Posts Tagged ‘creative writing’

Well I did it again. We received an E-mail informing us that I am offending another one of our readers.

My images of women’s bare backs and beautiful asses were found of poor taste, hopefully you have noticed them in our picture gallery side-bar of the DistantShipSmoke blog page. There are three of them. And as you all know, we do love naked women, all parts of them. But I guess, just to be tasteful or perhaps more teasing, I only display images of their backs and usually covered butts.

I am showing restraint. I don’t know, it must be due to our early Methodist upbringing. Don’t get me wrong, I love the frontal parts and other details of the female nude (preferably in person in the flesh) as much if not more than the soft smooth backs and buttocks but I just leave those wonderful frontal images for myself, so I can view them in private, with heavy mouth breathing, in front of the light and silvery glow of my 21 inch wide-screen high-definition computer screen.

The only thing as good as a nude picture is a nearly nude woman in lingerie, I do love (preferably in person) the images and pin-ups of women in lingerie. I used to collect them but we just didn’t have enough storage or hard drive space. Terabytes can be quickly eaten (heh.. eaten)  storing the high res lingerie and pin-up jpegs. We had clunky ol’ programs like Outlook e-mail, Office 2ooo, Excel worksheets, Cad drawings and Wire Shark data to maintain. We were constantly forced to make trade-offs between Rita Hayworth, Ava Gardner, Veronica Lake, Zoe Mozert, Jane Russell, Vargas Girls, Bettie Page, Betty Grable (the list goes on) or the complete set of Cad drawings for the Houston Oil Storage Tank Terminal. The decisions were dizzying! But I was the conscientious employee (most of the time) and work always won out, maybe a couple of times, Zoe.

So my dear reader, please don’t stop reading our stuff just because I find Vanessa Marcil’s and Julia Louis-Dreyfus’s perfectly placed Dimples of Venus on their smooth soft backs beautiful and worthy of sharing (preferably in person). Not to mention Vanessa’s perfect ass in 86% nylon and 14% lycra string tied bikini or Julia’s perfectly placed U.S. Constitution. (I know, John Hancock, didn’t sign the real document). We are really using more restraint  than I would myself prefer. And I find them both beautiful and intriguing and titillating and fun. You surely don’t want to rob a man of a little fun? Do you? The images are staying but please keep reading. But we do not want to hear another bad word from you of Pink Floyd’s six wonderfully placed nude body paintings of possibly the world’s six most beautiful albums.

O.C.

 

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I was walking down the street last Thursday
and a dog with bright white teeth and a big smile
approached me from the right.
He said he enjoyed walking with humans and asked if he could join me.
I, a man of great tolerance, said OK, glad to have ya!
We had walked only a block or two and he starts sniffing the street light poles and fire hydrants.
And with that big smile on his face he raises his leg and pisses on one of the posts.
Shocked…. I said, “look, that is very embarrassing to me, to be walking with you and then
having you do that. people will think you are my dog and blame me for messing up the sidewalk.
And how can you do that with such a big smile on your face?”

He said, “Smile on my face? I’m not smiling, dogs don’t smile! I have an urinary infection!” Then he gave me the finger!

OC

Friday March 12, 2010

There’s an old fashion saying, “Home Is Where the Heart Is”. Perhaps I really didn’t appreciate the meaning of that until today.

After a two-week absence, spending all but two nights in hotels, I arrived at my own digs today. But the house was empty. As in, my wife was out-of-town. She is staying one more day with our children and grandchildren. As I reported yesterday, I was able to spend some family time with her and the kids Wednesday afternoon and Thursday. But I must regroup today and Saturday for a return trip to my project in Illinois on Sunday afternoon.

So now you may know what I’m talking about. I’m at my house but I’m not yet home. Home will arrive tomorrow in a red Prius with my wife. It’s funny because my wife believed home arrived today with me in a white Tundra. Home is a very complex concept that is sometimes hard to identify and keep track of. Although we were not in our house, we probably were more at home Thursday night at the middle school in Leavenworth attending Em’s band concert.

But we have been married many years and we have learned that we can adapt easily. I think you call it “rolling with the blows”. We have been very lucky to have raised our two children and now we get to watch our children as they raise their five and create homes for themselves.

Hopefully tomorrow after Marcia’s visit ends, their houses will be just a little bit less home without us. Just as ours through the years has become just a little bit less without them.

Such is the life of John

I approached a large green intersection sign and it said “Will Rogers Turnpike Next Right”. I have taken that tollway a few times and I have seen it on maps and I have just driven past it as I did last week. But I’ve never really thought about something. What I’ve never thought of but now seems so apparently ironic is this. Did the person that suggested Will Roger as the name for that tollway really know anything about him?

I have read a lot about Will Rogers and I have seen his films. His political satire is the best and very cutting. But he didn’t appear to give any politician a free ticket. Or a free pass or maybe you could call it a free toll ticket. He was the biggest promoter of a free public transportation system. But I now can’t help but think what Ol’ Will would have to say about having his name up in lights not at the movies theater but up in lights in the middle of a big 30 foot green tollway sign. And you may know some tollways in Oklahoma. You are stopped every 20 miles or so to pay another toll. Now I can’t help but think about how Mr. Rogers would be impatiently chewing his gum faster and faster searching for change before and after each one of those damn toll gates. Now that’s funny! I’m sure he would be writing about it in his daily newspaper columns.

Rest in peace Will, there are plenty of other things named after you, like airports. Oh my god! I never thought of that! What would he be writing about airports nowadays? Now that’s even funnier to imagine!

Such is the life of John

Captain! Sometimes the most important person is you!
You!….. you dizzled drapes dropper
You! …. you measly mound of moose melt
Get up and fight the sons of bitches!
Hit ’em in the face!
Kick ’em in the balls!
Fuck’em up!

Now wait a minute……..
Think about this
The last skull you cracked still isn’t healed.
And you lost your Secret Society of Greenwich Ring.
Oh! Those were the days!
There was beer, blood and Brylcreem
smeared all over everything.
Royal Fly-boys!…. the Bastards!

Wake Up!!

Whew! That reoccurring WWI dream again!
What time is it?
6 O’clock already!

I HATE Daylight Saving Time!!!

OC

(DST has that affect on some people. This is OC’s  twice annually modified rant about it. Brylcreem??  John   )

“There ain’t no sin and there ain’t no virtue, there’s just stuff people do.” Casy the Preacher – Grapes of Wrath.

As a guy travels around the country, working on different projects, working with different crews and spending a little time with different kinds of men with many experiences and backgrounds, you learn not to ask any questions of their past. They may be and probably are there because of a past that they are trying to forget or get away from. But eventually a man will voluntarily begin to talk, without being asked.

Over the most eye squinting whiskey that I’ve ever tasted, Orie started talking. It was a very short story. The words seemed to spill from his mouth, slowly draining from his skull. Words that had been festering in his head for years and pushing to get out. It started abruptly with ” San Quintin is a terrible place to be. Men have been in there for years and are just forgotten, no family, no friends, no nothin’! They are in there because they had nothin’ and when and if they leave they’ll have nothin’, nothin’ but their old underwear and socks under a new cheap suit. I spent five years there pounding stones for rock roads. And I left with nothin. I know.”

He went on to say, ” Tin Cup Tim was a friendly sort, sold pencils and pens out of a tin cup. Wouldn’t have hurt anybody. We were on a high speed freight, barreling through Iowa. The train came to a fast screeching stop. High speed Coast to Coasters don’t do that unless there’s trouble. Stuck my head out of the box and I saw silver passenger cars side railed ahead. It was the California Zephyr with her engines down. Our freighter was pickin’ her up for the pull West of Ottumwa. Tin Cup and I stayed put where we were in the boxcar. They broke the train at the rear of our car, side railed and hooked on to the Zephyr. First thing we know we are part of a passenger setup. Unspoken rule was for the Bo’s to stay off the Zephyrs and there we were stuck there.”

“Tin Cup got real worried about this, the Railroad Bulls on the passenger lines were mean sons of bitches and didn’t put up with Bo’s on their trains. The freights were no trouble, hell we were part of the crews, but the Zephyrs got your ass beat and then thrown into the next jail! A few miles out of Osceola and Tin Cup decides to bail out before the stop. But the train wasn’t slowing enough for him to jump. While his head was stickin out the door the Bull on the Zephyr must have caught a glimpse of him and before we knew it the Bull had swung up and around and was on his way into the car. Hell we were still going 70 or 80 mile an hour. Well Tin Cup started a scuffle with the Bull, they both lost their balance and fell out the door. The Bull was alright cuz I saw him land and get up but Tin Cup fell under the train. Must of been drug the two mile to the depot. His body parts were strung the whole way. It was right before school time in the morning. An arm and a foot were dropped right in front of some school kids at a crossing.”

Orie went on to say that he’d stepped off the train unnoticed at the Osceola depot and started walking down along side of Highway 69 and hitched a ride at a big intersection in town with a car going west on Highway 34. He hitched all the way to Omaha.

“I hopped a freight out of Omaha, figured I’d take her all the way out to Emeryville, California.”

Well the railroad took the Osceola incident very serious. They couldn’t have body parts falling off their trains in front of school kids. And so the railroad detectives hunted down Orie and caught up with him in California. He didn’t say how they identified him, probably the railroad Bull. He knew it would be the Bull’s word against his about what happened and that would be used against him.They got him convicted of murder of Tin Cup. San Quintin was taking a few Federal prisoners at the time and he ended up there. I think any crimes happening on the railroads were handled as federal offenses and you could end up anywhere. “Glad they didn’t pick me up in Iowa!” he said as he pulled back his old felt hat and downed another shot, “I could have ended up in Ft. Madison.”

Orie spent most of the time in prison forgotten like so many others. Doing hard labor while working on roads. But he said one day he received a letter from a woman that he had known before the war. They had planned to marry when he returned from overseas. They corresponded all of the time that he had served in Europe. When he returned and went to see her, he found that she had been married for two years and had one child and was pregnant with another. She had mentioned nothing about the marriage in any of her letters and said she couldn’t bring herself to tell him while he was at war. I’m sure this is what first fueled his wanderlust.

She had heard from a friend about Orie being in prison and just couldn’t believe he had done anything to deserve it. Her father was a well known attorney on the East coast. She ask her father to do something to help Orie. Her father somehow got Orie’s conviction reduced to manslaughter and he was released from prison with time served.

In 1954 Orie Penny was given a new lease on life.

Tuesday October 12, 2010
Chapter 1

Orie Penny was retired, well let’s say not working for anyone, I never knew which occupation he claimed, horse trader, farm hand cowboy or dealer in Colorado fighting roosters. At the time he made his money breeding fighting roosters and illegal cock fights. He was an averaged sized man, with a 3 day beard, rolled his own and still wore Levis and toe worn boots with stirrup scars around the instep. He didn’t call himself a cowboy, farm hand was good enough for him. Walked with a left legged limp because he had a painful rebuilt hip, reconstructed years ago before modern methods were perfected. He never told me how he hurt his hip but his daughter Anita told me the story late one night.

Orie agreed to marry an immigrant worker’s daughter because she was too old for the father to claim as a dependent and she was going to be deported. The father, being Orie’s best friend, asked him to marry her in name only with the understanding that the marriage could never be consummated and she was to be left alone and never live with him. After a few weeks, Orie, thinking consummation would be the honorable thing to do, made an advance at the young lady . The next morning he heard his friend Ramone yelling outside across the street. Orie went out to investigate the commotion  and Ramone jumped up out of the weeds in the bar-ditch and lowered a 30-06 on him. He shot him through the hip. After he fell, Orie got one round off into the weeds from his old Colt model 1901 .38 revolver that he had grabbed on his way out of the back porch. Of course, he didn’t hit anything but stopped Ramone from popping up his head and shooting anymore rounds. That pretty much disabled him and he couldn’t work riding long hours out on the ranch … err farm as he called it. He never did live with her and never did divorce the girl. She is still living in the States. Orie never pressed charges but Ramone and the rest of his family were deported because of the shooting.

I came to know Orie in the early 70’s. Needing work, I found myself in Western Colorado. I got a job on the construction crew building the cable TV  infrastructure through the area. At the time oil drilling was ramping up due to the oil shortages and embargoes and oil shale had just been discovered on the western slope of the Rockies. There was an minor oil boom going on in the area, which meant no housing available. Until I was able to find a home to rent, suitable for a wife and 2 kids, I was sleeping in a tent and showering at a KOA campgrounds. I met Orie through a friend I knew there. Orie and I hit it off well and he told me to move the tent to his backyard, he knew a lot of people in the area and would help me get a house to live in so I could send for my family. That really did help out.

Although his home had running water to his sink, he had no other indoor plumbing so I still needed a place to shower. He had about an acre of land with his old home. We worked together and fixed up a solar heated water tank and made an outdoor shower out near his rooster houses and horse shed. I can still hear the cackling of his chickens and the rustling sound of his adopted thick legged mustang pony as I slept out in the backyard on those starry nights.

I will tell more stories about Orie and the year I knew him. I might tell about his teaching me to handle fighting roosters in the ring. I would also like to tell about his time riding the rails during the 40’s and his five years in San Quintin prison literally pounding rocks into the roadbed building roads and why he was there. I’m telling this just to say that even men who people may think as the lowest of men may let you stand on their shoulders and give you a leg up. Orie did that for me and I really appreciated it.

DSS

Because I’m lazy, I was going to re-post our Bi-annual standard Friday the 13th story. You know the one,  the WW2 ship yards story of building the HMS Friday. Bla bla bla , bla bla bla. How it was lost at sea on its first shake down cruise. Bla bla bla , bla bla bla. And shortly after the loss, no one could find any record, either military or ship builder records or engineering blue prints of her ever having been built or find anyone that remembers working on its construction. Ya da ya da ya da … well……., I went to our archives to retrieve  John’s last post of the story from a couple of years ago, so I could easily re-post it and the post and all drafts of the story were gone, lost, bleato, vanished.

I’m a little spooked. I don’t think I will ever tell that Friday the 13th disappearing story again.

I know, you are laughing, but until a Friday the 13th event happens to you, you can laugh all you want. But I’m spooked!!

John says he doesn’t remember ever posting it!!!

Vanished, bam!!

OC

(Heh, OC is a little confused. It was posted last in Sept. 2013. But I’m not telling him. Be careful out there!.  John)

Some people have a gift. They can recognize when someone is feeding them bullshit. In the same way that I learned very young how to swear from my old man, I also learned that he had that gift.  I could not get away with anything. And if I tried to lie my way out of anything the consequences were always worse than if I was straight with him. So after pondering the question for what seemed like 20 minutes but was probably no longer than 5 , I blurted out “I don’t know.” because I really didn’t have any idea what he was getting at. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to try to bullshit him into thinking I did.
But I thought about saying, “Well, there are sure a lot of creatures in there that have ears, and as long as there was even just one, they would hear the noise, if there wasn’t any ears in there the noise would just travel on without hitting anybody and nobody would hear it.” But I didn’t say it. I played it safe and said “I don’t know”.

“Johnny, that is the best goddamn answer I have ever heard for that question! I hope you always admit to that to any question that you don’t know the answer to. People can spot bullshit from a mile away, even if they themselves don’t know what they’re talking about. But now, between me and you, what do you really think about that tree?”

And I told him what I thought.

“You know, that’s what I think, too. The sun is going to get high and hot soon, we’d better be getting home, you’ve got fish to clean.”

When we got back to the car, I looked in the back seat and found my worn high top tennis shoes and old dusty stretched wool socks. I put them on, tied up the laces real tight and I haven’t gone barefoot since.

 

OC

 

 

 

 

From our row-boat, I looked across the lake and into the thick woods of oak, elm and hickory trees. The timber floor was covered with thick undergrowth of thorn covered gooseberry and wild raspberry bushes. Not a hospitable place for man. It was a southern Iowa jungle as far as I was concerned, full of all sorts of critters, spider webs, bugs and poison ivy. I’d been in those woods before with my oldest sister picking up hickory nuts and collecting berries from in-between those thorny bushes. After we trudged all afternoon through the thickets and finally peacefully back home, I was terrified to find a wood tick securing a home in my belly button! And I have an inner not an easily accessible outer. Oh, I knew that jungle well. It wasn’t a place for a young boy alone.

 

Now I was confronted with that question. I really did want to answer it to my father’s satisfaction. But was there a right or wrong answer? That damn question was my entrance into manhood and I didn’t want to screw it up. I was trying to think but now I had just learned that trees and branches can just fall in the forest, eer jungle, I hadn’t even thought of it that afternoon I was tromping around in there with my sister. The one chance for me to listen for trees falling and I was wasting my time picking and eating raspberries. And providing ticks with lunch from my belly button. Ticks! The bastards! (I didn’t know what a bastard was but if my dad didn’t like ’em, a tick was surely one , too.)

OC

(Con’t on next post)