The US election is getting close. I hope everyone who is eligible votes. I hope if anyone thinks there's a problem with voting that it's reported. Don't let anyone or anything tell you how to vote. We have to believe in the basic good of our fellow Americans and to believe that they will not sleep through this election. In my opinion as you all know I think there should be a rout of the clout-ers. The end of the reign and the end of the double deals and especially an end to the lies. Think about the facts -- the provable facts -- and act on them.

I think Wary Mary mishap's when he/she/it implied that dummies end up in Iraq. Bonehead can't get past the previously big event in his life. Don't go there.

Anyone with an ounce of sense knows that he meant Tushi but so what it came out danged crappy? And then he flayed
*(flay? /fle?/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[fley] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation
Â?verb (used with object)
1. to strip off the skin or outer covering of.
2. to criticize or scold with scathing severity.
3. to deprive or strip of money or property.
himself by not coming around with a decent apology. Bah.

Let's look for the good, the bright and the true.

Poor Zippy. He's got a tumor on his leg and on his chest in his armpit. May have to have them taken off.
Read about it here: http://www.dogfocused.com/dog-health/
A good all around site.

Fiction flash:
What would you think if I told you there were giant green amoebas lurking in the dark? Would you believe me? Read my story not about amoebas but bony ghosts at Bewildering Stories.

http://www.RDLarson.com
http://www.kenseamedia.com/rdlarson/


I guess this comes under political flash but it's not about Republicans or Democrats. It's not about anything ordinary. This is a very scary thought and I thought you ought to know. If any community is closer (because we don't have time or language or personal barriers) it is the Internet community. Tell as many people as you can about this: CLICK ON the underlined words. Dying Earth


Our Planet is very sick and getting sicker. We all need to take care of it. Or there won't be any air, food or water.

WRITER @Large with flash BLOG
object width="425" height="350">

WRITER @Large with flash BLOGobject width="425" height="350">

My Water Bowl

A man and his dog were walking along a road.

The man was enjoying the scenery, when it suddenly occurred to him that he was dead. He remembered dying, and that the dog walking beside him had been dead for years.

He wondered where the road was leading them.

After a while, they came to a high, white stone wall along one side of the road. It looked like fine marble.

At the top of a long hill, it was broken by a tall arch that glowed in the sunlight.

When he was standing before it he saw a magnificent gate in the arch that looked like mother-of-pearl, and the street that led to the gate looked like pure gold.

He and the dog walked toward the gate, and as he got closer, he saw a man at a desk to one side.

When he was close enough, he called out, "Excuse me, where are we?"

"This is Heaven, sir," the man answered.

"Wow! Would you happen to have some water?" the man asked.

"Of course, sir. Come right in, and I'll have some ice water brought right up."

The man gestured, and the gate began to open.

"Can my friend," gesturing toward his dog, "come in, too?" the traveler asked.

"I'm sorry; sir, but we don't accept pets."

The man thought a moment and then turned back toward the road and continued the way he had been going with his dog.

After another long walk, and at the top of another long hill, he came to a dirt road leading through a farm gate that looked as if it had never been closed. There was no fence.

As he approached the gate, he saw a man inside, sitting by a camp fire under the tree.

"Excuse me!" he called to the man. "Do you hve any water?"

"Yeah, sure, there's a pump over there, come on in."

"How about my friend here?" the traveler gestured to the dog.

"There should be a bowl by the pump."

They went through the gate, and sure enough, there was an old-fashioned hand pump with a bowl beside it.

The traveler filled the water bowl and took a long drink himself, and then he gave some to the dog.

When they were full, he and the dog walked back toward the man who was sitting under the tree.

"What do you call this place?" the traveler asked.

"This is Heaven," he answered.

"Well, that's confusing," the traveler said. "The man down the road said that was Heaven, too."

"Oh, you mean the place with the Gold Street and pearly gates? Nope. That's hell."

"Doesn't it make you mad for them to use your name like that?"

"No, we're just happy that they screen out the folks who would leave their best friends behind."

Soooo...
Sometimes, we wonder why friends keep forwarding jokes to us with out writing a word.

Maybe this will explain.

When you are very busy, but still want to keep in touch, guess what you do? You forward jokes.

When you have nothing to say, but still want to keep contact, you forward jokes.

When you have something to say, but don't know what, and don't know how,
you forward jokes.

Also to let you know that you are still remembered, you are still
important, you are still loved, you are still cared for, guess what you
get? A forwarded joke.

So, next time if you get a joke, don't think that you've been sent just
another forwarded joke, but that you've been thought of today and your
friend on the other end of your computer wanted to send you a smile.

You are all welcome @ my water bowl anytime

WRITER @Large with flash BLOG

I don't know who wrote this but fellow writer Will Gray sent it on to me . . . .
I know you'll like it. If you know who wrote it, I will put their name to it.

My Water Bowl

A man and his dog were walking along a road.

The man was enjoying the scenery, when it suddenly occurred to him that he
was dead. He remembered dying, and that the dog walking beside him had been dead for years.

He wondered where the road was leading them.

After a while, they came to a high, white stone wall along one side of
the road. It looked like fine marble.

At the top of a long hill, it was broken by a tall arch that glowed in the
sunlight.

When he was standing before it he saw a magnificent gate in the arch that looked like mother-of-pearl, and the street that led to the gate looked like pure gold.

He and the dog walked toward the gate, and as he got closer, he saw a man
at a desk to one side.

When he was close enough, he called out, "Excuse me, where are we?"

"This is Heaven, sir," the man answered.

"Wow! Would you happen to have some water?" the man asked.

"Of course, sir. Come right in, and I'll have some ice water brought right up."

The man gestured, and the gate began to open.

"Can my friend," gesturing toward his dog, "come in, too?" the traveler asked.

"I'm sorry; sir, but we don't accept pets."

The man thought a moment and then turned back toward the road and
continued the way he had been going with his dog.

After another long walk, and at the top of another long hill, he came to
a dirt road leading through a farm gate that looked as if it had never been
closed. There was no fence.

As he approached the gate, he saw a man inside, sitting by a camp fire under the tree.

"Excuse me!" he called to the man. "Do you hve any water?"

"Yeah, sure, there's a pump over there, come on in."

"How about my friend here?" the traveler gestured to the dog.

"There should be a bowl by the pump."

They went through the gate, and sure enough, there was an old-fashioned
hand pump with a bowl beside it.

The traveler filled the water bowl and took a long drink himself, and then
he gave some to the dog.

When they were full, he and the dog walked back toward the man who was
sitting under the tree.

"What do you call this place?" the traveler asked.

"This is Heaven," he answered.

"Well, that's confusing," the traveler said. "The man down the road said that was Heaven, too."

"Oh, you mean the place with the Gold Street and
pearly gates? Nope. That's hell."

"Doesn't it make you mad for them to use your name like that?"

"No, we're just happy that they screen out the folks who would leave
their best friends behind."

Soooo...
Sometimes, we wonder why friends keep forwarding jokes to us with out writing a word.

Maybe this will explain.

When you are very busy, but still want to keep in touch, guess what you do? You forward jokes.

When you have nothing to say, but still want to keep contact, you forward jokes.

When you have something to say, but don't know what, and don't know how,
you forward jokes.

Also to let you know that you are still remembered, you are still
important, you are still loved, you are still cared for, guess what you
get? A forwarded joke.

So, next time if you get a joke, don't think that you've been sent just
another forwarded joke, but that you've been thought of today and your
friend on the other end of your computer wanted to send you a smile.

You are all welcome @ my water bowl anytime

www.RDLarson.com
www.RDLarson.blogspot.com

A Benign and Archaic Afterthought

Jack backed up against the wall as the four women closed in on him. Their fingers, twisted and ruined, reached out for his face. Fingernails, broken and dirty, scratched his cheeks and lips. He spread his trembling black wings against the ancient mossy bricks

The four women caught him trying to steal the Infant. His capture would ensure their control of the Drownaught Citadel. Jack knew his mission; his calling would be the only one for this rare occurrence. The Deity did not spend much time anymore on little things like new babies. Not since, the incorporation of The Belief. The Deity had appointed CEO's, CFO's, and numerous high-ranking religious executives. All events programmed and directed years in advance left no chance of error or success of a barely remembered ritual from long ago. A Black Angel on a mission had now become a benign and archaic afterthought.

Jack compelled his mind to focus.

The witches guarded the most recently developed Infant sent from the Starship with their usual fanaticism. They remembered only their old ways, wanting everything to stay the same. They snickered in derision when Jack appeared to take the Infant up to the Beyond.

“Here you are again, Jack. Stupid of them to send you. Why don’t you stay with your manuscripts, fool?” The oldest crone of the witches leered at him. Snot, green and jellied, hung from her nostrils and her fetid stench surrounded him. Jack gagged, his reflex action giving the four hoary women a reason to snigger as they probed at him with their fingers. One, a pale moon of a witch, pinched his stomach and ripped a feather from his wing.

“Ouch! That really hurts.” Jack’s eyes flashed a sudden temper. He tired of patience being a virtue and didn‘t care that the Saints declared patience as ‘appropriate behavior.’ He rubbed his palms along the ancient mossy bricks behind him as his wings throbbed in time to his heartbeat.

“Tut, tut, Jack,” said Uzia. She laughed with a great quake of her flesh, some of it bouncing against his chest and stomach. Jack sucked in his breath.
His glare turned icy
“I will succeed. This time.” He spit the words into the void of their souls. Cackles rent the chill in the air.

“Want to see the baby you can’t save?” Hertia smiled her twisted snarl. Her fingers slid over him like a blind person memorizing the nubs on a spring tree.

“Oh, sure,” Jack said. “Why not? At least I will see the Infant whom I seek.”

They pointed to the arched doorway behind them. With their warped fingers bent like claws, they gesticulated toward the nursery that Jack remembered from his last Mission in 2YK.

Jack lifted his wings, suspending them over the heads of jeering women. The muted shadow cast by his delicate wings spread over their tangled hair and warty countenances.

Jack could not tell if they shrank back from his wing shadow. They appeared to spread apart as with any flock, even as with any coven. He pulled himself up to his greatest height with his bright blue eyes staring intently ahead at the Incubating Ovasphere.

As he stepped forward the group of four pressed against him, touching, feeling his living warmth. Their stink raised bile again in his throat so that he breathed through his flared nostrils. They moved as one toward the opening of curved stones. T he Citadel was thousands of years old and a sparse remnant of past victories. Directly through the arch a blazing fire spiraled. The depth of the caverns beneath Drownaught Citadel muted the hum of medieval machines.

As they arrived at the doorway, the four women slowed so that Jack might lower his head to step under the stone arch. Then swift as osprey the women flew after him, their tongues clacking and sucking in their soggy old mouths.

The baby, part human, part animal, part Deity, rested in the Ovasphere. Curled in a fetal snail shape, its smallness seemed insignificant. A blank unidentified face and unformed appendages lay folded close to the body. Jack knew that this living child could be the imprint from which future evolutionary humans could develop.

What could he do? After all, he forgave himself ahead of time, he was only a black angel of the fourth Regiment of De La Weir, the enigmatic legion of scribes and scholars trying if vainly to keep the histories of the peoples and the animals up to date, in 5KY, Year of Our Deity.

His mind flittered along the skulls of the witches, feeling the depths of their powers. A slight tugging at Iria made his mind stop, and touch it with sightless thoughts, finding the raw crack along the seam in her head. A small but willing split, he thought, stepping closer to the child.

Iria stood to his left, a shapeless, formless thing of lies and evil. Jack took his rapier of brain light and touched her open cleft, unseen below her matted hair. He stepped nearer to the Star Child. It’s eyes flew open and the tiny mouth released a single cry.

Jack twisted the brain-light rapier with his mind and Iria fell. Blood and gray matter spilled slowly like smoke from the tiny crack below her hair. Uzia gasped. She grabbed Iria‘s arm as the witch flayed in death spasms.

Motionless, Daret raised her pocked face, orange in the firelight, to face him. Her eyes burned into his, analyzing his strategy to save the Star Infant. Her mouth opened in rage and her small sharp teeth chewed at his flesh. Jack, his wings spreading behind him, felt fury pouring into his heart. He raised the wings until they were a dark camber over the snarling witch.

With a single beating from the wings, he crushed her. The two remaining witches took up their armor of curses. He was ready for them. Before they could chant a word or think a thought, he flashed again above them. The wings thrashed and churned in the stone room of the witches’ citadel. Again, Jack’s black wings maimed and killed the heretics.

The child’s face turned to him, with large eyes knowing everything.

“A failure. Black Angel, you must use transformation of will and not force to terminate such wicked creatures. Such denizens end not from murder but from conversion. You have released me only to make me prisoner of the past.”

Weeping silver tears, Jack bore up the wee Star Infant in his arms, as his great black wings drove them upward to Beyond. Perhaps, just perhaps, a plan had been phased in for the Star Infant’s survival.

http://www.RDLarson.com My Web Site

Political Slash

Lit Mouse
Political Dilemma
Oh say can you see Tushi Bushi at Lake Troubled Waters, making paper boats? Then setting the little boats afloat with a mouse and lit candle? I can and do. See above. Of course on all the little boats with the little mice he scribbled a hint to his thoughts. Political Dilemma – what's the litmus test of this?

Doggie Splash

When you have a dog you have to take care of them. Zippy has a tooth problem and he will have to have dental work. It's not cheap, but he's more than worth it. What is important is that we treat them right, even if it means charging it to the credit card and not buying latte's for a month. Ya' know he's my little friend!

Fiction Flash

Sweet Revenge
By
RD Larson

I have to kill her before she kills me. I hear her car stop out front. My husband is her lover. I hear her heels on the marble entry. She’s coming up the stairs now. I’m standing here . . . third floor. . .behind the door.

She’s three steps from me. I step in front of her. Face to face.

“Surprise!” She is unprepared to see me. I grab her face in my hands.

I fling her hard against me as I jerk her head, twisting her neck. My sister smashes into a banister, and then grabs my wrist with awful force, as we both plummet on to marble floor below.

If I live. It‘s my only thought.

When I wake from my coma in a hospital ward, I know I've survived. But my sister? Did she live? I find I cannot speak or move.

My sister and her new husband, my husband, come on Sundays to visit me now. I sit in my wheelchair, drooling and helpless. They don't know that I recognize them.

That should be my child she is holding. My husband should remember I carry a grudge forever. She should remember that.

I’m waiting to kill her sometime.

end

So Windword has a new book out? Deep Ear told him all about it. Let's hope he doesn't disappear as did Mike Moooooore. Ya'll be careful out there, the captain use to say on Hill Street Blues.

Major damage control a-going on. Click here to read article.

So if Rummy wanted to quit twice and wasn't allowed to do so, I wonder how that affects his state of committment. http://www.alertnet.org/thenews/newsdesk/N01226604.htm


Justice: Rules of the Road -- Grim Adult Story Audio! at www.footstepstooxford.com

http://www.footstepstooxford.co.uk/Justice_Rules_of_the_Road.mp3