Good old JOKE

>remember the Original Hollywood Squares and its comics? These great questions and answers are from the days when 'Hollywood Squares' game show responses were spontaneous and >clever, not scripted and (often) dull, as they are now. Peter Marshall was >the host asking the questions, of course. > >Q. Do female frogs croak? >A. Paul Lynde: If you hold their little heads under water long enough. > >Q. If you're going to make a parachute jump, at least how high should you >be? >A. Charley Weaver: Three days of steady drinking should do it. > >Q. True or False, a pea can last as long as 5,000 years >A. George Gobel: Boy, it sure seems that way sometimes. > >Q. You've been having trouble going to sleep. Are you probably a man or a >woman? >A. Don Knotts: That's what's been keeping me awake. > >Q. According to Cosmopolitan, if you meet a stranger at a party and you >think that he is attractive, is it okay to come out and ask him if he's >married? >A. Rose Marie: No, wait until morning. > >Q. Which of your five senses tends to diminish as you get older? >A. Charley Weaver: My sense o f decency. > >Q. What are 'Do It,' 'I Can Help,' and 'I Can't Get Enough'? >A. George Gobel: I don't know, but it's coming from the next apartment. > >Q. As you grow older, do you tend to gesture more or less with your hands >while talking? >A. Rose Marie: You ask me one more growing old question Peter, and I'll >give >you a gesture you'll never forget. > >Q. Paul, why do Hell's Angels wear leather? >A. Paul Lynde: Because chiffon wrinkles too easily. > >Q. Charley, you just decided to grow strawberries. Are you going to get any >during the first year? >A. Charley Weaver: Of course not, I'm too busy growing strawberries. > >Q. In bowling, what's a perfect score? >A. Rose Marie: Ralph, the pin boy. > >Q. It is considered in bad taste to discuss two subjects at nudist camps. >One is politics, what is the other? >A. Paul Lynde: Tape measures. > >Q. During a tornado, are you safer in the bedroom or in the closet? >A. Rose Marie: Unfortunately Peter, I'm always safe in the bedroom. > >Q. Can boys join the Camp Fire Girls? >A. Marty Allen: Only after lights out. > >Q. When you pat a dog on its head he will wag his tail. What will a goose >do? >A. Paul Lynde: Make him bark? > >Q. If you were pregnant for two years, what would you give birth to? >A. Paul Lynde: Whatever it is, it would never be afraid of the dark. > >Q. According to Ann Landers, is there anything wrong with getting into the >habit of kissing a lot of people? >A. Charley Weaver: It got me out of the army. > >Q. It is the most abused and neglected part of your body, what is it? >A. Paul Lynde: Mine may be abused, but it certainly isn't neglected. > >Q. Who stays pregnant for a longer period of time, your wife or your >elephant? >A. Paul Lynde: Who told you about my elephant? > >Q. When a couple have a baby, who is responsible for its sex? >A. Charley Weaver: I'll lend him the car, the rest is up to him. > >Q. Jackie Gleason recently revealed that he firmly believes in them and has >actually seen them on at least two occasions. What are they? >A. Charley Weaver: His feet. > >Q. According to Ann Landers, what are two things you should never do in >bed? >A. Paul Lynde: Point and laugh. > >Q. Back in the old days, when Great Grandpa put horseradish on his head, >what was he trying to do? >A. George Gobel: Get it in his mouth. ********************************************************************* (1) Comments

Posted: 11/22/2007 11:24:00 PM

Toronto East Jail...

The gaudy yellow paddy wagon backed in the prisoner transfer dock of the East Detention Centre, idling until the security-door closed. With a resounding clang, the 15 foot high metal panel slid into the wall and locked in place. With the Sally Port now secure, the two transfer officers got out and removed the van's hefty back door padlock. It was a light load today: a routine bunch of transfers from the new Don Jail. It was also the last load on the Labour Day week-end. Transporting prisoners wearing leg irons and handcuffs could present some humorous situations. The prisoners had to pigeon-step because of the short leg chains. Movement had to be choreographed in step; falling out of step resulted in a pile of tangled men falling on top of each other. Old cons shuffled along with short-nimble steps, like tip-toeing ballerinas, while newcomers pulled against each other like clumsy cattle, sometimes tripping up the entire chain. The five shackled and handcuffed prisoners slowly stepped out of the wagon. There was just enough chain to let a shackled man use stairs. Barely enough. This was always the awkward part: stepping out of the paddy wagon. If someone fell, he could drag the whole line down. That sort of clumsiness usually resulted in a later beating, depending on who you were. Squinting at the sudden light, the last prisoner in the chain emerged from the van, wobbled slightly, and then fell to the ground, dragging the entire chain with him. At 295 lbs, Donny Stovini was definitely the right size to drag everyone down with him. He was also so stoned from the pills his partner slipped he was the first one to break out laughing. Watching the writhing mass of handcuffed legs and arms, the two harness bulls guarding the prisoners broke out laughing. Everyone was either yelling or laughing so hard, it took the two guards a minute or so to realize someone was screaming about being hurt. The cops were instantly serious. Their job was to transfer these men without incident. Some were just in for traffic fines and would be released as soon as they saw a Judge or a Justice of the Peace over the weekend. The unfortunate convict chained to Donny had broken his arm when the giant Storvini fell on top of him. With help from other jail guards, the escort cops finally unlocked and untangled the jumble of prisoners, making sure Storvini still had his leg shackles firmly in place. The huge Italian had a nasty reputation for inflicting a lot of damage with well-aimed karate kicks. The 6’, 3” giant was considered a prisoner that required “special handling”. One incident took six officers to subdue him. But when he was in a good mood, he was polite and actually quite intelligent. Never knowing what to expect from the Vietnam War veteran, the arresting officers always erred on the side of caution when subduing him. But the large Italian just followed along, trying to walk a straight line after all the pills he took. *** The prisoners were finally locked in the first processing bullpen: a square area with benches and bars, it was sometimes so full it was standing room only. The injured man went to the prison hospital, then immediately transferred to Scarborough General Hospital to have a cast put on his arm. Having that much weight land on your arm can do some serious damage. The poor guy was only in on for too many parking tickets: he would have seen the J.P. the next day and released on his own recognizance. Much to the guard’s surprise, Donny Storvini waited to be processed without incident, a sort of dazed look on his face. He found an empty spot on the bench, then sat with his arms wrapped around his stomach, letting out a deep groan every few minutes. When a guard asked him what was wrong, he told him his street Doctor was going to admit him to St. Paul’s to extract kidney stones. With any medical case, the processing guards had to call the shift supervisor. When the white-shirt showed up (jail slang for supervisors), he talked to the guards then walked over to the holding cell. Knowing Storvini from frequent arrests for getting too drunk and starting fights, he approached the bullpen and stood, eyeing Stovini, assessing the situation. “What the hell is the matter this time Stovini,” barked the sharply pressed, white-shirted Sergeant. Storvini looked at the Supervisor, his face a mask of pain, and then coughed slowly, grimacing with each breath. “I got kidney stones,” he managed to spit out, between painful breaths, that fall we took getting out of the wagon must have aggravated them.” “Yeah,” snorted the Sergeant, “I heard about that, I also heard you were the one that caused it.” “I had an attack when I stood up,” responded Stovini, his usual loud voice a whisper. “Right. But I don’t have Alzheimer’s. I seem to remember some of your shenanigans at the Don Jail, Storvini,” sneered the Supervisor, taking a closer look at the usually upbeat burly brawler. “Okay, I’ll get the nurse down here to have a look at you. I hope you’re on the level this time.” His familiarity with the big man made him shake his head in doubt as he walked away. Storvini leaned back, ignoring his surroundings and the curious stares of his cellmates. While not everyone there knew him personally, they definitely knew better than to pay any attention to whatever Donny was trying to pull. Donny’s performance, whether real or faked, was good enough to convince the other prisoners to mind their own business. An older, well-dressed gentleman even politely asked Donny if he would like a drink of water. A low pitched snarl convinced him to back off. The rag-tag group made themselves as comfortable as possible, a grim look of resolve now painted on their gloomy faces. The reality of their situation was painfully clear; they were in jail, and now part of a slow moving system. Like the system, they all had plenty of time on their hands. Whatever they did to end up here, this was there home until their lawyers got them out, if they could. The experienced cons knew what was going on. They were all awaiting the next stage of jail indoctrination. Time to enjoy a full strip-search, trade their street clothes for blue jail clothes that never fit, a cold or lukewarm shower, finally being issued their only possessions for the time being; a towel, comb, tobacco, toothbrush and paste. Newly showered and dressed in their jail blues, they moved to another bullpen to wait for their new living assignments. The East had four floors for human warehousing, each divided into two living units, surrounded by ten two man cells. Unfortunately, overcrowding often meant three man cells. Overall, this place was a hotel compared to the mice and cockroaches that inhabited the Don Jail. The old part of the jail was closed down; built around 1890, the original jail had cells that were 3’ X 10’, equipped with a bucket for sanitary purposes. One of the corridors had a steel door permanently welded shut; behind the door was a fully functioning gallows. They outlawed capital punishment in 1921. Overcrowding made using the jail necessary, even when a new addition was added in 1950. The inmates confined in the block that had the steel door covering the hanging platform, would do anything to avoid staying there. The inmates were people from all walks of life, and they all insisted the block is haunted. They swore they heard the hangman’s door drop at night, and could hear ghostly footsteps echo in the corridor, when everyone were locked in their cells. The “old” Don was finally shut down in the ‘80’s, but the new wing was still in use. The new East and West jails helped with the overcrowding for several years. The new arrivals at the East jail gradually made it to the last holding cell. The jail’s usual atmosphere of boredom and despair hadn’t affected the new men yet, and they joked and traded war stories like they were in their own living rooms. Donny was given special treatment and was allowed to remain in the first cell, where he lay stretched out on the hard wooden bench. The echo of doors opening and closing could be heard a long way off, loudly announcing a new arrival or new activity. With endless periods of inactivity, inmates usually observed people coming and going; when you’re locked in a cage and can’t move, anything grabs your attention. Everyone watched as the guard opened the rear door and let the nurse in, pushing a wheelchair. A minute later, Donny Storvini wheeled by them, briefly looking up to give his former cellmates a sly grin and a groan as he passed. Donny was treated like a king. He was given a private room, helped into bed by the nurse, and then given a hefty shot of morphine for kidney stone pain. Since it was a long weekend, there was no doctor on duty until Monday. The Doctor was told about the pain and the symptoms over the phone, and prescribed the standard treatment for kidney stones: lots of pain medication. Donny relaxed, satisfied with his new surroundings, and waited for the morphine to kick in. The medical cells were considered luxury suites, and Donny was now happily ensconced in his private apartment. His, at least until Monday. Along with a shot of morphine every four hours, Donny had a nurse to fuss over him, room service, and special treats from the nurse’s supply of ginger ale and orange juice. This would definitely help the heroin withdrawal symptoms he was going to face. This was a relatively new jail, staffed with brand new people. Decent people staffed the new jail. They treated the inmates with care and respect. They were not yet cynical and jaded. They were not used to dealing with the hard-core types like Donny. If he tried this kidney stone scam at the Toronto Don Jail he would probably end up in solitary confinement. As the morphine spread that familiar warmth throughout his body, Donny forgot about his immediate problems and just drifted off in a narcotic cloud of peace. He’d have to get them to double the dose in the morning. (0) Comments

Posted: 11/22/2007 10:51:52 PM

Gold- it's out there

The truth is how a politician remembers things. Reality doesn't stand a chance when the entire printing process is controlled by a government hell-bent on censorship. Since history is written by the victors, how can we really find out what happened? answer: By reading letters and other documents from that period. Deciphering the past can be an interesting occupation. Remember Indiana Jones? That's a bit extreme, but there are a lot of relic hunters/historians out there looking for buried treasure from the past. A recent assessment predicted there was roughly 50 billion dollars worth of gold and gem stones scattered on the ocean floor. This figure is fairly accurate, as it was compiled by researchers that examined missing shipwrecks and there listed cargo. So, get out those scuba tanks, get a boat, and just dive somewhere along the old Spanish trade routes. Most of the heavily laden wrecks full of gold sailed from Mexico to Spain. Since no one has any idea where they went down, blind luck in searching a likely area have way better odds than winning at Los Vegas or the Lottery. A little research helps, but all the documents are free for anyone to examine: in Spain. Good luck sometimes requires better chances... (0) Comments

Posted: 11/21/2007 3:23:49 PM

Good Joke

Italian Pregnancy: An 18 year old Italian girl tells her Mom that she has missed her period for 2 months. Very worried, the mother goes to the drugstore and buys a pregnancy kit. The test result shows that the girl is pregnant. Shuting, cursing, crying, the mother says, 'who was the pig that did this to you? I want to know!' The girl picks up telephone and makes a call. Half an hour later, a Ferrari stops in front of their house. A mature and distinguished man with grey hair and impeccably dressed in an Armani suit steps out of the of the Ferrari and enters the house. He sits in the living room with the father, mother, and the girl and tells them: 'Good morning, your daughter has informed me of the problem. I can't marry her because of my personal family situation but I'll take charge. I will pay all costs and provide for your daughter for the rest of her life. Additionally, if a girl is born, I will bequeath a Ferrari, 2 retail stores, a townhouse, a beachfront villa, and a $2,000,000 bank account. If a boy is born, my legacy will be a couple of factories and a $4,000,000 bank account. If twins, they will receive a factory and $2,000,000 each. However, if there is a miscarriage, what do you suggest I do?' At this point, the father, who had remained silent, places a hand firmly on the man's shoulder and tells him, 'You a gonna try again.' (0) Comments

Posted: 11/21/2007 3:03:16 PM

novel news

wow...so much planning, characters, plots, and I have to keep everything fictional... (1) Comments

Posted: 11/2/2007 10:31:42 PM

novel progress..

I've realized I stumbled across something that could really turn this into an engrossing read, and it has to be done correctly. The research I've done takes care of everything I needed, now I have to integrate that into the novel in a progressively tight writing style. I have avenues that could introduce any number of characters with their own axe to grind, and the truth about my main source has to be fictionalized, but credited in someway, because he was real, and wrote some wild books I have to include which will give away his real name. I need to tread carefully...this is the sort of thing that has been missed by mainstream writers and I need to do a good job of it, as it has the makings of a great hollywood film. (0) Comments

Posted: 10/31/2007 12:38:49 PM

the Novel Diary...

10/8/07 Today was spent editing, always important, and research. I discovered gold! It was a book, buried in the old stacks, only taken out twice, but contains the life of a man who was "the most remarkable scoundrel ever known in the far east". I'm sticking to history, mixed up with fiction on this...I'm surprised no one in Hollywood has heard of this guy, as his life is one adventure after another. My character uncovers him in 1973, and anyone who was an enemy, had a tarnished reputation with him, or went along with one of his numerous scams would do anything to see this biography my document guy aquired. So many avenues of reproach; it's a story that writes itself. write on... things are looking good for this book. (0) Comments

Posted: 10/30/2007 8:07:04 PM

Novel progress...

Another day...more writing. I spent most of my time doing research, time which paid off in spades, as I uncovered a historical character that fits into my story like a kid glove. Really, a mysterious package was sent to Hugh Trevor-Roper, a famous Brit historian, regarding a character who was previously consider an invaluable asset during the years 1898-1927, in China... the rest will be in my novel, with names changed. Reality is sometimes better than fiction... more later.. Dan (1) Comments

Posted: 10/29/2007 5:43:34 PM

Diary and Creation of a Novel

This is a record of the process involved in writing a novel. They say a novel begins with one word, so it follows that it ends with one word. Between those words are a world created by imagination; therefore, it can only be understood by imagination. My character is a document analyst. A mundane, professorial job. However, all that changes when he uncovers a document that will change English history and besmirch a man that has become a British tradition and idol. The source of the document was a French gangster with a wide circle of contacts: he has an amateurish hobby of collecting old maps and historical documents. When he gets one that is notable and should be shared by the world, he contacts Darby. You have been invited to peek into this world and watch the characters develop, react and perform; sort of a voyeristic voyage into the minds and misdeeds which span 400 years. The truth is unbelievable, but nevertheless, the evidence for this historical charade, is presented: look at them rationally as I lay them out. Ergo, Q.E.D. Dana (0) Comments

Posted: 10/28/2007 3:28:58 PM

tax

In case you don't feel you pay enough taxes either federally, > >>>>provicially or locally.....take a look at the following list and see if > >>>>there are any you have missed and those that are yet to come > >>>> > >>>> Send this to your MP and MPP > >>>> > >>>> At first I thought this was funny...then I realized > >>>> the awful truth > >>>> > >>>> of it. > >>>> > >>>> Be sure to read all the way to the end! > >>>> > >>>>Tax his land, > >>>> > >>>>Tax his bed, > >>>> > >>>>Tax the table > >>>> > >>>>At which he's fed. > >>>> > >>>>Tax his tractor, > >>>> > >>>>Tax his mule, > >>>> > >>>>Teach him taxes > >>>> > >>>>Are the rule. > >>>> > >>>>Tax his cow, > >>>> > >>>>Tax his goat, > >>>> > >>>>Tax his pants, > >>>> > >>>>Tax his coat. > >>>> > >>>>Tax his ties, > >>>> > >>>>Tax his shirt, > >>>> > >>>>Tax his work, > >>>> > >>>>Tax his dirt. > >>>> > >>>>Tax his tobacco, > >>>> > >>>>Tax his drink, > >>>> > >>>>Tax him if he > >>>> > >>>>Tries to think. > >>>> > >>>>Tax his cigars, > >>>> > >>>>Tax his beers, > >>>> > >>>>If he cries, then > >>>> > >>>>Tax his tears. > >>>> > >>>>Tax his car, > >>>> > >>>>Tax his gas, > >>>> > >>>>Find other ways > >>>> > >>>>To tax his ass > >>>> > >>>>Tax all he has > >>>> > >>>>Then let him know > >>>> > >>>>That you won't be done > >>>> > >>>>Till he has no dough. > >>>> > >>>>When he screams and hollers, > >>>> > >>>>Then tax him some more, > >>>> > >>>>Tax him till > >>>> > >>>>He's good and sore. > >>>> > >>>>Then tax his coffin , > >>>> > >>>>Tax his grave, > >>>> > >>>>Tax the sod in > >>>> > >>>>Which he's laid. > >>>> > >>>>Put these words > >>>> > >>>>upon his tomb, > >>>> > >>>>" Taxes drove me to my doom..." > >>>> > >>>>When he's gone, > >>>> > >>>>Do not relax, > >>>> > >>>>Its time to apply > >>>> > >>>>The inheritance tax. > >>>> > >>>>Accounts Receivable Tax > >>>> > >>>>Building Permit Tax > >>>> > >>>>CDL license Tax > >>>> > >>>>Cigarette Tax > >>>> > >>>>Corporate Income Tax > >>>> > >>>>Dog License Tax > >>>> > >>>>Excise Taxes > >>>> > >>>>Federal Income Tax > >>>> > >>>>Federal Unemployment Tax > >>>> > >>>>Fishing License Tax > >>>> > >>>>Food License Tax > >>>> > >>>>Fuel Permit Tax > >>>> > >>>>Gasoline Tax > >>>> > >>>>Gross Receipts Tax > >>>> > >>>>Hunting License Tax > >>>> > >>>>Inheritance Tax > >>>> > >>>>Inventory Tax > >>>> > >>>>Liquor Tax > >>>> > >>>>Luxury Taxes > >>>> > >>>>Marriage License Tax > >>>> > >>>>Medicare Tax > >>>> > >>>>Personal Property Tax > >>>> > >>>>Property Tax > >>>> > >>>>Real Estate Tax > >>>> > >>>>Service Charge Tax > >>>> > >>>>Social Security Tax > >>>> > >>>>Road Usage Tax > >>>> > >>>>Sales Tax > >>>> > >>>>Recreational Vehicle Tax > >>>> > >>>>School Tax > >>>> > >>>>Income Tax > >>>> > >>>>Unemployment Tax > >>>> > >>>>Telephone Federal Excise Tax > >>>> > >>>>Telephone Federal Universal Service Fee Tax > >>>> > >>>>Telephone Federal, State and Local Surcharge Taxes > >>>> > >>>>Telephone Minimum Usage Surcharge Tax > >>>> > >>>>Telephone Recurring and Non-recurring Charges Tax > >>>> > >>>>Telephone Provincial and Local tax > >>>> > >>>>Telephone Usage Charge Tax > >>>> > >>>>Utility Taxes > >>>> > >>>>Vehicle License Registration Tax > >>>> > >>>>Vehicle Sales Tax > >>>> > >>>>Watercraft Registration Tax > >>>> > >>>>Well Permit Tax > >>>> > >>>>Workers Compensation Tax > >>>> > >>>>STILL THINK THIS IS FUNNY? > >>>> > >>>>Not one of these taxes existed 100 years ago, and our nation was the > >>>>most prosperous in the world. We had absolutely no national debt, had > >>>>the largest middle class in the world, and Mom stayed home to raise the > >>>>kids. > >>>> > >>>>What happened? Can you spell "politicians!" > >>>> > >>>>And.... I still have to "press 1" for English. > >>>> > >>>> > > > > > (0) Comments

Posted: 10/21/2007 8:15:42 PM

Way cool news

sorry to those that do check on this blog, I know I seem to neglect it, then try and make up for it by posting long convoluted surrealistic mind pops...but guess what...? I got the Roland V-drums, electronic drum kit...use it with headphones to practise, or I can wail with the 50 watt keyboard amp I chipped in for! and, I had a breakthrough...I can do licks and chops to any style..jazz, reggae, samba, merengue, blues...everythings in the computer memory that comes with it... still in the stars here... wanna be a super star...and now it ain't too far, don't wanna be a wanna be, I wanna what I wanna... amazing use of the english language here... oh, new book!!! on the seemy side of life...in the city...as the moon came crawling out of a manhole at the corner of 5th and vermouth... dan...promise to keep up with everybody here.. (0) Comments

Posted: 10/19/2007 8:08:04 PM

Space: an early frontier

Historical loss: We repeat what is not remembered 1292 – Glasgow Scotland Their indisputable existence and exquisite beauty enchanted and puzzled him. Every night, spread across the pitch black sky, dazzling, twinkling dots of light shone with mystery and appeal, promising many answers and spawned even more questions. On a cloudless night, the sky looked like a backdrop of silk with thousands of pinpricks in it, letting starlight shine through. Anrond Macdonald could remember thousands of fanciful descriptions of the night sky, but he knew the real nature of the holy heavens: many of the lights were planets, revolving around the sun, several having moons just like ours. A charge of blasphemy would follow if he revealed the church was in error; supporting the false geocentric model because it fit into their ignorant view regarding the reason for stars. They believed an interlocking system of spheres, as proposed by Aristotle, was closer to a biblical sense of perfection. Following his scientific approach of empirical observation, he knew there was more to the structure of the heavens than the Church so neatly postulated. Knowing he needed a special tool to search the skies, he reasoned that if concave glass magnified objects, as discovered by Roger Bacon, then an opposite shape, concave glass, would have the opposite effect. Using this principle, he tried varied positions until he had a working model. Finally turning this new invention on the heavens, he was stunned. He saw mountains and deep craters on the moon, observed sun spots and realized that some of the other planets had moons orbiting them. He knew his work would change the entire world view, and discredit the “perfect spheres” theory of Ptolemy and Aristotle; but he was terrified of the Church Council. Fueling his paranoia was the local Bishop Eugene Cornelius, a stern and fervent servant of the Church, who zealously persecuted heretics and passionately pursued any deviation from the teachings of the church. He was suspicious of any scholar who did not concentrate on biblical matters and had a closed mind when it came to science. The Bishop believed science and alchemy were too closely connected; therefore, anyone who deviated from biblical studies was the tool of Satan. One of his oft repeated phrases were “God shows us only what we need to know”. Night after night, from the top story window of his apartment in Glasgow, he searched the heavens, making new discoveries and entering them in his journal. He saw the four phases of Venus, something impossible under the geocentric model, and discovered four satellites orbiting the largest planet after Mars. Anrond continued to make more discoveries, all dutifully recorded in his masterpiece. As a natural philosopher, he knew the recognition and respect his work could bring him, but again he feared the wrath of the church. This was not the time for change. The Catholic Church was too powerful, influential and vengeful to those that sought answers beyond the bible. Making the greatest scientific discovery since the great Greek Philosophers, he had no idea that his temerity to act would result in another 250 years of darkness. When his work was repeated by great men like Kepler, Copernicus and Galileo, there was still controversy and resistance from the Church, but their extraordinary claims had the extraordinary evidence as indisputable proof. His discoveries would be duplicated by another man, Galilleo Galilei, with a device called a telescope, a man brave enough to stand behind his evidence. Branded a heretic, his reponse to the orbiting Earth was a steadfast "But it does move." His scientific method was impossible to disprove. In the last years of his life Anrond finally had the courage to send his complete book, now called Cosmologia, along with his distance tube to William McTavish, Earl of Warwick, one of Scotland’s foremost scholars and men of science. He trusted that this man recognize would recognizie the importance of the detailed information and drawings. Anrond died shortly after, never knowing the results of his life’s work. Sadly, the busy McTavish received the comprehensive book, glanced through it and quickly concluded it was a hoax. He didn’t even bother looking through the tube that accompanied the book. Having a large library, he placed the book and tube among his curiosities and forgot about it. For generations, the library remained intact, kept together by countless descendants: some added to it, but no one examined it carefully enough to discover the importance of the Earl’s original collection. 2008 Warren McTavish, a Professor of Ancient Studies at Glasglow University, arrived home to look for a certain book he needed for an upcoming lecture. Browsing through the library that had been in his family’s hands before Robert the Bruce ruled Scotland, he was amazed at the centuries old collection. Looking on the third tier, he saw a cabinet he had not noticed before. Intrigued, he opened it and discovered an old, handwritten manuscript, hundreds of years old. Quickly scanning the document, he could not believe what he was reading. In his hand he held proof that someone predated Galileo’s discoveries by roughly 250 years. He rummaged through the cabinet, full of old letters and documents, and found a crude telescope, no doubt of the same era. He shook his head at the intellectual crime. He knew the church promoted ignorance and forced the world to live in it's own view of the world, which was the most reasonable explanation for this invaluable knowledge to remain hidden. It caused quite a stir hundreds of years later, when Galileo produced the same proof, and was labelled a heretic for his efforts: that is, until the weight of evidence forced the church to change it's outlook. Suppressing this knowledge caused man to live in ignorance for unneeded centuries. Fully aware of the book’s significance, he wondered what the real circumstances were for buring such an important scientific breakthrough for so long. Realizing history was about to be re-written, he started to make some very important phone calls. (1) Comments

Posted: 8/10/2007 11:39:29 AM

downsized...

Downsized. Fired. Laid off. Canned. Adios Amigo...it all means the same. They want to replace you with someone else. Someone "trainable" (read young). The trend now is to hire young (with proper ed), train them in your own image, mentor them, and presto, you have an enthusiastic kid you can call the son you never had...or substitute him for the real son...that spoiled rich, lazy, good for nothing, crack-head rapper that lays around all day, then parties with his friends all night when the bar scene starts. What 60+ C.E.O. wants a mature individual who knows what their doing, points out errors the bosses make, shows devotion to their job, does their work perfectly, and even shows up on time? There is a major flaw in this world when hard work will get you canned. (0) Comments

Posted: 7/28/2007 6:16:56 PM

pre-Life and Post-Life

A tumultuous world once existed, populated by dinosaurs and other nasty predators, until an unknown act of nature hastened their demise. About 100,000 years ago, a new species emerged, Homo Sapiens. After years of development, they finally began to build cities, learn about their world and apply practical devices to improve their life-style. One of these groups began to flourish and evolved into what we know now as the Egyptian civilization. They developed writing, architecture and began to record their history and the history of world as it was then known. This race dominated the world for 3,000 years, before other cultures became militarily strong enough to challenge them and eventually conquer them. The question still remains: a lot can be learned in 3,000 years, and a lot can happen. The historical records of this were lost in the great fire that destroyed the library of Alexandria, plus the elder scribes had a way of passing their most valued secrets down to the next generation through verbal instruction. We can theorize what happened during that time, and have a fairly good idea of events from reading the heiroglyphs left on their numberous monuments. But, what did they know that they didn't write down, things so secret that they were kept quiet and passed down through generations of scribes by verbal instruction? We can only surmise. There are some mighty big gaps in the historical record, and a lot of unanswered mysteries that still need to be addressed. Ancient conspiracy? Definately not a new concept. Spin doctoring? Hell, it was invented almost as soon as we could write, and Leaders wanted to put their own spin on things. (0) Comments

Posted: 7/24/2007 12:48:41 PM

Car Praise

I must say I am happy with my Toyota Corolla 1987...I put new brake pads on myself, and then when through the dreaded AIR CARE thing we have in B.C. I failed the first time, then a mechanic I know swung my distributor cap down...my car didn't have the power it usually has, but it passed the air care part it failed by a few thousand points... Now all I have to do is install the JVC stereo, new Pioneer 6 x 9" speakers, and intstall the amp I got for my 12" Sony subwoofer I've had since my last car. I have all the right kits for everything, but since I put the 2 Alpine 4" speakers in the front, the factory stereo sounds ok, and I've been procrastinating big time...I got all this on boxing day at a really good price. The stuff is still being sold, at a much higher price than I paid for it...the stereo is $179.00, and I paid $99.00...same type of discount for the rest of the stuff. Oh well...this weekend. I must imagine the sound I'll have when done... Dan (0) Comments

Posted: 7/10/2007 10:46:20 AM

what is art?

It seems art has fallen into two categories: buying an upcoming or established artist's work for investment, or getting something because it matches the colours in your living room and becomes slightly more than wall paper. There is a third category, but it is quite small. There are those who appreciate the sweat and inspiration an arist pours into his work, and they recognize the careful selection of colours, brush strokes and "Golden Mean" distribution of the subject matter. In other words, they like what the artist has done, and purchase the art because they like it. Unfortunately, art has created an entire industry of middlers who make money off the artist. Gallery's gouge the artist by taking 60% of the selling price just to display the art in their shop, then there are agents, buyers, investors...et al. Who comes out on top? Certainly not the artist, as he has to compete with sharp businessmen who just want to make money. Alas, where are the mentors, patrons and promotors of old? I now sell my art at flea markets and any place where I can set a price and get the whole amount, without sharing it with anyone else. It's my creation, my work and talent that makes it worth money, so why shouldn't I get the lion's share? A sample of my art is at the side...the pink/gray bamboo abstract sumi-e...I also do landscape and multimedia Dana www.daniart101.deviantart.com/danae or myspace.com/danae writing samples at www.editred.com/danae (2) Comments

Posted: 4/21/2007 12:47:47 PM

Official claim

I'd like to mention I've come up with a neat short cut to e-mail me.... it's just... e-me...if you start seeing it show up on the web, you know who gets credit for it. In an age where short cuts and abbreviations are great, lol, especially when you have to type your comments, anything that reduces type strokes is handy... so, e-me... Dana better to be a hero than a zero... (1) Comments

Posted: 4/15/2007 8:26:22 PM

Gallery or gravity

I recently sent some of my watercolor samples to a gallery, and they were very interested, inviting me to bring some stuff in... I'm not sure how big a bite they would take from my selling price, but I believe their web site mentioned 60%. I don't know what to do. Going Gallery would give me more exposure and probably more sales, but reduce the money and hard work I've invested in my finished products. It just seems a shame that after I finance everything (paint, paper, frames, imagination and time), someone can just come along a grab more than I receive. I can also sell them on the steps of the Art Gallery and get full price for what I charge. (0) Comments

Posted: 3/7/2007 8:57:57 PM

Totally inapropriate and sexist...funny

A woman walked into the kitchen to find her husband stalking around with a fly swatter. What are you doing?" She asked. Hunting Flies" He responded. Oh. ! Killing any?" She asked. Yep, 3 males, 2 Females," he replied. >> > Intrigued, she asked. "How can you tell them apart?" He responded, "3 were on a beer can, 2 were on the phone. (1) Comments

Posted: 3/1/2007 3:57:30 PM

LIFE

BLESSED ARE THE CRACKED, FOR IT IS THEY WHO LET IN THE LIGHT Let's see if I understand How the world works lately... If a man cuts his finger off while slicing salami at work, he blames the restaurant. If you smoke three packs a day for 40 years and die of lung cancer, your family blames the tobacco company. If your neighbor crashes into a tree while driving home drunk, he blames the bartender. If your grandchildren are brats without manners, you blame television. If your friend is shot by a deranged madman, you blame the gun manufacturer. And if a crazed person breaks into the cockpit and tries to kill the pilot at 35,000 feet, and the passengers kill him instead, the mother of the crazed deceased blames the airline. I must have lived too long to understand the world as it is anymore. So, if I die while my old, wrinkled ass is parked in front of this computer, I want all of you to blame Bill Gates...Okay? (0) Comments

Posted: 2/24/2007 9:34:46 PM

TEST male/female

The Hormone Hostage The Hormone Hostage knows that there are days in the month when all a man has to do is open his mouth and he takes his life in his own hands! This is a handy guide that should be as common as a driver's license in the wallet of every husband, boyfriend, or significant other! DANGEROUS: SAFER: SAFEST: ULTRA SAFE: What's for dinner? Can I help you with dinner? Where would you like to go for dinner? Here, have some chocolate. Are you wearing that? Wow, you sure look good in brown! WOW! Look at you! Here, have some chocolate What are you so worked up about? Could we be overreacting? Here's my paycheck. Here, have some chocolate. Should you be eating that? You know, there are a lot of apples left. Can I get you a glass of wine with that? Here, have some chocolate. What did you DO all day? I hope you didn't over-do it today. I've always loved you in that robe! Here, have some more chocolate. 13 Things PMS Stands For: 1. Pass My Shotgun 2. Psychotic Mood Shift 3. Perpetual Munching Spree 4. Puffy Mid-Section 5. People Make me Sick 6. Provide Me with Sweets 7. Pardon My Sobbing 8. Pimples May Surface 9. Pass My Sweat pants 10. Pissy Mood Syndrome 11. Plainly; Men Suck 12. Pack My Stuff and my favorite one. 13. Potential Murder Suspect ; Pass this on to all of your hormonal friends and those who might need a good laugh! ...Or men who need a warning. And remember: Money talks .... but Chocolate SINGS!!! (0) Comments

Posted: 2/24/2007 8:25:02 PM

The most popular English word

Well, it's shit ... that's right, shit! Shit may just be the most functional word in the English language. Consider: You can get shit-faced, Be shit-out-of-luck, Or have shit for brains. With a little effort, you can get your shit together, find a place for your shit, or be asked to shit or get off the pot. You can smoke shit, buy shit, sell shit, lose shit forget shit, and tell others to eat shit. Some people know their shit, while others can't tell the difference between shit and shineola. There are lucky shits, dumb shits, and crazy shits. There is bull shit, horse shit, and chicken shit. You can throw shit, sling shit, catch shit, shoot the shit, or duck when the shit hits the fan. You can give a shit or serve shit on a shingle. You can find yourself in deep shit or be happier than a pig in shit. Some days are colder than shit, some days are hotter than shit, and some days are just plain shitty. Some music sounds like shit, things can look like shit, and there are times when you feel like shit. You can have too much shit, not enough shit, the right shit, the wrong shit or a lot of weird shit. You can carry shit, have a mountain of shit, or find yourself up shit creek without a paddle. Sometimes everything you touch turns to shit and other times you fall in a bucket of shit and come out smelling like a rose. When you stop to consider all the facts, it's the basic building block of the English language. And remember, once you know your shit, you don't need to know anything else!! You could pass this along, if you give a shit; or not do so if you don't give a shit! Well, Shit, it's time for me to go. Just wanted you to know that I do give a shit and hope you had a nice day, without a bunch of shit. But, if you happened to catch a load of shit from some shit-head... Hey, Shit Happens!!! (1) Comments

Posted: 2/22/2007 8:08:53 PM

new scienticfic fun fact life in sci-fi land

A sound wave was used to create zero gravity that was strong enough to float a bug. (Popular Science) The 54 B.C. astrolabe, or working computer, was enhanced in 3D using enhanced tomography, and the “Antikythera mechanism” was found to have over 30 gears and could calculate the movements of the moon and sun, correcting irregularities for elliptical obits. Laser communication from a satellite to a receiver aircraft worked at a distance of 24,855 miles. Laser to Laser messages are hard to intercept. A catadioptric camera with a 151degree lens produced a flat fish-eye view of a room with no spherical distortion, using refractive and reflective lenses. Meat can be grown using stem cells, vitamin B-12 and omega fatty 3 acids added. It could be a suitable substance created during long space flights. these were just facts I jotted down. Why don't they tap thermal energy (lots of it) create a plane that can fly into space and return home, and why haven't we built an outpost on the Moon? after 69, we should have done something... Dana (6) Comments

Posted: 2/19/2007 10:13:59 PM

progress or stagnation

Nothing verbal, visual or virtual can encapsulate the suffering and selfishness that are main problems facing this planet and the inhabitants. As it was in Rome, the rich luxuriate in marble palaces bedecked in extra gold, while served by slaves; slaves who are actually better off than the poor that wander aimlessly, homeless and hungry. 2,000 years later, man's morality has not changed. Greed, egotism and selfserviance dominate, while compassion, empathy and the willingness to do something about it is still an altruistic hope. Artists visualize it, writers describe it and life demonstrates it; yet nothing is done to improve our neighbors life. (0) Comments

Posted: 2/15/2007 7:59:02 PM

anti gravity today...

American scientists were working with sonic waves and were successful in making an ant entirelly weightless. There was a photo of the floating ant. The scientists are part of the on-going research into anti-gravity technology. Scientific American... (1) Comments

Posted: 2/14/2007 9:40:30 PM

Anna Nicole Smith-Twin sis helps out

With so many lawsuits, Anna Nicole finally got in touch with her unknown twin sister, and killed her. That's why the autopsy is taking so long...the teeth don't match. (0) Comments

Posted: 2/8/2007 9:48:34 PM

Drugstore Cowboys - true tales

STORY Chapter One- Drug Store Cowboys - first draft Surprise Score: Toronto’s upper West End, sometime in the 70's. Totally exhausted, Pad and Guzz were also deflated, disconsolate and dispirited. Driving around all night, the cover of darkness was now tinged with the pinkish edge of dawn, and they were still empty handed. They had to do something quick, or call it a night. Starting with a simple goal, scoring some narcotics, they had a run of close encounters, bad luck and physical stamina. They were both junk sick. Guzz was worse than Pad, so they took what they had to take the edge off: Valium. Popping tranquilizers like popcorn was not the best way to stay on your toes all night. Trying to keep off the radar, avoiding alarms and hitting low risk targets, they raided over a dozen Doctor’s offices: playing it safe netted them some electronic typewriters, stereos and some third rate drugs. No morphine, hydrocodone, oxycodon or even sample bottles of narcotic cough syrup. Every Doctor on Toronto had samples: they just managed to find every Doctor’s office that didn’t have squat. I was like playing the Lotto and not even getting one number right. Pad was pissed, tired and sweaty. He was close to the breaking point. A life of crime could be hard work. Using a pry bar to enter office after office, and popping Valium like candy was beginning to take its toll. Bad luck and poor choices made them working like dogs. Pad thought of the huge scores he got from just one Doctor's office. With a long history of scamming the drug system, he picked up his nickname from the expertise with which he forged prescriptions, along with many tricks he knew to con a pharmacist to accept them as genuine. His acting was so good, he once had a pharmacist offer him a swig of the cough syrup while he was filling a phony script. Legally, passing a forged script like that involved uttering and forgery. Good for about 6 months in the calaboose if you got caught. Starting in Scarborough, Toronto’s East End, they were now cruising along the North West edge of Toronto. They left around 11:00 the previous evening, assuring their wives they’f be careful and be home soon. Pad could image Sharon, his wife, was worried and thinking the worst. Here it was the next morning, and he had no goodies to take home to the equally sick women. Perhaps a phone call would be the right thing to put them at ease. Crestfallen, dejected and weary, they were aimlessly cruising along Finch, Toronto’s second last East-West main street, when, in the distance, a large, brilliantly lit Topper’s Drug Store appeared like a beacon at the next major intersection. Pad saw it, glowing like a huge mirage, his disappointment and dismay suddenly turning into resolve and determination. He glanced at Guzz, who was also staring at the huge store. “Hell, I’m sick of this penny-ante, no alarm, Doctor’s office crap. Let’s take a chance. We'll do this Topper’s. It’s so far out of the city core, it'll be about 2-3 minutes before we get Cop Company, so we go in and out, by the numbers, then haul ass outta there. We'll end up with a worthwhile score. It may be a major risk, but it’ll be a maximum score.” Pad had no idea how prophetic his words would be. Guzz was sicker than Pad, an experienced junkie that always saved an eye-opener for the morning, and usually just went along with whatever Pad thought, bowing to his vast experience and brassy guts. “You sure?" he asked, staring at Pad for some positive reassurance and brilliant risk-free plan. “You bet,” replied Pad, slowing down, making a right at the intersection, “we’re outta the downtown core, and the nearest cop shop is over a mile away. It’s about morning shift change, so they’ll be no cars out cruising, and they wouldn’t expect a break in so early in the morning. The morning shift is probably sipping their coffee and munching Tim Horton's donuts right about now. Rush hour is going to start pretty soon. We’ll just blend in, cruise home and surprise the girls with a huge pile of sealed and savory treats." Pad slowed, turned into the parking lot, and circled the block-sized store, parking the dark green Chevy by a side door near the drug counter. He looked around for traffic and saw nothing but deserted streets. Perfect set-up, he thought, remembering a similar job he pulled last year with sledge. Sledge earned his name from his tactics. The week before the score, he showed up every night, bashing the outside wall of the Pharmacy where the inside alarm trigger was. He would then jump in his car and speed off. Of course this set off the alarm, and the cops would show up, only to find nothing. After a week of this, the Pharmacy had turned down the trigger setting so low that a bulldozer could hit the wall and not set off the alarm. When they did the score, the alarm stayed off, and they had time to poke around and scoop everything. Sometimes Sledge would break into an adjacent store with no alarm, then use the sledge to smash his way into the Pharmacy. It was a well earned nickname. His demeanor and size matched his handle; at 6’2”, 275 lbs, he was a big boy. Convinced they were still ahead of any early morning traffic, Pad got down to business. "Okay,” cautioned Pad, totally focused on the job. “This is how we go in. First of all, we time it. Just like a military operation. You go for the juice, and I’ll clear the narc cabinet. We run in, throw everything into boxes, then run out and toss the stuff in the back seat. We leave the car running, doors open, seats shoved forward, and park by the closest door to the prescription counter. I’ll use the tire iron to smash the door glass; we smash, zip in, grab, then run like hell - piece a cake.” “Besides,” added Pad, this pharmacy must serve this whole end of town. I bet there's a huge stock of every narc to service the local Docs.” Guzz nodded his head at this logical tid-bit as Pad popped the trunk and walked to the trunk. Guzz followed, hoping for some kind of pep talk or final reassurance from Pad. “Alright,” said Pad, “in and out. Think of this as a military operation.” Totally alert, he glanced around at the empty streets, “I’ll do the door, and then we’re on a clock. We run behind the drug counter, you look in the middle where they usually keep the big bottles of cough syrup, find some boxes and fill them with the juice. There are always boxes around. If there’s stuff in them, dump it. I’ll take care of the narc cabinet. Remember, keep track of the time. “We’re out of here in two minutes. This is a big time score here, so stay sharp. Ready? Alright. Let’s do it.” Pad grabbed the tire iron from the trunk. He walked up to the side door, gave it a powerful smack to break the glass, and then quickly ran it around the frame to get the shards. They ran through the door, straight to the drug counter. Pad immediately found an empty cardboard box, spotted the locked narcotics cabinet and went to work. The narc box was just thin metal shelving with a lock in the middle; with his adrenaline pumping away, he grabbed the two handles and pulled. The lock just popped. Holding the box up to each shelf, he used his other arm to scoop everything into the box. Yelling out the time, he finished clearing the bottles on the single shelves behind the doors, turned around, ready to go. When he saw what Guzz had found, he shook his head. Guzz had filled about 6 large boxes with the entire supply of juice: every box was stacked with huge 80 ouncers of juice. Without losing a step, he threw his box on top of 3 of the boxes and ran to the exit. Guzz was right behind him. Running as best they could, they made it out the smashed door, threw the boxes in the back seat, jumped in and floored it out of the parking lot. Pad figured it took about two minutes tops. As soon as he turned on South on Leslie, he slowed down and drove normally. After about a block, he saw the flashing red and blue lights of a Police cruiser swooping past Leslie along Finch, heading for the opposite entrance. Since the store would block them for a minute, Pad booted it to get some distance between them. He hoped they didn't see him and would stop and check out the store. His little trick didn’t work. The cops must have seen his car and put two and two together. About a mile behind them, a high speed Police car, well maintained and souped up for high speed chases, bolted out the same exit and was hot on their tail, lights and sirens disturbing the otherwise silent night. Pad was approaching Finch, the next major East-West thoroughfare, when Pad heard the distant sound of a siren. Glancing in his rear mirror, he saw the flashing chase lights bearing down on them. "Shit, yelled Pad, "he must have seen my tail lights driving away." Not exactly the sort of finish they had in mind. As he approached Finch, the light turned red. “Here we go,” declared Pad, gritting his teeth, while fixing his eyes on the road. “Put on your seat belt and hang on. While you're at it, try and make sure the juice doesn't splatter all over the interior. Wow! This is going to be wild.” He put the pedal to the metal and bounced through the bumpy intersection. "Shit," yelled Guzz, tightening his seat belt, "I hope you know what you're doing." “Don’t worry,” Pad replied, “I’ve been around this area for years. I have a friend that lives a few blocks away.” Following them like a bad smell, if the chase car ever wondered if they were after the wrong car, there were no doubts now. They were now the object of an official Police chase. Not a good position to be in. Pad scrunched up his brain: he needed to out think them, and create a plan that was smooth and natural, foreseeing any obstacles and leaving anything behind to slow them down. He remembered something, and told Guzz to grab a box from the glove compartment. Guzz found it and handed it to Pad. It was a box of roofing nails. (0) Comments

Posted: 2/8/2007 1:49:34 AM

a poem on terrorism...

A new Enemy Our Fathers fought for what was right, They also fought for freedom. Today we fight a faceless threat, That maims and kills without regret. They fight for lies, through hate filled eyes, Then hide behind their children and wives. They live to hate and hate to live, We love to share, and live to give. They envy this goodness, our way of life. Jealous of peace; a life without strife So with blinded views, and lying tongues, They falsely martyr their very young. Afraid of freedom, and free speech, They twist the words they hatefully preach, Together, now, we must fight a fight, And stand together with moral might Dana Fitzgerald © 2004 (0) Comments

Posted: 2/3/2007 2:12:05 AM

Population POP

Just an observation, but...hey, the guy had a point... Thomas Malthus made a prediction in the 1800's now affecting our society in ways he didn't foresee, but are inevitable given the nature of his theory. Theorizing that population growth would overwhelm the planet's resources, leaving people with not have enough food to exist so they begin to die off. He calculated that technology and resources grow arithmetically; but people grow geometrically. We've all heard this before: if you take two dollars, then double it, double it again, and keep doubling it, you would have over a million dollars within a month. It's a straightforward mathematical progression, and when applied to our population, it's easy to see that there will be too many humans for this Earth to sustain if we keep increasing our population the way we are. In the Victorian age, there were a great many readers, and every writer, if they were able to create something worth reading, would stand a good chance of being published. Today, there are thousands of writers out of work, just because publishers are inundated with manuscripts and have the luxury of selecting only the very best. It could be argued that some of the so called "great" writers of the past wouldn't stand up to the numerous rejection slips every author receives before someone decides to take a chance and publish their book. There are many other reasons the Victorian age produced so many new ideas and so many new authors, but the main reason was an empty playing field, and an audience thirsting for new and bizarre ideas. Now the playing field is packed, the benches and stadium are crowded, along with the dressing room and the parking lot. It's hard to find an original idea that has never been thought of before, because with so many minds thinking of every permutation and every twist and turn, it is hard to come up with something fresh and original. Some say that's why Hollywood does so many re-makes of old ideas. With so many people writing free blogs, or publishing their stories for free on certain websites, it's hard to get a publisher to pay good money for a story that is if they actually get a frustrated author to withstand the long wait lists and offer a story that is fresh and interesting. It really begs the question, why do we read what we read. Will anyone ever read this? Chances are, with the countless, unknown and possibly excellent blogs clogging the internet, no one ever will. Another factor is society's overall success and increasing level of education. To get a half decent job, you need education. Today, it is quite common for someone to possess B.A., Master's Degree or PhD. That means a greater proportion of our society can write, and write well. With the hulking pile of unread and well written manuscripts clogging an Editor’s "in basket", it's quite possible that some of the well known writers of the past would not be published today. Perhaps their story lacks sparkle, their writing style is trite and outdated, or the author couldn't deal with the countless rejection slips that are now part of the job. Based on this, what was published in the past might not be published today. A loss to literature? Not quite. We have literature coming out our ying-yang, and a book about talking animals discussing their political situation, although clever and satirical, doesn't sound like a real page turner. Well, sorry, but George Orwell's Animal Farm might not pass muster and end up in some rejected file. Possibly. Television, radio and the Internet are changing our society in ways that will not be fully understood until some future date. When we have time to read everything and make an original conclusion. (0) Comments

Posted: 2/3/2007 2:00:12 AM

Gold Tailings...now a novel

This post has been removed by request from my editor. Please watch out for the complete novel from Bantam Books, working title, so far, GOLD TAILS/BOLD TALES coming out this OCT..... *note: my regular readers should contact me and I will send them a personal note for their copy... (1) Comments

Posted: 1/21/2007 8:25:14 PM