By Damian Conrad Hospital
The Realm of Cereal Characters is threatened by a very real menace as a mysterious entity annihilates Cheeri O'Leary, the original mascot for Cheeri Oats. The current famous characters (like Tony the Tiger, BuzzBee the Honey Nut Bee, Count
Chocula, Frankenberry, L.C. “Lucky” Leprechaun, The Trix Rabbit, Snap! Crackle and Pop!, Dig
`Em Frog, Coco the Monkey, Cornelius the Rooster, The Quaker Man, Cap'n Crunch, Sonny the Cuckoo Bird, Sugar Bear, and Toucan Sam) team-up to identify and stop the evil force. All of the characters that exist in the realm are icons and immortal; no one has ever been killed. Therefore, the cereal characters are concerned that their very existence and the “real world” are in danger!
The group of heroes journey to the Island of Retired Icons and recruit “retired” characters (like Boo Berry, Waldo the Wizard, Wally the Bear, Poppy the Porcupine, Stick Figure Boy, and The Raisin Bran Fairies). Those retired characters have been living in a self-imposed exile and depression, so they jump at the opportunity to help the active characters. Then the assembled group travels to the Palace of Past-Selves, where older versions of them and their families live (like the Golden Age Tony the Tiger, Mrs. Tony, Tony the Tiger, Jr., the Original Snap! Crackle! And Pop! Gnomes, and the Mean Version of Count
Chocula.) Their greatest villains also come to them in fear and join the group after Cap'n Crunch's greatest foes, The
Soggies, are almost wiped out by the unknown entity.
Although all of the cereal characters are together, they still could not figure out what, or who, has such power to destroy an icon. Clues lead them to Choco Mountain, and the identity of the “Cereal Killer”. He finally reveals himself to the animated icons. He is Mikey from the Life commercials (“Mikey Likes It”). Mikey reveals that while the cereal icons will remain in the collective unconscious of popular culture forever, he has aged and is totally unrecognizable. He had entered the realm of cereal icons to wipe out every cereal character from existence. He had started with the obscure one to “test” his theory that if an icon dies in this realm, it is wiped from all memories and records in the real world.
The animated cereal characters lead by Tony the Tiger understand how Mikey feels. Consequently, they realize that if he did not have some attachment for them, he would have wiped one of the current popular characters first. Mikey starts crying and admits that he always wanted to be immortal like they are. One of the magical characters- the ABC Wizard- has an idea- to make Mikey an animated icon like they! But Mikey must give up his humanity and live in the Realm of Cereal Characters forever. Mikey continues to explain how the real world would have never understood his feelings, and he would have been punished for wiping out Cheeri O'Leary, and he would have not been forgiven. Hence, Mikey agrees to become an animated character forever. Using the combined wills of the characters, the magical characters turn Mikey into an animated cereal character: a newer version of the Cheeri O'Leary, the one that he had wiped out. As a result, the obscure character is back in the real world's consciousness, and Mikey will live forever where he rightly belongs - with the other cereal characters.
***
I met Arnold at the University of South Florida in Tampa in 1995. We shared a Religion class together and worked as dishwashers at the campus restaurant. We used to have debates about religion, politics, women, society, wrestling, sports, comics, and anything else we wanted to talk about. We would spend hours discussing any topic. We would also play video games. He would try to get me out of my dorm room. I admit I was afraid to meet new people, but I felt comfortable around him. Although he is a towering big man, and I am diminutive, there was just something about him that I was attracted to. I knew he had stories to tell, and I knew that we would make our own stories together that would go down into history.
When I made a mistake, Arnold stood behind me. He did not turn his back on me, or betray me. He may come from the ghetto, but he is not a ghetto boy. He is an intelligent and sensitive man. He is creative and a critic. He loves to challenge everyone with his wild opinions. He wants to be mentally stimulated and challenged.
We have kept in touch since I left college. I wish I could see more of him. He is not afraid to ask questions about something he does not know about. And I am naturally a teacher, it seems.
The reason I am writing this is because my friend was suffering from depression last year, and I was concerned because I love him. He must be in his late 20's or early 30's, and he called me last year and declared that he is in a rut. His drive was low, as was his self-esteem. He really only had two friends that he trusted. He had a fiancé that lived in Jacksonville. He had no support at work. He still lived with his parents, whom he really did not relate with. His brother, who was released from jail, lived with them as well. His job was not stimulating enough for him. He had tried to better himself by going back to school, and had attempted to look for better jobs, but had been unsuccessful.
He was very self-critiquing and delusional. He was severely depressed and all his medication did was make him feel wide-awake. He only saw the negatives in his life and perceived his life as a series of failures. He was unable to give me or anyone else any advice. He was having some difficulties taking care of himself physically now.
From my experiences, I believed that he was suffering from clinical depression and he was delusional. He was mentally imprisoning himself with invisible chains. He had much fear and anxiety. This pained me because I remember him when he was my support at USF. He was cool, calm, and collective- with a wealth of experience and wisdom. He would always give the advice that I needed since I was so socially inept. He was an avid reader and writer. Therefore, he had trouble fitting in with people in his own socioeconomic class or race.
He wants people to think and challenge themselves, but he was seemingly unable to do this for himself.
I called him back a couple of days after, and tried to talk some sense into him. I knew he looked up to me; after all, I had been through much, and I am seemingly “successful”. We shared experiences and feelings. He had to realize how to help himself and to get himself motivated. I felt helpless. I love him like a brother, and there was no quick fix for this. Depression is a monster that only a few can defeat. It is especially tough if you have no support.
He has always striven to help others. Now it was time for him to help himself. He just needed a lucky break in the right direction, and I knew he could handle the rest. He is an exception to every stereotype and statistic in the books. He was the only one holding himself back.
Hopefully, my positive thoughts and willpower had influenced him in some way. If there is such thing as magic or god or psychic abilities or whatever, please, I implored such a force- help Arnold. He had too much potential to be wasteful like he was then. He cared too much to be having so much apathy.
I will always be patient and love him unconditionally. I trust he would be happy and successful in any of his endeavors, and I knew that his goals would be achieved one day. He must have as much confidence in himself as I had in him.
I am now pleased to announce that Arnold not only got married to his fiancé, but he and his wife bought a house in Jacksonville. He is currently working and continuing his education, and living a happy life, with a bright future.
***
by Anthony DeCarvalho
Chapter 1: July 28, 2001
Light retains few memories. The nature of light, with its energy signature and constant flow, precludes it from being a keeper of history. Instead, light shines, making it possible for humans, like us, to record what we see.
Light remembers little. As a former being of light, it is remarkable that I remember anything.
There are glimpses, more than anything else. These were moments where I must have stood still and focused on a particular moment.
One such moment was centuries ago. I approached a castle from the sky. There, on a balcony overlooking the countryside, stood a princess. She wore elegant clothing with one of those cone-shaped hats on top, cloth and embroidery flowing off the side and down her face.
I had battled constantly on behalf of this woman. I had shined for her like light had never shined, yet she was unmoved by my brightness.
She was sad. I did not understand why. Like a force of nature, I continued to shine on her, hoping this would change her continence, but it did not. She continued to be sad, until one day, she jumped off that same balcony, ending her misery.
I felt I was a terrible guardian angel. I mean, how could I let someone die? This and other questions troubled my energy signature, and caused me to turn red, like the sunset before a storm.
Are you surprised? First of all, guardian angels do not always come in physical forms, as some of you may believe. The stream of light peaking through your window right now may be the spirit who has been assigned to guard you.
Not everyone has a guardian angel; only those souls who have chosen the path of light before beginning their journey on earth. There are other paths, with other forms of guardians, but I am unaware of the specifics. As a former being of light, my awareness is dim on matters I have not directly experienced.
Let's fast forward to the late 1800's. We are in England. It is a dark, brick-lined alley, wet from constant rain and humidity. The streets are cobblestone. The only light is me, emanating from a nearby lamp.
Again, I am watching the lady from the castle. Where once she was a princess, now she was a prostitute. Her suffering had grown, over the years. As her soul reincarnated, she seemed to find new ways to torture and abuse herself. Now, instead of merely being sad, she was miserable, cold, and alone. Being desperate for money, she whored herself for the gentlemen who walked this small shire. So, in this life, even her physical form had been sullied. She hid from the light, so as not to reveal her growing wretchedness. By hiding, she rejected her true path and me, her guardian angel.
When her lifetime ended again (disease took hold of her body), I approached the Council, and requested a change of perspective. How could I understand these humans, I reasoned, if I had never been one? As I described earlier, beings of light only remember glimpses of what they see, and only relate to what they know. I felt I could not be effective until I walked in the physical form of human. Only then would I be able to relate to a human's journey on earth.
I was balked at. The Council said guardian angels did not do this sort of thing; they did not become humans. Guardian angels kept their objectivity by remaining formless, and promoted objectivity by shining their light on those with form.
I argued back. How cold we were, as guardian angels. We provided light and heat, but we knew not what we shined upon. I argued that guardian angels should do more than guard; we should inspire. We should light their spiritual journey, not just their physical form.
I was not the only one to argue this point. The soul I had protected for so long approached before rejoining the physical. She stated that she felt she could use the help, to help her overcome her constant struggles and fears. She was in a vicious cycle, and wanted to broken free.
The Council heard our pleas, and at last acquiesced. I joined the world as a human male, and was born May 29th, 1974.
The journey here on Earth was not all that I expected, to say the least. At times, I have worried that I have merely trapped myself; that I will fall into a vicious cycle. However, my convictions have always pulled me through. Better to have lived and loved than to remain coldly objective. I am comfortable with my decision, and I no longer fear the wheels of Karma.
Those who are responsible for themselves, take heed of my words! There is nothing to fear except the pursuit of nothing. When we become ensnared in the machinations of this modern illusion, we risk losing our next stage of transcendence. How easy it would be to repeat the cycle, wallowing in our own existence, believing in nothing and ignoring everything. Thankfully, I have not chosen this route, and those of you who seek truth in this age of chaos shall be rewarded with freedom, I assure you. All it takes is a little faith in what is real, and lack of faith in what is all around you. One must respect life, and respect the journey we are all on.
As for the woman, whose soul I seemed forever intertwined with, I met her a few years back. Although I did not know who she was at the time, it was like meeting a long-lost friend. We got along famously. We even briefly fell in love with each other. Alas, she had centuries of karma on her shoulders, and she broke my heart several times. I kept coming back, thinking I could help her, but even in this physical form, I was unable to reach the spirit within her.
It's funny, because she helped me find myself in this lifetime. She introduced me to spiritual books that impact me to this day.
In the end, I believe I did help her, just not as I expected. You see, she fell in love with one of my close friends. Where some would be hurt and vengeful, I was stunned and happy. They seem to compliment each other, and their union, I believe, will lead to greater things for her. They had a child, the first I am aware of her having in any of her lifetimes. I believe she is finally on the road to recovery. It may take several lifetimes (but what is time to a spirit, or a being of light, except an illusionary part of the journey?) but I believe she has finally reached a turning point, and for this, I am glad.
People who know me probably still have a hard time understanding how I could be so accepting of my friend being with a former love of mine. I don't think they'd understand the explanation I've given you, so I just laugh it off. I say my friend got caught up in something he didn't understand, and I don't blame him. I say he's a better man than me for having figured that girl out! And, in her case, he is better.
So, my friends just wrote this episode off as, “Tony's being too nice again,” or “Tony's way too forgiving.” Heh heh
heh. If they only knew how forgiving and patient I really am!
After all, if a being of light can learn to stop for 80 years or so, who's to say what else that being is capable of, in this lifetime, or any other form?
Even if you're not buying this story, folks (and I know some of you aren't), take it as symbolic, and learn from it. We have a lot to learn in our lives. It is up to us, no one else, to break the cycle of discontent and be free. As we do that individually, so shall we as a society. As we raise our society's consciousness, so shall we transcend, united, into the next phase of our existence.
My hope is that you, the reader, don't depend on light to guard you, but create your own way, complimenting the guardianship you have. Don't wait for help; create your own. Always push forward. As I have discovered, you never know who or what you may find. You may even find yourself!
As humans, we remember a lot, which makes our existence even more special. We are given the opportunity to sort through memories, and figure out what is best for us. We are able to appreciate all we've been given, thankful for the providence. Let us never forget who we are, where we've come from. With this knowledge, we can shine like light for our fellow man. We can be that spiritual light in this physical world. Whereas beings of light shine in the physical, we as humans are meant to shine in the spiritual. Let us take hold of our destiny, and become who we truly are.
***
By Anthony DeCarvalho
September 10th, 2000
Centuries come and go, but destiny never fails. River run through mountains, creating green landscapes touching emerald skies eternal with wisps of white hair, but destiny is always there.
It's in your childhood, when you forget you shouldn't touch the stove and you narrowly miss being burned. It's in your adolescence, when you think you're old enough to wander the streets alone when, in fact, danger lurks all around you. It's in your teenage years, when you drive with reckless abandon and only later, when you're older, do you realize how crazy you were.
Dumb luck? I don't think so. Blind, random, twists of fate? Hardly. When you examine the events of your life and see how many others have fallen where you have stood, only then will you see the hands of destiny at work in your life, deflecting blows and clearing paths, making straight the roads that would otherwise lead you to your death.
Destiny. The child who has no mother. The "fate" that keeps us alive. The power that allows us to open our eyes everyday, with impudence and ingratitude. Destiny.
What does destiny wish to teach us? What does destiny want with our lives? What have we done to earn the privilege to remain alive, while destiny allows so many others, who seem so much more worthy, to die? It is our incomplete awareness level that keeps us alive.
We have yet to learn. We have yet to understand. Everyday that we live is an indictment of the fact that we lack some awareness, love, peace, knowledge and humility. Those who grow cold are allowed to leave this life, only to be dragged back again by destiny's grasping hands. Those who understand life are released, so as not to interfere with the learning of others. We who remain have yet to learn completely and yet, are called to teach each others that which we do not fully understand.
That is the conundrum destiny offers us. The opportunity to solve the mysteries of life by expressing love to others, when we barely understand the concept of expressing love to ourselves. This is the "cross" destiny asks us to carry; this is the "burden" destiny asks us to "bear". If only we would "carry that weight" and love ourselves first, we would understand how light the "burden" really is and realize our emotions create the "weight" we are afraid to "carry".
Centuries come and go, but destiny never fails. Deserts spread sand across the face of the Earth, reaching the horizon and beyond, but destiny is always there. The truth is within you. The ability to understand is there. Destiny shapes the circumstances in your life to lead you to quiet understanding. Destiny is the first being to really care.
***
GENERAL ZOD: WHAT HAPPENED AFTER SUPERMAN II?
By Tony Decarvalho
Zod did not die at the end of Superman II.
Zod and his partners, Ursula and Non, were trapped in Superman's secret Museum of Solitude. All the great histories of Krypton were visualized there. Artifacts from Superman's time on Earth and his exploration of the stars were encased for all to see. So much knowledge was held here, including secrets that Zod had never been aware of.
Zod took it upon himself to learn the secrets of Kal-El. Know thy enemy, he thought. To defeat Superman, you must know him inside out. In order to win, you must exploit his weaknesses.
Zod discovered some interesting patterns. Apparently, Kal-El had not always known he was from Krypton. This could prove interesting, he thought. Also, Kal-El was clearly enthralled with this human race. This could be used against him
Day after day, hour after hour, year after year, Zod planned his revenge. Patience was not an issue for Zod. After having been trapped in the Phantom Zone for decades, he could wait out God himself if he had to. Patience was the virtue that would gain him his final victory over the son of Jor-El.
The museum was shielded from within, making it impossible to escape, unless you had connections on the outside.
Luthor arrived at the Fortress of Solitude after receiving the call. "Zod!"
"Down here, fool!"
"Hey, I'm doing a favor! No need for name calling!"
"If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be in this predicament!"
"Of course. Well, as long as I get Australia out of the bargain..."
"Drop the crystal, so that I may begin the metamorphous!"
"Very well."
Luthor walked over to the crystal banks. One of the crystals had transformed Zod into a human, incapable of receiving powers from the yellow sun. This crystal could also be used to reverse the process, and turn a former Kryptonian back into a super being, capable of challenging Superman.
"Here you go!" yelled Luthor.
Zod caught the crystal and held it in his hand. "At last," he whispered.
Non and Ursula watched as Zod created a new crystal chamber, one that would recreate a super villain.
Zod entered the chamber. The crystal walls glowed red with power. Zod kneeled under the pressure. He gritted his teeth, and held on while the cycle completed.
Finally, it was over. Zod stepped out.
Ursula asked, "So, did it work?"
Zod walked over to Non, picked him up by the neck, and flung him against the far wall of the museum. He looked at Ursula and said, "What do you think?"
Ursula backed away slowly, knowing she had nowhere to run. "For so long you have served me, Ursula. There is no need to tremble in fear."
Ursula looked into Zod's eyes. "Allow me one final kiss," she said. Zod took her head in his hands, and brought her lips to his. After kissing for a moment, he pulled back, and snapped her neck.
"A fitting death. You were always a follower, Ursula." And with that said, he flew out of the chamber.
"Zod! Wait! I thought you would take me home! What about Australia?"
Zod paused in the air. Looking down at Luthor, he said, "I lied." Then he turned, and flew off into the Arctic sky.
So long had Zod waited for this moment. His goal was almost a reality. To destroy the son of Jor-El, and then to conquer this planet, and then...
What? Become like Kal-El, and be this planet's superior? Wait for another Kryptonian fool to float into space, soak up the rays from the yellow sun, and challenge his power? What was the point?
So long had Zod waited for this moment, and, at last, it had arrived. To be master of all he surveyed. To not have followers who demanded strength and perfection. To be himself. After all this time, Zod had finally realized what he wanted. At last, the true dream, the gnawing which had motivated him all along, was within his grasp. Freedom.
Zod turned toward the Arctic night sky, and realized what he wanted had been around him all along. And now, with the power of Superman, he could enjoy the freedom of solitude.
"Not so fast, Zod."
"What? Kal-El!"
"Where do you think you're going?"
"Kal-El, wait! I..."
Superman did not heed his words. He flew into Zod full-force, and drove him into the snow. Zod reacted by spinning out of Superman's grasp, grasping Superman's cape, and flinging Superman across the arctic plain. When Superman regained his balance, Zod was gone.
“No,” Superman whispered. Taking off at lightning speed, he began to search for his father's greatest enemy, determined not to let him escape. He scoured the streets of London in .03 seconds. He inspected the Eiffel tower on his way to Rome. He checked Metropolis, Washington DC, Rio. Nothing. Zod was no longer on Earth.
What is he planning? Superman thought to himself. A split second later, he was off on another hunch. The moon! Or an asteroid! Zod must be intent on…
But this was not the case. Zod was not on the moon. Nor was he pushing an asteroid towards the planet, threatening its destruction. No. Zod had simply disappeared.
But how could this be, thought the son of Jor-El. How could Zod kill his partners and then flee, without looking back?
Kal-El would never understand that day. Luthor could offer no explanation for Zod's actions. Ursula and Non's dead bodies spoke volumes about Zod's coldness, but they did not explain his sudden departure from Earth.
Didn't he want revenge? Didn't he blame my father for being sent to the Phantom Zone?
Kal-El could not possibly fathom Zod's change of heart. To understand, Kal-El would have to live as Zod had lived. To be trapped for so long, the elixir of freedom was more tantalizing than the sweetest revenge.
Fortunately for Kal-El, the universe was a useful prison for Zod. His desire to explore the infinite kept him from conquering worlds. The infinite held Zod in check, and the universe benefited as a result.
***
A True Story of Taboo Love
Susan is a friend I had met over the Internet last year. Like me, she is a vegetarian, a spiritual person, educated…and is horny 24-7.
I don't think that mature women are viewed as sexual beings in this society. Most guys dig the 19-year old Barbie doll hotties. Jeez, they don't know what the hell they're missing.
Susan is in her late forties…she could be 50 now. Her appetite for pleasure rivals that of any man I've ever known!
On our first date last year, she confessed that she might have a fetish for younger guys. I responded, “I sure hope so” with a devilish smile.
Look, I'm in my early twenties. No woman I've ever been interested in or fooled around with has ever acted mature or offered me any sort of guidance. Hell, the only women that act aggressive with me weigh three times my body weight.
Susan and I are very open and honest with each other. I believe communication is very important in any relationship. On our very first date, we felt mentally and spiritually connected. She asked me to follow her to her small docked boat in Miami. What happened next was surreal. It was a night that will live forever in my mind and heart. December 11, 1999 shall be forever be recognized as a milestone in my history book.
However, the tale that I am currently going to share with you is not of that night. Nay, my curious reader, it is of November 25, 2000.
My mistress requested my presence two weeks prior. Mentally, I was already there.
That Friday, bracing I-95, I drove 42 miles to Coconut Grove. Susan had been housesitting that weekend. She was all alone- save Dallas and Rags- two pedigrees.
I got there around 8:00 PM. If you've never been down to the Grove, you're really missing out on something fantastic. It reminds me of some place out of those old 1940's sci-fi magazines- a city built in the freakin' tropics in some far flung future. I mean, there are palm trees right next to museums, and giant plants and leaves growing around restaurants. It is a sight to see.
And so was Susan.
The dogs barked after I rang the doorbell. I heard Susan's sweet voice tell them that a visitor had arrived. She opened the door; our gazes met, we smiled, hugged, and passionately kissed each other on the lips.
Lemme just say that I consider Susan a friend as well as a lover. I believe mature women deserve respect and love. I mean, I appreciate and accept her, and she feels the same way about me. I can't say the same thing for the 18-year old druggie rave whores that many guys go after. Deep down I know that men want to be loved. Deep down, I know that they know the young sluts are just good for short-term cheap thrills. They're cheap ego boosters for middle-aged guys, and the target of young studs that play the “game”. I'm not into any of that friggin $hit. I think it's stupid and always leads to pain and anguish, but to each his own.
Susan is about 5'4, maybe 135 pounds, what the hell do I know? She has long straight red hair, emerald eyes, ivory skin, smooth silk skin, large breasts, and wet glistening lips. She is a natural woman- a real woman.
So I was a bit surprised that she was wearing makeup. I wasn't complaining, mind you. She really looked hot. She had a lime-green top and a short blue skirt. At least I think it was blue- it wasn't on very long.
The house that she was watching was very homely and snug. The dogs were very friendly as well. Classical music was playing in the background. I sat down on the couch and we were catching up on the times since we last met (July 1st, 2000). I had my arm around her and she was rubbing my hand. We were eating red grapes on the couch. I was already hard at this point and time.
I took a grape a placed it in her mouth. My fingers gently caressed her moist lips. After she ate the grape, she took my right hand and began sucking the side of my fingers. Her mouth was so warm; her tongue was so wet. I brought my face to hers and we began to make out. She tasted so clean and pure. She doesn't smoke or eat meat, so she tasted like fresh lettuce. I massaged my tongue all around the inside of her lips. It felt so natural- not awkward or cumbersome like with some little girl. I found out her `hot spot' when I pressed my tongue against her gums right above her front teeth. I kept pushing my tongue right under her top lip, and she began to moan. French kissing with her is like eating a passion fruit.
After a while, I placed my hand under that short skirt of hers and cupped her my hand around her snatch. She had silk underwear on. I began to rub her pleasure organ through the panties with my four fingers while I was making out with her. I felt moisture building up down there, man. She started to firmly rub and grab my khakis. I was thinking how lucky I am.
She licked the inside of my ear, which drove me crazy. I licked and sucked her neck. She slowly unzipped my pants. God, you should have seen my bulge through my boxer-briefs. And you should have seen her expression when my love muscle finally came out of hiding. “Free at last” it thought.
She looked down at my already swollen meat and let loose a “Hmmmm”, licked her lips, and came down on me.
“Ahhhhh….”, I groaned as my head instinctively fell back on the coach.
She really enjoyed my head. We're talking decades of experience here, dude. Her tongue circled around my shaft. She deep throated it. Her tongue was all over it. The tip of her tongue darted like a snake on my head. My pants weren't even off yet!
As she was devouring my organ, she subtly raised her ass in the air. I saw her little green panties. I began to finger her from the outside with my index and middle fingers; my thumb was rubbing her tight @$$. After a while, the panties were completely wet, so I slid my fingers in her slippery vagina. That's when she had her 1st orgasm of the night. I put them in real deep, and her body got tense and she banged my fingers. She was screaming with ecstasy. After she came all over my fingers, I took them out of her slit, smelled them and sucked them right in front of her. Smelled like fresh produce, man. No dead fish here!
We began passionately making out more, and she removed her bra. Damn, her breasts were huge and her nipples were hard. She stuck her right nipple in my face, so I began to lick, suck, and bite it. My whole mouth was on this nipple for five minutes, sucking and tonguing it like a vagina, and then she had her second orgasm.
We made out some more and then she stood up. “Let's go inside the bedroom”, she said. I could tell she was barely containing herself.
We went in the bedroom at 10:00 PM, and we left the bedroom at 10:00 AM, the next day.
I don't want to detail everything that happened. Some things are best left between two lovers. Suffice to say, she had at least eight more orgasms.
***
Tune
in Tonight!
by
Anthony DeCarvalho
Editor John Levitz of RON
TV was upset. It was the middle of
the summer, and his news department was running stories about Fluffy the Wonder
Dog, and two men wanted for questioning in the theft of a 1983 Buick.
Mr. Levitz stared out his
41st story window, looking at the teeming streets below.
People moved to and fro, cars zipped around each other and in between
packed sidewalks ... the hot dog stands looked busy at 10:00 A.M. -- and none of
this activity was newsworthy. None
of it.
"Richard!" Mr.
Levitz yelled, as he turned away from his window frame.
"Richard, get in here!"
A young man, no more than
20 years of age, stumbled into the office.
Richard nearly dropped the files he was carrying for the 5:00 P.M. news
broadcast. "Yes, sir?"
John Levitz eyed the
young intern and said, "What the hell is your problem, Richard?"
"Nothing, sir.
I was just...."
"Oh, nevermind.
You'll learn."
"Sir?"
"Listen,"
Editor Levitz went on, "I need you to go up to Harlem and help out -- we're
interviewing the former President. They'll
need someone to pitch in -- you know, do the dirty work."
"Yes, sir.
I understand, sir."
"Good, good.
Now, you gotta be there by 3:00 P.M., capisce?"
"Yes...."
"You can't be late,
okay?"
"Okay, sir, not a
problem."
"As a matter of
fact, just be there by 2:30 -- I'm sure they'll appreciate the additional
help."
"Yes, sir.
Thank you, sir."
"Alright, alright.
Now get out of here!"
"Yes, sir."
Richard paused before leaving, and asked, "Sir, are you still
considering that part-time request I put in for the fall?"
"What?"
"You know.
The part-time job...."
"Oh, right.
Right. Listen, you worry
about getting to Harlem at 3:00, and I'll see about your part-time gig.
If you can help us now, maybe we can help you in the fall."
"Okay, sir!
Thanks!" Richard left Editor Levitz's office feeling a little better
about things.
Editor Levitz, on the
other hand, continued to stare out at the Manhattan cityscape and brood.
Richard Hopkins grew up
avoiding Central Park North. His
parents had made a point of never going further north than Lexington Avenue, and
never too close to Greenwich Village downtown. Only now was Richard exploring past the parental boundaries.
Richard was willing to go
beyond his conservative upbringing in order to become a reporter.
Richard wanted the challenge, wanted to cover the big events ... wanted
to be part of history, even if he was just reporting it.
"Richard!
Good to see ya!" greeted Stan Kalper, Lead Cameraman for the 6:30
P.M. national broadcast. "I see you're here early!"
Richard looked at his
watch -- it was 2:58 P.M. "Right!
Glad to be here!"
"Well, Richard,
here's a pass for you. Everybody's
on the 5th floor. Just head on up
and see if Margaret needs any help."
Margaret handled set
design and was in charge of the makeup crew.
"Okay," said Richard.
Richard usually got
nervous before a live broadcast. He
worried about all the things that could go wrong, and wondered if there were any
possibilities he had missed.
"Richard?"
"Yes,
Margaret?"
Margaret needed help with
some of the wires -- apparently, they could be seen on-camera.
"We have to hide them! Quick,
move them over more to the left!" ordered Margaret.
After all the hustle and
bustle and last minute preparations, the interview finally began.
The former President was flawless and unrevealing.
When it was all over, Donald Chase was fuming.
"Damn it!
I couldn't get him to cave on anything!" ranted Mr. Chase, RON TV's
lead anchor, as a makeup person cleaned his face.
"You would think he'd give us something -- I mean, his credibility
is in the toilet!"
"Maybe that's why he
didn't give us anything, Don," answered Stan, who was helping pack up the
cameras.
"Ugh!
I'm going to have a cigarette!" Mr. Chase stormed out of the office.
"Mr. Kalper,"
asked Richard, "does he always get that mad?"
"Oh, don't worry
about him," said Stan. "He's
just an old blowhard."
"And he's feeling
the pressure," chimed in Margaret. "Ratings
are down, Stan."
"I know, but can we
do? We're just working
stiffs!"
"You can
start," said Margaret, "by telling the boy the truth."
Stan looked at Richard
and then back at Margaret, and said, "No.
You tell him."
"He would never
believe me, Stan."
"Tell me what?"
asked Richard.
Stan looked back at
Richard and said, "Oh, don't listen to her.
She's full of it. I'll see
you down at the van."
Richard nodded and left.
"You should've told
him, Stan. He needs to make the
right career choice, and I wouldn't wish this on anybody." said Margaret.
"Look, who knows?
Maybe kids like him can make a difference?
Who am I tell him otherwise?" answered Stan.
There was a huge crowd of
people on 125th street. Police cars
were flashing their lights. An
ambulance could be heard approaching from the distance, fighting through
Manhattan streets during rush hour.
Richard grabbed his 35mm
camera and made his way through the crowd.
"RON TV ... let me through," he said repeatedly before he
finally broke through. Richard was
horrified by what he saw.
Richard looked around and
realized the killing must've happened recently; perhaps only a few minutes
before. The police had still not
blocked off the crowd from the crime scene.
Suddenly, Donald Chase's
voice cut through the murmur and sirens, and said, "Damn you!
Give me a lame duck interview, will you?
Now you're in hell, bastard! Hell!"
With instant clarity,
Richard put together what had happened: Donald Chase had killed the spokesman
for the former president. The blood
was dripping from the RON TV anchor's hands when the police finally broke
through.
Richard began to take
pictures -- it was the only thing his mind could think to do in the midst of
such horror. Record the images.
"These are great
pictures, Richard!" stated Editor Levitz from his office the next day.
"You definitely have a future here, kid!"
Richard was perplexed by
the editor's attitude. "Sir,
aren't you upset? Your lead
anchorperson just killed somebody!"
"Who, Donald?
He was a fruitball -- I knew he'd snap one day, but don't worry kid, it
won't happen again. He's behind bars now."
"But, sir...."
"These photos are
worth their weight in gold, kid! Hey,
did you ever think about coming on full-time, and skipping school?"
Richard was stunned.
"Well, no. I never thought about it."
"Well, start
thinking about it. Starting Monday,
you're going to be a full time worker here at RON TV.
We're going to have you work the beat -- you've got a nose for this sort
of thing, kid. Get with Stan, and
tell him what I told you. He'll
set you up for Monday."
Richard was speechless;
all he could manage was a quick "thank you" before stumbling out of
Editor Levitz's office.
"You can come out
now," said John Levitz.
"Is the kid
gone?"
"Yes, yes.
Have a seat."
Wayne Waxman, president
of RON, sat and lit a cigar. "So,
you don't think he'll cause any trouble?"
"That kid?"
answered Mr. Levitz," He's so wet behind the ears, he needs his mother to
dry him off. Please.
He's in way over his head."
"Good.
What about Donald?"
"Donald was a good
soldier ... he knew what needed to be done.
We should take care of him -- insanity plea. That would be good."
"Hmph." Mr.
Waxman stood up and headed for the window. "What about you?"
"Me?
What do you mean?"
"You've created
quite a mess here, John."
"Look, just cause
the kid got some photos doesn't mean anything.
He's taken care of now -- he'll never think to look any further into
it."
Mr. Waxman turned quickly
and stared at Editor Levitz, saying, "He works here!
He's going to know! Someone
will tell him! Secrets like this
aren't hidden very well, you know."
"Look, I know it's a
challenge, but...."
"But nothing!
You dropped the ball."
"Well, what do you
want me to do?"
"I want you,"
stated Mr. Waxman, "to be a good soldier."
Mr. Waxman left the
Editor's office. John stared at his
shelves -- and wondered why thirteen years of awards and profits didn't make a
difference to Mr. Waxman.
"Yes, Mr. Levitz?
Stan said you wanted to see me?"
"Yes, Richard.
Come here."
Richard walked around Mr.
Levitz' desk. Mr. Levitz shook
Richard's hand and then put his arm around the kid's shoulders.
"Well, my boy, I'm proud of you."
Mr. Levitz walked Richard
to his window, which this morning offered a glorious view of Midtown Manhattan.
"Let me ask you something, Richard: when you look out here, at the
City, what do you see?"
"Well," Richard
began, "I see...."
"I'll tell you what
you see -- people trying to survive. People
struggling. That's what you
see," said Mr. Levitz.
“Well, actually, I was
going to say...."
"Open the window,
Richard."
"Okay, sir."
"Now ... lean
outside, and take a good look. Breathe
in that dirty Manhattan air, and tell me again what you see."
"Well, I didn't tell
you the first time, sir...."
"Just lean out
there!"
Richard leaned out the
window and looked. He tried to see
what Mr. Levitz was talking about, but he couldn't understand.
"You don't get it,
do you?" asked Mr. Levitz. Richard
shook his head. "Well,"
said the editor, "too bad!"
Richard felt his legs
being lifted up and, for the first time in his life, he wished he could fly.
As his legs swung out into the blue unknown, Richard's hands reflexively
grasped the stone ledge below the window.
"Damn you, Richard!
Don't you know how to die with dignity?"
Mr. Levitz grabbed a blue paperweight from his desk.
"No, Mr. Levitz!
Don't do this!"
"You don't get it,
kid. That's why you gotta
die." Mr. Levitz raised the paperweight, preparing to strike Richard's
taunt fingers.
"Wait!
Maybe I don't understand -- but maybe ... maybe we can spin this a little
differently."
Mr. Levitz stopped and
said, "What do you mean?"
Richard told him, and Mr.
Levitz smiled. "Maybe you do
get it after all, kid." John walked over to his phone and dialed the
police.
"Repeating today's
top story -- young Richard Hopkins, an employee of this network, was saved after
an apparent suicide attempt. Our
editor, John Levitz, had this to say:"
"We think the kid's
going to be alright -- he was just depressed after the Chase thing."
The anchorwoman
continued, "Richard Hopkins is currently at Bellevue, undergoing
psychiatric evaluations."
Wayne Waxman shut his TV
off, and fixed himself a Scotch.
***
Marvel Infinities
Synopsis for beginning of issue 1 and
beginning of issue 2
by Tony DeCarvalho
Sue Richards woke up aching all over. She
wondered if she was coming down with the Flu.
She looked down at a picture of her
and Reed. She smiled. "The good old days," she said to herself.
They were still good, if not better, as far as
she knew. There seemed to be fewer villains ... fewer battles. She was grateful
for the extra time with her husband and child.
Franklin. He would be turning six soon. She still
wasn't sure what to get the most powerful child in the universe, but she was
sure Reed would come up with something. He was so very clever.
Sue walked into the bathroom and reached for her
toothbrush. She thought about how many times she had stood there, brushing her
teeth. She felt nostalgic this morning. So much had happened over the years.
Sue looked up in the mirror, and saw that
something else had happened. "Aaah!" she screamed.
"Honey?" Reed croaked. He was wakened
by her yell. "The one time I go to sleep -- something has to happen,"
Reed muttered to himself as he rolled out of bed.
Sue was still screaming. Reed attempted to
stretch towards her ... and fell on the floor. He felt lousy. His mind wanted to
get to his wife quickly, but his body was not cooperating. "What's going on
here?" he wondered.
"Reed! Hurry!" Sue yelled. Reed got up
and ran to the bathroom.
"My God," Reed said when he laid eyes
on his wife. Turning, he faced the mirror for the first time that morning.
"We're old," he said.
Sue was crying. Reed wrapped his arms around her,
but instead of turning away, they both stared helplessly at the mirror.
Latveria. The castle of Dr. Victor von Doom. The
master of the premises stared out his window, at the stormy evening. Thunder
crackled in the distance, and lightening flashed, reflecting off his metallic
faceplate and armor.
"Doom," said Namor, Prince of the seven
seas, "The oceans have been infected."
"Excellent," said Dr. Doom, still
staring out the window. The view reflected his current disposition.
"Everything is going as I have foreseen it."
"Why are you doing this, Doom? For what
purpose?" Namor asked. He had agreed to play along with Doom's current
scheme because his personal desire to remain youthful outweighed his compassion
for his fellow super heroes. Still, he wondered what Doom's purpose in all this
was, and he felt now was the right time to ask.
"Because we have all lived a lie for far too
long," Dr. Doom said, turning to face Namor, "and because Reed
Richards has never had to confront his own mortality. Even he cannot defeat
Father Time."
"Don't you think they'll realize you've done
this?"
"I've done nothing! Mortality is our
condition when we enter this world -- there is no escape from the effects of
aging. I've introduced our enemies to reality, and once you've experienced
reality, you can never reverse the effects."
"They're not my enemies, Dr. Not
anymore."
"Do you wish to join them?"
"No. I merely suggest ... we're not young
men anymore, Doom. Even if we maintain our youth, we've still experienced much.
Though we are young on the outside, we have aged much on the inside. There is no
need for this bitterness, even from you."
Doom turned towards the window. "This is not
bitterness, Namor. It's reality. Neither good nor bad. Nothing more, nothing
less." Turning back towards Namor, Doom added, "Trust me, Namor: this
a hallow victory. We all fall victim to Father Time, eventually. In some ways, I
am envious of the heroes."
"How so?"
"They are about to embark on an incredible
journey. I wonder what they will learn, and if they will draw the same
conclusions I have."
Namor wondered what Doom meant, and he wondered
why Doom had decided to become old when he could've stayed young.
***
All
But A Dream
By The Dreamer
It
was a hot and blustery day in June. June 16th
to be exact. Father’s Day -- a day that was not so hard to forget.
Tommy “The Torpedo” Tuscanini sat on the edge of his bunk, waiting for
his son to visit. Time was standing still, or seemed to be, as it had for
the past ten and a half years at Raeford Correctional Facility for Men in
Starke, Florida. Tommy was doing a bid for trafficking in narcotics. The
judge came down hard on him with a twenty year sentence. And this was the
first time seeing his son since he and his wife split up over 25 years ago.
He was nervous, and thought about things that he wanted to tell his son. His
thoughts started to drift to a time where he felt he was happy.
“Purple
Haze” was the song at that time. 1968 and Jimi Hendrix was playing at the
Electric Circus on St. Marx ‘s Place in the East Village. Tommy had just
gotten an egg cream at the Gem Spa on 2nd Ave as he made his way to the
Circus. All of a sudden a blast went off -- someone had planted a bomb in
the men’s room and everyone was rushing out the door as he was just
arriving. Jimi was rushed out the back stage door into his awaiting
limousine. So he went over to the Figueroa Café around the corner to get a
cup of java, and to talk of the event with his cronies. He belong to a
street gang called the Puerto Rican Black Cats that had an apartment on top
of the Aliens, a biker club at that time turned Hell’s Angels. Tommy knew
them all, as they were the local drug dealers.
“Are
you going to San Francisco?” was playing on the radio as the Volkswagon
bus headed west on Interstate 10. It was 1969 and Tommy had just left Miami
after ripping off some coke dealer for four ounces of pink Peruvian and
10,000 dollars. The bus filled with smoke as the passengers passed around a
joint from the hitch-hiker they had picked up. They were all headed down to
Ciudad Juarez, the Mexican border town south of El Paso, Texas. Tommy had
thought it a good idea to go and lay low for awhile till things cooled down
in Miami. So it was him, his old lady, his friend Sly and his chick, and
this hitch-hiker who was headed to Boulder, Colorado to join a commune. The
bus was painted in an array of psychedelic patterns of paisley and flowers,
all in bright day-glow colors.
Hollywood,
California is where he ended up after his stay in Mexico. He joined a
commune there that gave flowers to passersby on Hollywood Blvd for spare
change to feed the clan. Life was simple then -- just live off the land and
do drugs, ball who you wanted to because everyone believed in free love.
Black Panthers shouted “Power To the People” on every corner. Watts and
East L.A. was even a nice place to be at that time. “Summer of 1971” at
the Bitter End West, a local night club -- David Bowie popped in with his
wife Angela. They danced a little and went off into the back room, where all
the celebrities went to stay away from the crowd.
1980
and disco was in. “Staying Alive” by the Bee Gees was playing at Studio
54. Tommy made his rounds there because he had a lot of customers who wanted
what he had. What a life he was leading. Up all night hitting the after
hours joints and selling his wares, Panama Red, Black Beauties, Horse, and
maybe some crystal meth when he wasn’t keeping it all for himself. All he
knew was sex, drugs and more of the same.
????????????????????????
1990 rounded the bend and crack was the thing -- so he tried that and lost
everything to that drug.
????????????????????????
Suddenly he woke up and found himself lying next to his wife. He smiled and
thanked GOD that it was...
???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????
"All But A Dream"???
"What
Does This Picture Mean to You?"
My name is Richie Hess. I’m
writing to the Daily Skew because I need to get shit off of my chest.
I signed up for some psychological
research project because I needed the extra cash. It was in an office in Boca
Raton. Now, let me tell you something: I don’t believe in mind quacks, and I
don’t believe in taking medicine to correct people’s personality defects. I
just needed the $50 dollars that they promised would be mine if I participated
in their study.
I went there last Wednesday; I
almost got lost, too. The office was located on a side street, and I was
starting to get pissed off. So I got there at around 11:30AM, but I had to sit
in the waiting room for 10 minutes before I was recognized. Then I had to answer
a few questions and sign a dozen pieces of paper.
Forty-five minutes after I had
arrived, I was finally allowed in the back. Some old guy, maybe 55, with
salt-and-pepper hair, old-fashioned glasses, and a large uncombed mustache
introduced himself to me.
He said that this was “Phase
One” of the research project and that there may be up to seven phases. I asked
him when I would get my money, and he said that I would get it after the seventh
phase.
He placed a photo in front of me
and asked, “What does this picture mean to you?”
I yelled, “What the FUCK is this
SHIT, man?”
“Calm down, please,” he told
me.
“Calm down…calm down? Why
don’t you the fuck calm down?
“Sir, if you would like to
participate in this study, I advise you to relax and answer the question: what
does this picture mean to you?”
“Shut the FUCK up, old man. You
are one crazy, sick, perverted bastard.”
Then I started laughing…out of
insanity.
“Okay, you know what?” he
spat, “You can forget this. Just don’t waste my time any further.”
“Whatever, dude. I guess I
don’t get my ‘fiddy-dollah’?”
So I get shown out and I am left
alone in the parking lot, thinking.
“How the HELL did he get a
picture of my sister?”
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