I consolidated the stories about Fred.


...long live, Hill Blocks View. I miss writing. But the thought of one more round of "welcome backs", or obsessing over stats, or thinking of the clever response to a comment, or the obligation to read everyone else's blog... not so much. So I'll try and write. No pressure. If you feel the need to respond, you can email me. I like email. flipaul@yahoo.com

Wednesday, October 31, 2012

The Emperor's New Costume.

ARGH! What?
You. What the hell?
What the hell, what? It's Halloween.
That's not a costume!
Sure it is.
It isn't. 
It is so. I'm a zombie.
You're not a zombie. You're NAKED.
Zombies are naked.
Zombies aren't naked.
Maybe I got bitten during sex.
No! You don't even look like a zombie.
Just got turned.
There's no bite marks.
They're hidden under my clothes.
You don't have clothes. YOU'RE NAKED!
Good point... I'm a Viking.
You don't look like a Viking.
I do too.
Vikings weren't naked. Vikings wore helmets and carried round shields and axes. 
I dropped mine in battle.
You're naked and you're an idiot.
I'm the Invisible Man.
You are a very visible naked idiot.
I'm a leprechaun.
An imaginary friend.
That almost works, but you can't see imaginary friends. And I'm pretty sure they wear clothes.
If they're human.
Yes, of course, it's just weird when animals wear pants. Or coats or whatever.
I'm Shrodinger.
Of Shrodinger's Cat fame? How so?
My clothes may or may not be in a box.
That doesn't even make sense.
I'm a Pict.
Of what?
No. I'm a Pict. A wild Celtic warrior madman. They a often went into battle naked.
You don't have a weapon.
I left it in my other pants.
You're not wearing pants!
Also. Picts painted themselves blue.
I'm blue.
Pale isn't really blue. 
I didn't have time. I was in a bit of a rush.
You're a bit of an idiot.
Hey, I know! It's a birthday suit costume.
Hey, I know! You're a moron.
Well, yours isn't so great. You're only wearing a cop outfit.
I know. I'm a cop.
I'm a cop.
You're not even an exciting cop. The cop from the Village People, A stripper cop. Something.
I'm a cop.
Maybe a naked cop.
Cops aren't naked.
They are if they're having sex.
Maybe you're not doing it right.
Shut Up! Listen; you can't walk around without clothes on. It's the law.
It's Halloween!
Still the law.
Really? What about my constitutional rights?
You don't have the right to be naked.
I'm pretty sure. ...blah, blah, something, something, something, have the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of nakedness.
Idiot. YOU have the right to remain silent.

Sunday, October 28, 2012

The Zombie Apocalypse Is Coming. DON'T Prepare.

As you have seen in countless movies and television shows, the Zombie Apocalypse is coming. Before long, an epidemic will sweep the land, and the vast majority of mankind will be turned into the living undead. The last vestiges of humanity will fight against the encroaching darkness, trying desperately to avoid extinction.

   But you are prepared. You've stocked up supplies, you've got a plan. And you've got guns. But I want you to stop and think about this for a second; in all the scenarios there are only a few people remaining uninfected. A few. This means you, in all likelihood, will be a member of the zombie majority and not one of the surviving humans. What are the chances that you will beat the odds? Are you a lucky person? Have you won the lottery recently? Avoided that sickness that everybody else caught?

   Nope. It's time to face facts. You are going to be a zombie. And the last thing you want to see as you round a corner chasing after Sunday brunch is a tasty meatbag holding your shotgun. Or swinging  your spiked zom-bat at your head, or running you over with your Zom-burban. So stop it. No more preparing. Don't let your overzealous zeal, provide some nasty breather with the means to separate your head from your shoulders.

The preceding message was brought to you by your friends at the Zombie Majority.

Monday, October 22, 2012

A Tortuous Performance Review.

Please sit down Mr... Taupe, is it?
Yes, sir. Taupe. Sir.
Good. Good. Let's get to it shall we?
Yes sir. I'm a little nervous sir.
Oh nonsense. It's just a performance review. I'm not going to torture you or anything. HAHAHA!
Oh, good one sir. Haha.
So... Mr. Taupe, how long have you been with us?
Uhm, well. Thirty-five years.
You've been with the department for thirty-five years?
No sir! I've been alive for thirty-five years. I thought that you were using us, all encompassingly, to include the human race.
I wasn't.
Oh sorry. I AM a little nervous sir.
It's fine. How long have you been with The Department?
Eight years, sir.
Excellent. And how long have you been in your current position?
I would guess one minute sir.
You told me to sit down and then I sat down and then, blah blah blah, HAHAHA, blah blah blah, how long, nervous, How long have you been in your current position? I'd say about a minute. A minute-ten maybe.
It's not too late to change my mind on the whole torture thing, you know. Don't be so literal, you moron. How long have you held your current job?
As a persuasive verity extraction engineer?
A what?
Well, it's just that Torturer seemed so out of touch with the modern parlance. A little un-PC, if you know what I mean. 
Are you for real? 
According to Descartes; probably.
Yes sir. Nervous sir.
How long have you tortured people for a living? And don't include whatever mental anguish you inflicted on your parents as you were growing up, or (heaven forbid) your spouse.
I got promoted to Torture Technician Level One, about thirteen months ago, sir.
And how would you say it's gone?
Great, sir! I've really made some good friends. And we've really done some amazing things and...
I could care less about your personal life. Have you gotten any usable intel?
Oh, yes sir.
Such as?
Well, let's see. I know about a hip little Korean speak easy in Pyongyang. Umm,  I can order vodka while flirting with the cocktail waitress, in Russian or Mandarin. Let's see. Oh, I learned a really excellent new recipe for humus and I can make a Cuban coffee that is just electric.
So you're telling me that you have been torturing your prisoners for thirteen months and this is all you've come up with?
There's a ton more. I mean this is just off the top of my head.
Is the rest of your intel similar in scope?
Uh, pretty much sir. I would say so.
You followed the guidelines in your torturers handbook? And this is what your prisoners gave up to you in their despair and pain? Recipes? Flirting advice?
Oh well... about that sir. You see, I had just gotten the job as torturer and things in my life were a little hectic... and well um, it's possible that I used the pages of my torturers handbook as packing material when I moved out of my mothers basement. And I've just winged it since then.
Why didn't you just ask for a new book?
Oh, well that's embarrassing sir. And plus I remember some of it. There were some parts about water boarding and something about fingernails and some other stuff.
So you've been using water boarding? Excellent.
Oh, yes sir. First we tried it in Cuba, but the waves were non-existent. Then we tried Hawaii, but that was too intense. The consensus favorite was Southern California; warm, good waves, nice scenery. Although we've all been talking about a trip to Tahiti, we hear they have some really tasty waves there.
I believe you are talking about Boogie Boarding. And that is not really torture in any sense of the word, what else have you been up too? (I shudder to ask.)

Well, sir. There was a chapter on pulling fingernails. So I've done some of that.
Really?! That's great. How did that go?
Well, it was a little rough at first. I couldn't get them to come out, and the prisoners were definitely not liking it. But then I found a Vietnamese place down the street who specialize in difficult customers, and since then things have been great. Some of the guys had to be convinced to let someone touch their feet, but everybody is into it now.
It's sounds like you're describing manicures and pedicures. You are incredibly bad at this.
You really think so sir? Everybody at work says I'm great at my job.
Jeeze. Sir, you don't have to yell. That's why I'm so nervous.
You're making me so angry.
Sir, nobody can MAKE you anything. It's a choice. Perhaps I should ask; how are things at home? Sometimes, it helps to talk about it. I know that there are days when I have had a bad day and I bring that to work with me and the fellas have to let me know that I am using my words to hurt.
That is your job, you moron.
I'm so glad you agree. The counseling sessions are really starting to have an effect. Just the other day Ahmed opened up and told the group that he didn't think that his father ever really loved him.
Counseling is not your job. Hurting people is your job.
But sir, isn't it better to help these men realize that the only ones they hurt when they blow themselves up, is themselves?
NO! You are supposed to be pulling info out of these terrorists by any means necessary. By torturing them.
They don't like torture sir.
That's the point! Have you used the rack?
They prefer Queen size Posture-Pedics.
Iron Maiden?
We mostly play Disco at our mixers, it encourages people to mingle.
This is why you were nervous. You are officially the world's worst torturer.
Officially? That's fantastic sir. Does that title come with a raise?

Sunday, October 7, 2012

Apathy And Politics Don't Mix... Or Do They?

So if I have my facts straight, this years contest comes down to a choice between Hitler or Stalin. The diabolically evil super rich who want to crush us, or the lazy evil bastards who want to steal all of our stuff. The lefties who allow the Mexicans to take our primo dishwashing jobs or the righties who send our awesome telemarketing jobs to India. EVERYBODY is trying to take my retirement fund. (Joke's on them, I don't have one.) Oddly enough, certain TV channels and websites say the exact same things about the other side of the aisle. Amazingly, they both hate freedom and the constitution. And holy crap, are they stupid, and patronizing, and they control the press, and are delusional, and, and, and...

I always thought Hitler was Hitler, and Stalin was Stalin.

   So, I'm looking for alternatives to the Republicans and the Democrats. If only I was in Europe. In Europe there is some real variety. From the right-iest Right to the left-iest Left, and every combination in between. My personal favorite is England's the Very Silly Party, but they are on some sort of watch list, because apparently their ballot is tattooed on an endangered haddock, and PETA (that hallowed organization, that arbiter of all things right and wrong) has managed to get the Very Silly Party banned. This through the use of a very austere and serious public awareness campaign involving naked vegetarians and sexual innuendo.

How people who argue politics appear to me.

   And If I vote for an existing third party, my friends on Facebook assure me, I am wasting my vote, and I might as well be spitting on the grave of Abraham Lincoln, because that is how much voting for third parties shows that you hate America. I don't want to spit on Lincoln. I don't want to vote for Stalin. Or Hitler. These choices are all bad. I am left with one final choice. I'm starting my own political party.

Apathy Party, just like Anarchists but with less throwing stuff through windows. And a more sustainable plan.

   Join my party. Or don't. I don't care. Vote. Or don't. I don't care. Lecture me about what an idiot I am. I don't care. Tell me how much the other guy is going to ruin the nation. I don't care. Because at the Apathy Party, our motto is "M'eh, I don't care." Next year I am considering a joint ticket with my buddy, who founded the Ignorance Party. Our campaign will be: Ignorance and Apathy, "We don't know, we don't care."

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

I'm A Masochist, And It Sucks.

How do you describe someone who willingly and repeatedly chooses pain? A masochist right? Except instead of chains and whips (isn't that what they use?), my soul gets pummeled with baseball bats and football cleats by Dolphins, Lobos and Red Sox. And I hate it. (Do masochists hate being a masochist?)
   "Well Flip," you say, "why don't you just stop?" Because I can't. I gave my loyalty to these teams, and I can't take it back. "That's borderline retarded", you say (unless you're really PC, and then you might just call me mentally challenged or stupid or pathetic or dummy poo-poo head <---this from my key kindergarden demographic.)
   I swear, I wish I could be more band-wagonish. Who's winning this year? Atlanta? I love Atlanta. The Orioles are going to win the World Series? I've always loved the Orioles. It would make my life, infinitely less painful. Or if I didn't care about sports at all. That would be great too! (If I was a little girl.) But I care. So I suffer.
   I'm just waiting for that wondrous day when my team comes through in the clutch and wins the Big One. And I can proudly proclaim, "That's MY team! I stuck with them through thick and thin!" And I can claim some small part of their victory. That wondrous, wondrous day that never, ever, comes.
   But I've just come up with a new idea that just might turn my fortunes around. If I proved to the Karmic Ether that I am a loyal dedicated uber-fan, it would be forced to grace my teams with heroic superpowers and they would reign supreme in their respective fields of competition. Surely Karma will reward me if I get a huge tattoo right in the middle of my chest declaring my love for my favorite teams. With out further ado, here it is, a Lobo riding a Dolphin while wearing Red Sox... TO VICTORY!
Artwork by my friend, the uber-talented Mike Cronce. Colors, by yours truly.