“More than one way to Skin a Cat” Horror is sublime, a whistle... THOR

Cats! God, I hate those little claw sporting meowing cretins of the night, and this old bitty had at least a half dozen. I was standing on my porch watching my new neighbor unload a car full of the nasty little devils. I didn’t know how, but I was going to have to go to drastic measures to stop this infestation of hairballs from hell, even if it came to murder.

            “Ding Dong” the bell echoed in the house. I stood outside the door with my house warming gift held in front of me like a tribute to an alter. The door opened-but only an inch or so, yet enough for one enlarged blue eye to spy who the invader to her territory was. I said, “Hello, I’m your neighbor” in my brightest cheery voice. The door didn’t move. Neither did the eye. I lifted my baked apple cobbler, hoping against hope that the shrew liked apples and positioned it before the sole eye.

            “What do you want?” She screeched.

            “God damb old bitty” I thought. I smiled very sheepishly replying. “I brought you a house warming gift.” That eye stared at me and then at the apple cobbler, and then back at me. The door closed. I herd the chain slide and unlock; then the door opened.

             “Come in.” She said and I was escorted into the foyer. The stench of cat piss and old crow was over whelming. Dear God, here they come. Cats of every size and color were everywhere in the room. They were meowing in their little demon voices, and the din was amazing and sickening, yet I must endure if I was to have my plans come to fruition. “Do you like cats?” She asked in here most hopeful voice.

            “I do. I do” I replied lying while grinning teeth first. “Did you know that cats were once worshiped as Gods?” I asked. She nodded vigorously. “I believe they never forgot it.” Her laugh almost made me jump, for it started with a scream like tires on cement and then went into rhythmic hiccups, and then back to a scream.

            We entered into the drawling room and sat on the davenport. I could feel my skin crawl and my hands got sweaty just knowing multiple cats had surely shared the same space I now resided in. We chatted about this and that for a while and shared ice tea with way too much sugar. It made my teeth cringe and my stomach roll. After my second cup I asked to use the restroom. She showed me the way passing through the foyer and down the hall. There hanging on the wall was the object of this neighborly excursion, her house keys. On the way back from using the restroom, I quietly lifted the keys from the hook. I pulled from my pocket a small tin which I had full of clay. I pressed the key into the pliable clay on both sides creating an imprint of the front door key. I could here the old woman talking to her hairy minions in a motherly voice. “What a sicko” I mumbled. I was about to replace a set when a thought occurred, “The chain”, so I made a copy of the backdoor key before quietly hanging the keys back on the wall. I quickly returned to the drawling room so as not to raise her suspicions. We spoke for a short while longer before I returned to my home. I had insisted we have dinner later that week and remarked that tuna casserole was one of my favorite dishes, so our date was set. I knew that wrinkled old bitch would have plenty of tuna with those flea bitten purring imps being her only companions.

            Now I had to choose how I was going to dispatch my new neighbor. Outright murder would just not do. A home invasion robbery coupled with a murder would be too suspicious, and require too much interaction and messiness. Not that messiness bothered me, but with today’s forensics cleanliness counted in the world of murder. I found that an accident or seemingly natural causes would be the most efficient rousing the least trouble. Eureka! Botulism, is the most toxic substance known to man and can be found in canned food, for it grows in an anaerobic environment. I being an unregistered psychopath had its merits, for I had numerous forms of dispatching unwanted pests hidden in my secret place which I created to hold my shall we say laboratory of unsightly, dangerous, and deadly items. Poisons, toxins, and other forms of vile chemicals were held in my make shift anarchists work shop. In a small locked refrigerator were the pure forms of everyday house hold toxins created by harvesting cultures and distilling them to remove the toxins and impurities. I placed on a set of rubber gloves and a gas mask opening the door to thee fridge. A small blue glass bottle in the door held the toxin “Botulina Intervosa” in a pure form. The small bottle of two ounces carried enough of the deadly toxin to kill outright twenty men. I wondered if I should give her the whole thing. The cats with no food for a week would eat off her dead carcass and die from the poison as well. An evil snicker escaped me as I cradled the death juice in my hand. I took of the cap and using a syringe pulled twenty C.C.s. Ten I squirted on a petri dish which I had a couple of teaspoons of tuna fish and a growing medium already seeded with botulism a few days before. The rest I kept in the syringe as a fail safe.

            Friday night finally came after an unusually sultry and hot week. A summer was approaching and already the air hung like a sweaty whore in heat. The stench from the tail sprouting urine and spray bags was permeating my space slowly and surely like mold on bread. I put on my double breasted black sport coat over a dark blue oxford shirt that had a sharply tied bow tie wrapped around my neck. My pants were black, my shoes were black, and so was my belt, yet I wore red socks. I always wore red when I was to make a kill. The red I wore was never completely evident though still there like my madness unseen yet sharp and with a taste and color like blood.

            “Ding Dong” the bell echoed eerily through the house. Again the door opened just a crack revealing that single enlarged blue eye. This time it was ringed with a garish green eye liner. Below that was a lipstick so red it would make a whore pull cash. This time there was no delay, and I was quickly admitted to the feline sanctum. The smell of the wharf was in the air eluding to our dinner  of tuna casserole. The mangy beasts were working into a furious fever with the scent of their favorite meal in the air. Everywhere hisses and subdued growls sprang up as the seemingly rabid animals jostled for dominance. My hands began to shake. The only way for me to stop it was to imagine a half starved pack of pit-bulls with a cat fetish let loose upon them shredding the fur from their terrified flesh and wrecking the house in the frenzied abandon of their kill. Slowly my attack subsided; replaced by a calm serenity which brought a glowing smile to my face. The nursing home slut reject mistook my demeanor and said. “Aren’t they just the cutest things you ever saw?”

            “Yes” I replied. Rip…Tear…Snarl… Then I chuckled.

At this she beamed. She truly had found a kindred spirit. She gave me a wily look and spouted “Dinner will be right out” as she headed for the kitchen. The table was set in grand southern fashion a light with cornbread, salad, that sickly sweet ice tea, and a garish bottle of Chianti that had already been opened. She pulled out her best china ironically for this dinner affair. She returned from the kitchen carrying  a casserole dish topped with all things French fried onions, and place it in the center of the table. We bowed our heads. I’m sure we did not say the same prayer. We passed the salad, cornbread, and butter back and forth in proper southern fashion. The sweat was dropping off her chin on to her turquoise dress adding to the garish splotch that resided there giving a dark backdrop to the foe pearls that swung from her flabby neck. She dug the serving spoon in to the casserole with the fervor of a mother serving her starving son and lay a mountain on my plate. At this I felt a wave erupt from the feral felines. In my mind I was drop kicking them into walls  and through windows. We talked, drank, and ate. I was biding my time until the desired moment arrived. I did my best to remain cheery and of good company so my now drunken sputtering spinster would continue to imbibe and let all her guards down. “When would this woman ever piss? She must have a bladder of steel that stored things under pressure.” I mussed with patience.

            Finally with a hiccup, wink, and a silent belch that traveled through here nose she pushed back her chair excusing her self to the restroom in the hall. By this time I had to go as well, yet I decided to complete my task, and there was no way I was going to miss the show that was about to unfold. I decided to make a two front attack on her which was strategic for military and murder standards. The first was to place the ten C.C.s of botulism toxin in her wine. The other was to poison the tuna casserole while first taking a large enough second helping so there was no room for thirds. I then pulled out a baby jar which contained the tuna I so carefully and meticulously had contaminated with a live culture of botulism and then baked of course. I added this to the casserole carefully. I placed the jar with lid on in a plastic zip lock bag and sat down to await this most joyous moment.

            My timing was perfect. The freshly powdered wrinkled hag teetered back in the dinning room and plopped her self back in her chair. Her head lulled to one side for a moment. Then she seemed to brighten looked at me and open mouth belched out a cloud of fishy funk that filled the room. Meows attacked the air like sharks devouring fish and audibly ate the putrid scent from the air. I had to move now before I wrung her neck like a chicken at slaughter. I got to my feet and raised my glass in toast. “May we be neighbors and good friends till we die!” I was trembling all over with excitement. She pushed her unwilling drunk body to her feet and slowly lifted her glass to that blood red circled hole she called her mouth. Her tongue like live bait guiding the fish to the hook came out of her gap and met the glass as if it were her lover. I almost retched, yet I persevered and held my ground. Oh the joy! Oh the glee! I felt as she swallowed the red nectar. I too drank and heavily, for I was toasting myself. We sat. I waited. She sweated more and more. Her face took on a pained look like she suddenly felt a turmoil form some thing she ate that did not sit well, which she had. Her eyes were searching mine for relief. I gave back a gentle loving smile. Then they shot wide, grossly enlarging overfilling her spectacles’. The turquoise dress was sticking to her body and a sickly funk emanated from her. She began to rise, yet did not make it and fell over side ways taking her chair and plate of food down with her. The plate bounced on the carpet and deposited its contents on the side of her face and the floor. I applauded her aim silently for it added to the macabre setting that was now her death throes. I pushed back my chair and circled the table and squatted down beside her to get a better look. This stuff worked fast. Her eye’s were rolled into her head and her body flopped around on the floor in slow motion like a wind up toy in its’ last twist and turns. A noise and stench escaped her as her bowls deposited their contents inside her dress and began slowly seeping through. Her last breath escaped her mouth in a long ragged croaking sigh. She convulsed bending her self completely off the carpet and kicking the chair into the wall. I may be a murderer, yet I did not enjoy disgusting scents or smells. The cats ate the tuna casserole on the floor and her face which now stared right at her beloved friends. I began to tidy up the house and made any evidence that I was there disappear. I washed my dishes, pushed in my chair, and looked for notes on calendars and such that might give away my presence in the house that night. I went to the front door locking it and slid the chain home. I went out the back door took out my key and locked that to. I breathed in the wonderful air of the night and went and hopped the fence into my own backyard. I began whistling in the way a person does when he is extremely happy with himself and went up the stairs two at a time and into the house.       

 Thor            

 

 

Oregon "No Cause Eviction" Rich Landlords & Homelessness

I was making a comment to a very influential person on the front line of the "Homeless" fight, I thought real simply "Can we stem the flow of this by giving tenets rights so they don't have to live in fear of.. No Cause Evictions" (THAT WOULD GET MY VOTE!)…

 Hi I often can be seen in two places at once making comments in two different arena's at once yet they both have the same goal. A social gradient and response to ethos, logos, pathos, a well inclined attack at a system of injustice requires often Chaotic moves. Now in your case being a bed rock for a new template as seen many years ago. Bring it home. The right of a tenant to hold his home, is often at the whim of the land lord with a No cause eviction law. If you really want to make progress begin working this on the other hand. "Saving 60% of families in local area and 50% statewide. Tenants have no rights, this is not about me but in comparison I have been evicted "No Cause" due to issues with other tenants. In both instances I was assaulted, and both instances I had to move as well the other tenant. I am on SSD, and the 1st time would have put me on the street, if Dad didn't pay almost 3,000 to move me. Now a year later I have to do it again. "No Cause" Eviction, (Cause disturbances with new neighbor calling Police, and inter change with Bell real-estate. They don't like trouble and just kick both people out.) I have to spend thousands more, and h/c live on ssd, and should be homeless if I don't get big $$ help again from Dad. To many stories like this, are why so many people are on the street, or they tried to fight lost "No Cause Eviction" law.. It is a Land lord trap and money maker just like compounded rent late fees that were way to high putting families out of homes.

 

Who is willing to stand for them, about 40-50% of voters in Oregon?

Respectfully,

Chef John aka THOR

 

"Ride the Storm, Thunder, Lightning" First ride dedicated to Sonny Barger, Happy 76 birthday.

We put the plate on my Titan Suzuki 500 August 1988 and for the first time with Wayne leading in his 750 Suzuki "Water Buffalo" both bikes two strokes. I  had never hit the road and now legal tags hard plate using a trick with title transfer from our of state at Maryland DMV, and I was, well looked legal I had not taken  the permit test and still at this point my parents who said I couldn't live at home if I had a motorcycle had no idea I even owned one. Glenside drive was a short slow curve on the Long branch a block I often walked in my teens. I was 19 and had been riding the bike every weekend up and down the street for weeks. Every week driving 30 min on my day off pushing up the steep drive past 2 cars, it's a long bike, and then up and down the street for hours with no tags, I never went more than a block, just down to the turn, and then into another turn to get back. I had t learn right and left, turns in that nice swoop of pavement at the corner that gave just a little lean as you dipped in so the idea of powering out at different angles soon caught my head, I was learning.

We turned right, I had on my steel toed boots, black leather a tee shirt and clear classes work glasses, and I wound 1st, 2nd the wind ripped and then 3rd, and gave her a go after Wayne on his Water Buffalo 750 who was already making pace. I had never pushed 3rd yet, just as I passed the house I grew up in for years and the hill began up the gravity, the shear raw power of pushing the engine in a grade; I blew 50 mph before breaking it down on the top of Carroll Ave a tricky spot on a bike if going too fast, later I would have to do an air bound sideways turn right and drift slide power out around a car as someone was chasing me at speed over 60-70 mph on my 750 but that was years later, now I was just following Wayne. I was after 7 and the air was heavy with wind gusts, dark clouds swooped by the bright ones above leaving quickly: I would soon know why.  We took Flower Ave and down into the turns still local roads so many times driven, and as it ended on Georgia we for the first time lined side by side. I looked over with a big grin the very air shook with heat, the in it shook again this time it jumped as the air became tremendous drops of rain, big ones that tell of a big storm coming into Washington D.C area.

Wayne Said, "What do you want to do, you haven't rode in the rain yet.." The leave off being I only rode around the corner up the block on sunny days, even a little dew but that was it.

I yelled with the lust of the ride, "Let's go!" and we did turning right onto Georgia Avenue and headed north out of town towards the darkening sky deep bruised boiling purples mixed with the flashes of lightning beginning to tear the sky and making the roads and shadow play tricks it was full night and we off. Everyone remembers that first ride, the rush, the freedom, thundered in my as loud as the summer thunderstorm we rode in;  the rain smacking my lips so hard I grit my teeth, smile ride, wide. I happens that real moment when you are a biker or not, mine came at 40 mph when that little 500CC 2 stroke hit "Suzie", her power band. The back tire hydro planed and spun out, the bike was going sideways with a little angle thrown in.  I already knew 70% braking is front tire, and this angle no front brake was possible, the adrenaline hit, Wayne I could barely see him, a very little goes through a second of time or a whole lot, the thunder crashed, lighting threw shadows on everything, the lights of all the big trucks and cars still rolling; I was soaked, I lay off throttle and spin stopped, I felt the properties of 500lbs+ of 2 wheels steel moving in the air, the power, the side drift I hit the back break, tap tap and I was out, the wheels snapped back in line and I was off. I tried to tell Wayne. Thunder, C rash is all I heard,  all he heard. The bikes hissing in heat, We rode until the storm was gone and each moment in it, every once and a while a yell, a rebel yell deep from in me would break the night and the storm would yell back. It passed the streets dried and we made our way back. It was only 20-30 minutes, but it lasts a life time. A biker was born in that storm, 13 years later he would become to be known as THOR

A Motorcycle Deer Miss

I A Motorcycle  Deer Miss was on my 850L and just wound 3rd gear,,,, I saw the eye's first then the eyes turned towards the road. It was black accept for my light and the cars coming towards me way down the hill in a long line shining light at me. I began to brake then I saw it, 50 Mph full slam, back wheel went, and the deer's body and head began crossing in front of me by feet. I locked front and went into a two wheel drift on a motorcycle, (not good!) just as the deer passed I saw the white tail bounce, and a kick. I lay of brakes pulled out of drift, stood up on the bike and crossed myself. All the traffic coming towards me from down the hill and across the bowl saw everything, and honked their horns in celebration. I knew how close. 1990' THOR