one stirring to check on Groome.

~

"Your day can not possibly have been worse than mine."

"Really? My washing machine doesn't work, my house is a mess, someone broke my dragon statue, my company is going nuts, I have $500,000 on my desk but somehow I'm still piss broke. My computer is all frigged up, my backup computer has a virus, I got sued on my lunch break...again. I have a pile of complaints three feet high, seven hours of work to do before I can go home and my basement is filled with shit, like literally shit, yeah, you know the brown stuff that comes out your asshole? All over the fucking place."

"You win."
~

Marwood: There's a man over there who doesn't like the perfume. The big one. Don't look, don't look! We're in danger, we've got to get out.

Withnail: What are you talking about?

Marwood: I've been called a ponce.

Withnail: What FUCKER said that?

Irishman: I called him a ponce. And now I'm calling you one, PONCE!

Withnail: Would you like a drink?

Irishman: What's your name, MacFuck?

Withnail: ...I have a heart condition. I have a heart condition, if you hit me it's murder.

Irishman: I'll murder the pair of yous!

- from Withnail & I

~

"Are you takin' the fuckin' piss? It means yeh spend too much time playin' wi' yerself. Yeh've got yer head stuck up yer own aresehole. WANKER: NOUN. ONE WHO WANKS. Am I gettin' through to yeh, do yeh think? All right, look, I'm sorry. I know this is yer place an' everything. It's just a bit of a...well, a disappointment really."

"How so?"

"Because I've been wanderin' round the world for three quarters of a fuckin' century, watchin' all me mates dyin' or gettin' old, an' now I finally find someone else who's gonna live forever an'--well. It turns out he's a bit've a prick."

- from Cassidy: Blood & Whiskey from Preacher

~

"She's got a voice like pure sugar and everytime I hear it I just think she's so sweet I want to eat her right up."

"You're a twisted fuck."

"What?"

"That's focking cannabalism what you're talking about it is."

"No, I don't actually mean I want to eat her up. It's a euphemism."

"Euphe-what? Ah wait, I get it, a sex thing. A wee bit of the old cunning linguist eh? Eh? You old dog."

"No, I mean, just forget it."

"Yeah, I'll forget it. Just like you'll forget it. All night long, right? Right?"

"You really are retarded aren't you?"

"Only half, on me muther's side."

~

"You know I really don't think today could have possibly been any worse."

"You could have found out you have herpes."

"Ha, yeah. You're right Otto, that would have made it worse."

"Aye Lazzy, I've got something tell you."

"What's that Otto?"

"Doctor called. Says you've got herpes."

~
"Shit is an acquired taste, eat it long enough and eventually you just get used to it." - Lazzy Jones

Aaaaaaannnndd...I'm out!