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So, Quarry, by Max Allan Collins, was awesome, a page-turning, mean little 70’s crime thriller, hardboiled as fuck, just the way I like them. I will read the rest of the series as soon as I get paid, since I’m already broke. But, hey, if you like the hardboiled stuff as much as I do, you can’t go wrong with this book. Look it up on your Kindle or in your local book store.

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rocksymom replied to your post “Would anybody in the greater Portland area like to go bowling…”

When I’m in town…. Just maybe

Change that “just maybe” to a “definitely” and give me some advance warning when such a thing is bound to occur.

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GUEST BLOGGER: BLOGTRONIC!

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Meatpie looked up from the log he was sitting on. He looked at me intensely, his eyes narrowing, and his brain was working on something. “What?” I demanded.

"Nothing. I was just wondering what you’re like in bed."

I would have blinked my eyes in astonishment if they hadn’t been rigid, metal, laser-emitters. “I didn’t realize you swung robotic, Meatpie.”

"My name isn’t Meatpie, you horse’s ass!"

I waggled the gun in my right grasper. “Uh-uh-uhhhh…don’t get me angry. You wouldn’t like it when I’m angry, because it tends to cause bullets to forcefully enter your meat-self. Also, your name is Meatpie, as far as I’m concerned, because I can’t remember your—”

"Aaron. Aaron Joble—"

"Meatpie Meatpie Meatpie!"

He stared at me intensely for a while longer. “I was wondering what you’re like in bed, because you’re some sort of weirdo robot, and also, you’be been planning on killing me for, like, the last three hours, and I’m wondering when you’re going to get on with it.”

"Death wish? Got a little death wish?"

"No, I’m just bored! What is your fucking reasoning here? This is all foreplay and no penetration!"

"Okay, first of all…sexual metaphors for violence, eww, totally gross, and I don’t appreciate that. At all. Secondly, we are waiting for my employer to arrive."

"Your employer?"

"Yes."

"He’s going to come meet us way out here, in the middle of nowhere?" He cast his head and hands around at the miles of damp greenery around us.

"I’ve always thought that secluded wilderness settings were ideal for assassinations. How about you?"

"No, I think they’re pretty shitty places for them, actually!"

"Well, obviously, you’re not thinking about the situation clearly. Try to observe it impartially, and I think you’ll realize how cinematic everything is. Look! Over there! Is that an alligator?"

"We are thousands of miles from alligator country, robot."

"The name’s BLOGTRONIC! With an exclamation mark. It’s very important to remember that: BLOGTRONIC!, all caps, exclamation mark."

Meatpie was a human, if I didn’t mention that already. As most humans of a certain ethnicity, he was sort of pink and squishy all over, and he was wearing a suit and loafers, and he probably had to urinate or whatever by now. “Hey! Hey, Meatpie! Do you need to urinate or whatever?”

"Yyyeeahhhh…?" he answered cautiously.

I waved the gun. “Go on and urinate. I won’t watch.”

His eyes were suspicious. “You won’t?”

"Naaaah, not at all. I’m programmed to respect the modesty of other creatures and junk. Go on, right over there behind that bush, if you’re worried about me looking."

Slowly, he stood, and just as slowly, he crept over toward the indicated bush and disappeared behind it. “Close your eyes. Switch them off, or whatever.”

"I can’t see you, Meatpie."

"It would help a lot if you closed your eyes."

"Christ, fine! Baby!" I cut off power to my ocular inputs. "Okay, I can’t see a thing! Go ahead and do whatever disgusting organic process you need to do."

There were sounds of somebody swishing through greenery, and something like heavy, panicked footsteps, and heavy breathing, all of which I thought were very strange and incongruous with what you would expect if somebody were urinating, but hey, humans are weird. I wasn’t even quite sure how many excretory organs they had. I switched my eyes back on after a good ten minutes of waiting. “Okay, Meatpie, come on…Meatpie?”

I quickly dashed over to the bush. He was gone!

Crap!

I fired my gun into the air, but I remembered as it clicked on empty chambers that it wasn’t loaded. “Meatpie! Come onnnnnnn! Don’t be like that! Meatpiiiiiiiie!”

When my employer arrived by helicopter half-an-hour later, he was red-faced and obviously irritated. Two of his goons were struggling to hold a birthday cake as they all tramped through the soggy grass toward me.

"Where’s Aaron?"

I stared at him, confused, until a memory blipped somewhere in my positronic brain. “Oh! Meatpie? Well, he escaped.”

My employer turned an even angrier shade of red. “Escaped?”

"Yeah, I was holding him here, like you requested, and—"

"I asked you to show Aaron a good time until I arrived for his surprise party, you—"

"He was susprised as hell, trust me! And what better way to show somebody a good time than to give them a story they can tell for years—"

"We’ve been following your tracer signal for the last four hours—"

"I know! I did an amazing job!"

My employer closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Where did he go, BLOGTRONIC!”

"Welp." I put my gun in a storage bin located on the back of my torso. "He ran off, and he’s not in much danger, except, well…"

"Except what?"

I cleared my throat. Wholly unnecessary, but I’ve picked up some verbal tics from humans over the decades. “Except we’re in the northwest corner of a fifty-acre alligator sanctuary. It’s a weird place to have a birthday party, don’t you think? What a surprise!”

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In anticipation of the celebration of Easter, I went to bed around 6 or so yesterday, and this morning I felt like I’ve been dead for three days.

I is risen!

Tags: easter silly
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The most impressive thing I have produced today is several truly amazing farts.

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Would anybody in the greater Portland area like to go bowling sometime, because my barely-adequate skills are too much for the truly terrible bowlers I know, and I’m sort of getting tired of sucking for half the game but then stringing a couple strikes together in the last four frames and winning anyway. This happens to me all the time. It’s almost embarrassing.

Tags: bowling
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This may come as some shock, but I don’t think I like beer any more. Even brands I was totally positive on taste kinda skunky to me. I went out with some mates for pizza and bowling last night, and I just stuck with Coke. The last half-dozen beers I’ve had, I had to struggle to finish.

So, I guess my beer-drinking days are essentially over? And I don’t think I’ll replace beer with liquor, because I never really liked liquour that much in the first place.

I talk about wanting to get drunk or whatever fairly frequently, but I hardly ever do. I get bored with it almost immediately. I’m not saying I’m a teetotaler now, but it’s gonna be awhile before I drink anything alcoholic, I think. I just don’t like it very much.

Oh, well.

The question remains: how will I keep my demons at bay now?

Guess it’s gonna have to be sex.

Ladies.

Tags: beer alcohol
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jmarie0621itsme replied to your post “I went to the grocery store again a bit ago, and as I was leaving, I…”

I bet you few on here know who Stan Lee is. I do, so do I get a prize?

We live in the modern Age of Marvel. I would reckon that more people know who Stan Lee is now than did during Marvel’s 60’s heyday.

You get a No-Prize.

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I went to the grocery store again a bit ago, and as I was leaving, I found myself following an old, gray-haired man. He was dressed in the sort of outfit that was more like a costume: a weird mix of cowboy, biker, and New Mexico hippie. I honestly couldn’t tell to which subculture he belonged. He was skinny, wearing a leather vest, jeans, cowboy boots, and a Southwestern Indian-print shirt. I could tell from his look that he smoked, you know that kind of guy I’m talking about? He could be either a rough customer or kindest man in the world.

As I passed him outside, I turned my head for a look, and I discovered that he looked exactly like Stan Lee.

There are strange people about in Aloha, Oregon today.

Tags: observations
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Cyrrently reading Quarry, by Max Allan Collins. Professional criminals doing their business with little emotional attachments is my preferred genre, after all. In the first chapter, Quarry kills a man, and there hasn’t been a single multi-page aside concerning, for instance, why he uses a particular gun, so it’s safe to say I am enjoying this much more than Moby Dick.

Cyrrently reading Quarry, by Max Allan Collins. Professional criminals doing their business with little emotional attachments is my preferred genre, after all. In the first chapter, Quarry kills a man, and there hasn’t been a single multi-page aside concerning, for instance, why he uses a particular gun, so it’s safe to say I am enjoying this much more than Moby Dick.