BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

I’m not a big fan of lying. I was raised better than that.

One of the things my father always impressed upon me was that an individual has nothing in this world but his / her word. Therefore, if that word is worthless, that person truly has nothing at all.

Now, of course, there is certainly the old “circumvent the truth to save someone’s feelings” sort of thing. That’s not what I’m talking about. I mean flat out subterfuge. And, I should also note that this is not to say that I haven’t fallen off the truth wagon slightly. Just about everyone does at some point in their lives, no matter how honest they are. But, I  owned up to my mistake, which was minor but still enough to not be all that good. Afterward, I climbed back on the truth train and re-valued my word.

Now, I’m sure this sounds a bit funny coming from a guy who gets paid to lie. I mean, after all, what do fiction authors do for a living? That’s right, we make sh*t up. We tell lies about people who don’t even exist, all for the express purpose of making a buck. Well… The buck is kinda the ultimate goal, but we don’t really make too many of them to be perfectly honest. We do, however, entertain folks and most days that’s enough.

Rumor is I’m pretty good at it, where text is concerned. In person, apparently I have a “tell.” At least, that’s what E K says. I think it’s probably just because she’s the QB of the WFU and therefore knows everything already. I’m sure it has something to do with the red hair…

But, I’m sort of digressing, as is my usual M. O… Therefore, let’s move right along and talk about BLAM. Now, BLAM is something you might never have heard about outside the pages of a comic book (onomatopoeia and all that). And, I should also not that I am not now, nor will I ever be, referring to myself as “your old pal Vince.” So, rest assured, BLAM is not a revolutionary cleaner, solvent, chamois, or cheap plastic chopping utensil. No, BLAM is “Blog Spam.” Again, you may have never heard this term before, so I feel compelled to point out that I just made it up.

But, that’s not the point…

You see, Brainpan Leakage, like any other blog, is often the victim of SPAM in the comments section. I combat this on two levels. The first is a background filter that catches about 99% of it and stuffs it into the BLAM can. The second is that I require moderator approval on comments to my blog, therefore until I’ve read it and see that it’s not BLAM, it doesn’t show up online.

But, this doesn’t keep the BLAMMERS from trying, and in recent months they’ve decided to take a cue from the Email Spammers “subject line subterfuge” and start lying a whole lot. The thing is, they aren’t very good at it. So, today, I thought maybe I’d share a couple of my favorites. The IP’s, emails, and URL’s have been blocked out not for anyone’s protection, but because I have no desire to let them use my blog as a backlink…

(Click images to enlarge)

I just dunno… I think if you REALLY respected my work you wouldn’t be trying to sell my readers “cipro without a prescription.” But, that’s just MY opinion…

Okay, so obviously I missed something in my own blog. What the hell does being a Buddhist have to do with a crazed redhead chasing dogs around with a stiletto heeled shoe?

Define a “long time”… And no, I don’t want to purchase anything through your amazon store, thank you very much.

You run a couple of blogs on how to not be a victim of a serial killer/rapist – identity thief – sociopath? Must be hurting for content, eh? One question: Why does your URL have something to do with pet pedigrees?

LINUX? Really? I need to check my tags. Oh, and thanks, but I’ve already had my roof replaced.

There are similar blogs about the red cross running a blood drive at a Sci-Fi con? Wow. Must be a more popular topic than I thought. No sleeping pills for me, thanks. All I need is a generic Zyrtec…

There are actually plenty more from whence these came. I had trouble picking the examples to be perfectly honest. But, there you go. All in a day’s BLAM…

And, the moral of this story? If you’re going to try to blow smoke up my ass, then… well… umm… Don’t. But(t) if you insist on trying, at least put some thought into it…

More to come…

Murv

Continued from: Of Redheads And High Heels…

As we established in our previous episode, it all started with a blood-curdling shriek. Also as noted, it was an “I’m going to kill you with my bare hands” sort of shriek, which just so happens to be one of those that the redhead can do at the drop of a hat. Moreover, it causes male hearts anywhere within a 5 mile radius to fibrillate momentarily, followed by the family jewels making a hasty retreat indoors, so to speak.

And, as we know, such a scream from The Evil One usually precedes me being screwed – and not in the good way. I mean screwed like the guy in the cartoon… Although, she has yet to use an actual ginormous screw to effect said screwing. I expect once she sees this blog, however, she will find someplace to order one. Damn… I hate when I give her ideas…

Oh well, moving right along.

As it turns out, this time neither my name, nor any of the monikers the undisputed Queen of Evil uses for me (lackey, doormat, hey you, what’syername, et. al), had been uttered. Nope… This was just a plain old scare the pee right outta ya’ shriek straight from the bowels of Hades. This seemed to indicate that maybe, just maybe, it was NOT me who was the target of her wrath this time. Unusual, yes, but hey, it happens once in a blue moon…

Oh, and before I forget, we also established Rule #2 ½ – Don’t mess with EKay’s shoes… I think that warrants a quick reminder because it has enormous bearing on the story…

And, therefore, back to that bone-chilling screech…

So, there we were (and still are) with a plethora of E K shoes hither and yon. In the closet(s), on shoe racks, under the bed, on the stairs, in boxes… You name it. And, back then, not only did we have shoes, we also had a couple of roommates.

We’ll call them Benjamin and Quigley, mostly because those were their names.

And, before you ask, no, Ben and Quigs were NOT a couple of guys E K kept chained up in the basement for recreational torture whenever I couldn’t take any more and simply passed out from the intense agony.  Those guys were named Bob and Bob, and she picked them up from… Well,  that’s a different story so we won’t get into that…

Nope, Ben and Quigs were our English Setter and Australian Cattle Dog, respectively (both of whom have since gone to the great kennel in the sky, but still live on in the pages of the RGI novels.)

I think maybe you can now see where this is going.

And so, I was in the kitchen preparing dinner when the front door opened, the click-clack of Evil’s shoes tapped against our hardwood floor, followed immediately by the horrific scream.  Not knowing what the problem could be, but realizing that if I didn’t respond – even though my name had not been called – there would be hell to pay, I shot out of the kitchen and into the dining room. And, that’s when I saw it… The horribly masticated, chewed up, slobbered upon, ripped to shreds, size 7 shoe.

Ben and the Quigster were already in motion. Unfortunately, they were more like a couple of the Keystone Cops as opposed to a well-practiced football team, or anything else for that matter. The English Setter leaped up, only to have the Aussie run under his legs and trip him. He regained his footing, but once again they bounced off one another as they sought escape, yelping all the way – and at this point all that had happened was the shriek.

E K, being practiced in the art of unconventional available weaponry, as we are well aware from all of her high level NSA training (See: Kay… E Kay…) immediately fell back on instinct. Kicking one foot up behind her, she instantly had a lethal weapon in hand and at the ready.

Both canines  stopped dead in their tracks and stared at the psychotic redhead. In a remarkable and wholly unbelievable moment of spontaneous anthropomorphization, their eyes widened, and my hand to God / Goddess / Whatever deity works for you, I swear that both of them yelled, “OH SH*T!”

Once again, they bounced off one another as they scrambled across the floor in an attempt to escape. E K jumped in front of the Aussie, who immediately began backpedaling. Then, like some kind of gymnast on crack, my wife ran up the wall, across the ceiling, and landed feet first on the sofa, right in front of the English Setter who was attempting to take a shortcut by way of the furniture.

Both of the dogs scampered toward the stairs, but it was no good. The redhead, like some kind of Matrix-Samurai-Ninja who was wielding the sacred stiletto heel, flew from the couch, right over the top of the coffee table, and landed immediately behind them. The pair shot up the stairs, yelping like they’d been beaten by someone with a 2X4, even though she hadn’t even touched them. E K was, of course, mere fractions of an inch behind them, screaming something barely intelligible at the top of her lungs. To this day I am convinced that it was some ancient hell spawn cursing, all of which ended in “MY SHOOOOOZZZ!”

I stood in the dining room, dumbfounded as I listened to the trio circle the  upper half-story at least six times before shooting back down the stairs at blinding speed. I stared on in horror as they came barreling straight for me, both Ben and Quigley still in an athropomorphized state as they yelled, “DOOD! HELP! SHE’S GONNA KILL US!”

At the last minute, just as my heart was lodging itself in my throat, they took a quick right and shot down the hallway. I tried to warn them, but they weren’t thinking clearly and my heart was blocking my vocal chords. You see, the bedroom door was closed, and the hallway dead ended in the bathroom.

The simultaneous scampering of dog paws came to a sudden halt, and a split second later the clickety-clack of a single high heel running at 42,000 RPM’s fell silent. I heard another stream of hell spawn cursing, once again ending with MY SHOOOOOOZZZZZZ!

And then, all was quiet.

That’s when I started to get concerned. I slowly crept around the corner and made my way down the hall to the bathroom. There stood the redhead in her business attire, hair puffed out from her head like a cat with an arched back, one shoe on, and the other held high over her head in the death strike position.

The dogs, having reached the end of the line, were rolled over on their backs, paws in the air, tongues hanging out, and fear in their eyes. I looked at them, and they looked at me. Then they looked up at the redhead with the killer shoe. They looked back at me. I looked at them, then I looked at the redhead with the killer shoe. They looked back to the redhead…

And, then Quigley proceeded to pee all over himself.

In the end, E K never touched the canines. She did, however, make me clean up the dog pee and then proceeded to beat me with the shoe. Something about her shoes being named Husbandstomper, and once the stiletto was unsheathed, it had to draw the blood of a man before it could be put back into its box.

Personally, I think maybe she was reading too many of Michael Moorcock’s Elric Novels*…

More to come…

Murv

* The character in the novels, Elric, carried a cursed sword named Stormbringer. Whenever unsheathed, it could not be re-sheathed until it had drawn blood.