This reporter just learned that The Head Shed’s head honcho, Sharon, would rather be called Michelle. Seems that is another name of hers. Since I have no idea how many aliases she might have, I will call her Alice. Chica also has an AKA (also known as), which is Jessica. Blanca refused to tell me her aka’s, so she will have to fight with Jessica over who gets to be Vera, and who gets to be Flo. Adam will remain Adam, as he is merely a customer.
Cathy, another customer, was trying out all the chairs in the place to find one she liked. After her third procedure (I have no idea what they are supposed to be called) in her third chair, she seemed to be satisfied. She tried to send one of the girls to the liquor store to get her husband a bottle of Seagrams 7. Alice told her: “You know they won’t let him have whiskey in the hospital.” Cathy replied: ‘He doesn’t care if anybody else has a drink after surgery, so why should they care if he has one.” I’m with her and her husband on this one. These medical people should know,(like the rest of us) that a bottle of “Who Hit John” makes you heal up faster after surgery.
I learned from a reliable source that customer X is hair phobic. Wears gloves to wash her own hair so she won’t have to touch dirty hair. The simplest solution, at least to me, was immediately rejected by Alice, who seems to feel she runs the place, even if she does open a little late occasionally. She could be sedated (Seagrams 7 also works for that) while her hair was simply removed in it’s entirety. I have it on good authority that if the removed hair has some scalp attached to it, it will not grow back for a very long time.
Chica said she was going to go to pornography school. When I asked her what was there to learn in pornography school, she tried to cover by saying she actually said “stenography school”. If she wants to tell that one, I will back her up.
Alice/Sharon/Michelle/???/ got into an argument the other day with somebody unknown to me, who told her she didn’t have the b???s to do something she had obviously threatened to do. She politely told him she wasn’t supposed to have b???s, but that would not prevent her from kicking his a?? all over the parking lot and all the way down to Hooker Corner. He slunk away with head down, showing everyone that he was the one without b???s. “No B???s Alice” wins another one.
Gemini Man
Copyright 2010
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Codename Warlock - Chapter 1
I was shoved back harshly by the recoil of the rifle as I applied the last fraction of an ounce of pressure to the trigger. Downrange, at the target, nothing had happened. The expected fireworks had failed to materialize. No one down range was even alarmed. A few heads raised at the sharp crack as the bullet broke the sound barrier, but no one had heard the shot. This rifle, which I had built with my own hands, was equipped with a silencer as big as a car muffler, so no one had heard anything. Some really great strides have been made in sound suppression, particularly as pertains to firearms, and the hellacious noise they make. I could have purchased (or Uncle Sam could have) a suppressor nearly as good as this one, and much smaller, for this .264 Winchester Magnum, but for this endeavor, "nearly as good" doesn't quite fill the bill. This rifle was silent except to anyone downrange that would have heard a high crack as the bullet broke the sound barrier, but no one had heard the shot. Also contrary to what you might hear, the huge boom you hear when you fire a rifle is the explosive sound of rapidly escaping gasses, not the bullet breaking the sound barrier. The Buick sized silencer took care of the gas situation, and the sharp crack on the other end is only recognizable by those of us who have been shot at, or those who have had a bullet go past them, for whatever reason. Bullets don't "whisper", "zip", "whistle", or any of the other euphemisms you may have heard or read about. They crack. From behind the gun, I had heard only the click of the lockwork as the firing pin went home and released a 140 grain bullet at about a zillion feet a second.
I had picked this caliber precisely because it is one of the best long range rounds in existence, with the exceptions of the .50 BMG, and the .338 Lapua. (Not counting wildcats). The hunters who may disagree with me do so only because they have not used the .264 to it's fullest capability. That 140 grain bullet covered the 400 yards to the target in much less than an eye blink, and the target should have exploded with the proverbial crack of doom, not the crack of silence.
I could tell you hand loaders out there the precise load to use to get the velocity I'm talking about, but the Government won't sell you the powder, and if I told you the load you might find some powder somewhere and blow your head off, and I might be liable, so I'm not telling.
There could only be one explanation for the lack of an explosion. After my building the rifle, designing and building the huge silencer, working up the proper load, and hauling this 45 pound monstrosity to its present site, I had missed the damn target. The 15 or so people down there hadn't even noticed where the bullet hit. Since the target was 65 pounds of C-4 explosive attached to a percussion detonator, (a pie plate size RED detonator) and nothing had gone boom, I must have missed that red detonator. In all truthfulness, the detonator was inside the building where I couldn't see it, but the red sign I was shooting at was supposed to be EXACTLY directly opposite the detonator. The detonator itself was supposed to be somewhat larger than the sign outside, to allow for any angle I might have to shoot from. Birds were chirping and singing and filling the air when the air should have been filled with wildly gyrating pieces of debris from a disintegrating building. Oh well. I had plenty of ammo. Now finding a .264 inch bullet hole from 400 yards away is a trick in itself. The 12 power Zeiss scope on the rifle would not do it. Not to worry. I dug a 60 power spotting scope out of my pack. You hunters will recognize it. You know, the one you can count the flies on a bighorn with at half a mile. I set the spotting scope up on its tripod and started looking at the building and the red triangle on its side. That red triangle that said KEEP OUT on it and was supposed to be positioned exactly opposite a detonator and 65 pounds of plastic explosive inside the building, but wasn't.
I would love to be able to tell you that I found the bullet hole, compensated for the error, then blew that building off the map with the second shot. I did find the bullet hole. It wasn't much off center on that red triangle. That meant someone had moved the C-4. The chore facing me now was not one I was looking forward to. There seemed to be no option but to get inside the building, locate the C-4, then put the damn stuff back where it was supposed to be. Never having seen the inside of the building, that could amount to a day's work, even though the building was not actually that big. My problem was not time, but rather being able to move around freely in a Spanish speaking country south of the U.S.. My problem was my size, which is considerably taller than the average citizen down here. My problem was that I don't speak Spanish, or look it. Problems, problems. Of course that's what my outfit is supposed to do. Eliminate problems, whatever, or whoever, they may be. Langley furnishes the intelligence, we do the work. The outfit I lead is one you've never heard of. You may never hear of it. Same with my name. But my Code-name was, and is, Warlock.
copyright 2010
Hope you enjoyed Chapter 1 of CODENAME WARLOCK. Stay tuned to this blog for upcoming Chapter 2!
I had picked this caliber precisely because it is one of the best long range rounds in existence, with the exceptions of the .50 BMG, and the .338 Lapua. (Not counting wildcats). The hunters who may disagree with me do so only because they have not used the .264 to it's fullest capability. That 140 grain bullet covered the 400 yards to the target in much less than an eye blink, and the target should have exploded with the proverbial crack of doom, not the crack of silence.
I could tell you hand loaders out there the precise load to use to get the velocity I'm talking about, but the Government won't sell you the powder, and if I told you the load you might find some powder somewhere and blow your head off, and I might be liable, so I'm not telling.
There could only be one explanation for the lack of an explosion. After my building the rifle, designing and building the huge silencer, working up the proper load, and hauling this 45 pound monstrosity to its present site, I had missed the damn target. The 15 or so people down there hadn't even noticed where the bullet hit. Since the target was 65 pounds of C-4 explosive attached to a percussion detonator, (a pie plate size RED detonator) and nothing had gone boom, I must have missed that red detonator. In all truthfulness, the detonator was inside the building where I couldn't see it, but the red sign I was shooting at was supposed to be EXACTLY directly opposite the detonator. The detonator itself was supposed to be somewhat larger than the sign outside, to allow for any angle I might have to shoot from. Birds were chirping and singing and filling the air when the air should have been filled with wildly gyrating pieces of debris from a disintegrating building. Oh well. I had plenty of ammo. Now finding a .264 inch bullet hole from 400 yards away is a trick in itself. The 12 power Zeiss scope on the rifle would not do it. Not to worry. I dug a 60 power spotting scope out of my pack. You hunters will recognize it. You know, the one you can count the flies on a bighorn with at half a mile. I set the spotting scope up on its tripod and started looking at the building and the red triangle on its side. That red triangle that said KEEP OUT on it and was supposed to be positioned exactly opposite a detonator and 65 pounds of plastic explosive inside the building, but wasn't.
I would love to be able to tell you that I found the bullet hole, compensated for the error, then blew that building off the map with the second shot. I did find the bullet hole. It wasn't much off center on that red triangle. That meant someone had moved the C-4. The chore facing me now was not one I was looking forward to. There seemed to be no option but to get inside the building, locate the C-4, then put the damn stuff back where it was supposed to be. Never having seen the inside of the building, that could amount to a day's work, even though the building was not actually that big. My problem was not time, but rather being able to move around freely in a Spanish speaking country south of the U.S.. My problem was my size, which is considerably taller than the average citizen down here. My problem was that I don't speak Spanish, or look it. Problems, problems. Of course that's what my outfit is supposed to do. Eliminate problems, whatever, or whoever, they may be. Langley furnishes the intelligence, we do the work. The outfit I lead is one you've never heard of. You may never hear of it. Same with my name. But my Code-name was, and is, Warlock.
copyright 2010
Hope you enjoyed Chapter 1 of CODENAME WARLOCK. Stay tuned to this blog for upcoming Chapter 2!
Friday, August 20, 2010
TRUE ???? FROM THE HEAD SHED # 1
To read this newsletter, you must understand that almost half of nearly everything in it is nearly 50% almost half truth, while some portions of it may be “made-up”, or embellished half truths.
Sharon was in the café when I arrived this morning, but just about to leave. She was hurrying to get to the Head Shed and open up. As it was 12 minutes after 9:00 a.m., with about a 4 minute drive ahead of her, I figure that it is safe to assume that opening time is 9:16 a.m., sharp. At least on Friday, July 2, 2010. She might actually operate on a “sliding opening”, which I understand is great. If the “opener”, whether it is Sharon or someone else, arrives at The Head Shed at 9:38 a.m., and it doesn’t open until 9:44 a.m., the opener has time to stand there and smoke a cigarette. If she/he/it hasn’t had coffee yet, the sliding opening could be slid to 10:44 a.m. to allow the opener time to get to the Big Country Kitchen for coffee or even breakfast, if time allows. That is the great thing about the “sliding opening”. It allows time for the important things in life.
Sharon is a graduate of the Once Great Comanche Nation School for The Art of Hair Removal, or OGCNSFTAOHR for short. (One must remember that an off-hand remark about “scalp me” is taken quite literally at The Head Shed.”) I have been told that only two people have ever asked for the “Custer” haircut, and neither of them have ever been back. I think that some haircuts just do not lend themselves to bringing in “repeat” customers, and this could be one of those. Sharon assured me that she can do the “old guy tapered cut”, so when my hair reaches sufficient length I will let her cut my hair. My wife, Linda, says I really should let her cut all fifteen of them, but for the first time, one should be sufficient.
I drove to The Head Shed REALLY, REALLY SLOW, trying to check out Hooker Corner, but it must have been too early, cause I didn’t see anybody. I’ll see if Sharon will try to make up a “schedule” for sightings.
Copyright 2010
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
TRUE ???? # 4
On Sunday morning, Carol found herself filling the roll of cook, waitress, dishwasher, janitor, security guard, and all around customer greeter. While some might say you can’t be in two places at once, it’s just because they have not seen Carol on her motor scooter serving customers. She was doing an admirable job keeping up with the crowd, but had to retire the scooter after someone passed out from carbon monoxide fumes. She immediately switched to roller skates, and it didn’t slow her down much, but did help the breathable atmosphere in the café a bunch.
Brenda passed out coffee, silverware and cigars while Carol was actually cooking in the kitchen. James was helping out bussing tables and serving coffee as well, since Jim (Sharon’s husband) had not arrived yet. Everyone knows that Jim (Sharon’s husband) serves coffee, busses tables, fixes fans, makes coffee, mops the floor, repairs tables, paints, puts tables together to accommodate big crowds, and could probably cook, except he refuses to wear an apron. James also does all those things, and may be trying to take Jim’s place as the café’s handy man. James also helped the “nekkid guy” get his car started after he got out of jail, so he obviously helps outside the café as well.
It has been rumored that Tammy has a snipers mat because she covertly works for Governors For Big Government. I can testify that is a LIE, because she quit those four when they insisted she pay for her own ammunition out of her waitress salary.
Sharon (Jim’s wife) was reported to have turned down a mixed drink made with cherry rum. When asked if she objected to drinking rum, she replied that cherry rum is a sissy drink, and she prefers Cuban rum, which is 190 proof. Since pure alcohol is 200 proof, we must assume that something in Cuban rum appeals to her taste buds, and has nothing at all to do with alcohol content.
I understand that Sheridan has been spending a great deal of time in Oklahoma, at the gaming tables, horse races, dog races, penny pitching matches, and even bingo games. It could be that she is simply scouting locations for a new house because she wants to live in Oklahoma. If she likes to gamble, I have some advice. Poker and luck should not be used in the same sentence, so unless you are a GOOD poker player, stay away from the poker tables. You can win at Blackjack, you can win at the dice tables. You can win at Bingo. If you know horses, you can win at the track. Same with dogs. If you dig a hole in the desert, throw your money in and cover it up, you have a better chance of getting it back than you would playing Roulette. Assuming of course, they know what Roulette IS in Oklahoma.
copyright 2010
TRUE ??? # 3
To read this newsletter, you must understand that almost half of nearly everything in it is nearly 50% almost half truth, while some very small portions of it may be “made-up”, or embellished half truths. This reporter will observe the patrons and staff, and relate to any and everyone who can read what goes on in and around the Big Country Kitchen. If any patrons or staff members don’t do or say anything worth writing about thinking they will escape being featured in this newsletter, I will “embellish” something that COULD HAVE BEEN done or said, so the 4 readers of this paper won’t be deprived of what might have been done or said by other customers.
Rhonda and a female cohort(that I do not know) caught a man wandering around jay-bird nekkid behind the café, just recently. His car was still parked under a tree up front, so presumably he walked down the alleyway in the altogether to get where he was. The cohort wanted to tackle him and practice their tattooing, as there was so much exposed skin. Rhonda said: “I’m not touching that guy. You don’t know what he might have.” The cohort just happened to have two cameras on her, so she and Rhonda proceeded to take a lot of pictures, for the internet, I suppose. Rhonda didn’t say which one of them, or who, called the cops, but the guy was taken away in handcuffs, and very little else. His car was still under the tree Friday evening.
The owner of the Head Shed, Sharon, came in with her roommate, the other Sharon, and were talking about one of the Head Shed’s customers being upset because Sharon didn’t open her business at 9:00 a.m. Evidently he was on time and Sharon was 15 minutes late. He could have driven down to the café and had coffee instead of getting upset. I guess his hair grows really fast and he has to keep to a timetable getting it cut or he’d look like the wolfman. Sharon said another customer wanted her to shave him all over, front and back. She declined without even considering that she could have laid him down face-up, put a hot towel over his face to soften his beard, then used a couple of rolls of duct tape on him for hair removal purposes. I doubt he would have been a repeat customer after that.
Jim and Darlene were late again Friday morning for breakfast, arriving just as I was getting in my truck to go the bank. As I think about it though, I might have been early, as I was trying to get to the bank at 9:00 a.m. I could change my breakfast schedule from “anytime between 6:00 a.m. and 2:00 p.m.” to allow for Jim’s advanced age and having to lie abed longer.
copyright 2010
TRUE ???? # 2
I saw something in the café the other day that shocked me, but I hesitate to articulate on this matter in the fear that at some later date I might get my veracity shot all to Hades. That being the case, I’ll move on to something that was not so shocking.
I stepped up to the kitchen window to say hi to Carol, and there she was standing on her head. When I asked her what that was all about, she said that was the only way she could see into the microwave oven. Seems that a REAL SHORT person set that microwave up, and Carol said that the way Tammy dealt with it was to lie prone, like a sniper would, but she [Carol]was more comfortable standing on her head, but admitting that it did tend to make her a little dizzy. Carol said that Tammy had been doing it a long time and was used to it, but for herself [Carol], she was going to put the microwave up on something to make it a little taller, and hoped that it would not take Tammy a real long time to adjust to being able to put something in the microwave without having to put down her snipers mat first. Some day we will get into WHY Tammy HAS a snipers mat.
Linda and I accidentally found out that the café IS OPEN after 3 p.m. Wednesday afternoon Linda came home from work dog tired after a hard day in her air conditioned office. She said: “I really wish the café was open cause I really don’t want to cook tonight.” We decided that since our kitchen is WAY hotter than her office, she would just go pick us up some chicken express, which she did and we ate it. Thursday morning I discovered that the café WAS OPEN Wednesday night.
Seems Rhonda stays after lunch to oversee people throwing away quarters in the back room. She can fix a limited menu for anybody who wants to eat. Stuff like Escargo a la Rendon’, T-Bone steak which thoughtfully has the bone removed and is ground up for ease in chewing, burgers, fries, salad, sandwiches, popcorn chicken, Lobster Bisque, and everybody’s favorite, Crawfish Etoufee with Creole sauce.
Linda and I went for dinner early Thursday, and had Chefs’ Salad. I wasn’t sure how formal this was to be, so of course I wore a suit and tie, with a red shirt (of course) and black jacket. I could have skipped the jacket, as we were the only ones there. It’s just possible that some other people have yet to discover that if a limited menu is your thing, and you like the ambience of paper plates, plastic utensils, and Styrofoam cups (as Rhonda is by herself), the Big Country Kitchen is where it’s at.
Gemini Man
copyright 2010
I stepped up to the kitchen window to say hi to Carol, and there she was standing on her head. When I asked her what that was all about, she said that was the only way she could see into the microwave oven. Seems that a REAL SHORT person set that microwave up, and Carol said that the way Tammy dealt with it was to lie prone, like a sniper would, but she [Carol]was more comfortable standing on her head, but admitting that it did tend to make her a little dizzy. Carol said that Tammy had been doing it a long time and was used to it, but for herself [Carol], she was going to put the microwave up on something to make it a little taller, and hoped that it would not take Tammy a real long time to adjust to being able to put something in the microwave without having to put down her snipers mat first. Some day we will get into WHY Tammy HAS a snipers mat.
Linda and I accidentally found out that the café IS OPEN after 3 p.m. Wednesday afternoon Linda came home from work dog tired after a hard day in her air conditioned office. She said: “I really wish the café was open cause I really don’t want to cook tonight.” We decided that since our kitchen is WAY hotter than her office, she would just go pick us up some chicken express, which she did and we ate it. Thursday morning I discovered that the café WAS OPEN Wednesday night.
Seems Rhonda stays after lunch to oversee people throwing away quarters in the back room. She can fix a limited menu for anybody who wants to eat. Stuff like Escargo a la Rendon’, T-Bone steak which thoughtfully has the bone removed and is ground up for ease in chewing, burgers, fries, salad, sandwiches, popcorn chicken, Lobster Bisque, and everybody’s favorite, Crawfish Etoufee with Creole sauce.
Linda and I went for dinner early Thursday, and had Chefs’ Salad. I wasn’t sure how formal this was to be, so of course I wore a suit and tie, with a red shirt (of course) and black jacket. I could have skipped the jacket, as we were the only ones there. It’s just possible that some other people have yet to discover that if a limited menu is your thing, and you like the ambience of paper plates, plastic utensils, and Styrofoam cups (as Rhonda is by herself), the Big Country Kitchen is where it’s at.
Gemini Man
copyright 2010
TRUE ???? # 1
The goin’s on at Jays Country Kitchen are not known to everybody, not even everybody who consider themselves a “regular”. Most are only aware of what goes on while they are actually in the café. Some might dismiss this missive as GOSSIP, but it’s entirely TRUE. At least everything that ACTUALLY happened is true, or maybe 50% nearly half true. Everything that is “made-up” MIGHT be true, might be partially true, might be a little “story” with a little truth thrown in somewhere, but it will never be a “BALD-FACED LIE”. Now THAT was a bald-faced lie, so I better retract that. I will leave it entirely up to you to sift through the words and figure out for yourself what is true, and what maybe ain’t exactly the whole un-varnished truth.
The other day, Tammy related to me a time when Pat gave her a 33 cent tip. She didn’t say if Pat was chastising her in a “damn waitress” fashion, or just forgot to bring any money from home. I know Pat is an honorable man, but he might have just forgot his money. Anyway, I thought maybe that could catch on, so I left Tammy my own 33 cent tip. I had more money on me, so it wasn’t forgetful on my part. The next day, Missy was back, and I asked her what had happened when Tammy discovered a 33 cent tip. Seems Tammy had got a puzzled look on her face about the 33 cents, then recollected she had mentioned to me that Pat had once given her 33 cents. Tammy immediately started trying to figure out a way to get me back. She first thought she would refuse me any Tabasco sauce for my coffee. That would for sure mess up my whole day.
Then her eyes happened to fall on the cowboy hats on the wall. She said to Jay, and Missy, and Jamie, and anybody else who would listen that she was going to hold my “wall Stetson” for ransom. Before she could take it off the wall and stash it somewhere, Jay took money out of his own pocket and gave it to Tammy to rescue my Stetson.
This goes to show that cowboys will stick together, especially if somebody is messing with their hat. I have to also believe that cooks and waitresses stick together as well, which means that not tipping your waitress could be reflected in the chow on your plate.
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