Posts tagged Strange

“I believe all forms of Karma are out the window as well… DUMB LUCK: that is all it boils down to – Wrong place. Wrong time.”
More: Cursing God in Midair

I believe all forms of Karma are out the window as well… DUMB LUCK: that is all it boils down to – Wrong place. Wrong time.”

More: Cursing God in Midair

Source sevenstrangeyears.com


I found myself struggling to decipher the madness from reality as I rolled past the smoldering fire pit. Then, rolling through the smoke, I was reminded of the ghost.
More: Ghost at the Bonfire

I found myself struggling to decipher the madness from reality as I rolled past the smoldering fire pit. Then, rolling through the smoke, I was reminded of the ghost.

More: Ghost at the Bonfire

Source sevenstrangeyears.com


..how can anyone possibly describe the horrific scenes a man is bound to see in that place? I held my tongue.
More: Friendly Strangers

..how can anyone possibly describe the horrific scenes a man is bound to see in that place? I held my tongue.

More: Friendly Strangers

Source sevenstrangeyears.com


"The lake was glass with ripples of neon green waving to the heavens. It was so peaceful. And that’s when I was hit with that old mushroom itch I always seem to get. I have no idea what it is about boomers that make me want to take off my clothes."
More: Cerebral Reverb

"The lake was glass with ripples of neon green waving to the heavens. It was so peaceful. And that’s when I was hit with that old mushroom itch I always seem to get. I have no idea what it is about boomers that make me want to take off my clothes."

More: Cerebral Reverb

Source sevenstrangeyears.com


"The sky is pitch black; the ground is bright white. You shuffle your board to the edge, lean forward. You’re instantly speeding out of control. The hard-packed snow is chattering through the board, up your legs, through your chest, till your eyes are trembling around in your skull. At this speed, if you check, you’re dead. You catch an edge; you eat a tree. In the darkness you can’t see the terrain — there’s no definition."
More: Clipping Tickets

"The sky is pitch black; the ground is bright white. You shuffle your board to the edge, lean forward. You’re instantly speeding out of control. The hard-packed snow is chattering through the board, up your legs, through your chest, till your eyes are trembling around in your skull. At this speed, if you check, you’re dead. You catch an edge; you eat a tree. In the darkness you can’t see the terrain — there’s no definition."

More: Clipping Tickets

Source sevenstrangeyears.com


Real Letters. Strange Stories

February 15, 1999
Phoenix, AZ.

Dear Robert,

I saw some truly unbelievable shit last night. I thought the drugs had worn off by the time I staggered to the door this morning. The daily paper beat me home. I must still be tripping: Over 70 million dollars spent on the Clinton investigation. And they couldn’t even pin something on old slick Willy – How pathetic. I guess they did pin him as the president who got off on shoving cigars in the snat… That is not a vision my mind can handle in this state. Not after last night…

I was sitting shotgun in the Hyundai, Megan was driving, and my two new friends from work, Ian and Sebastian, were in the back. Ian and Sebastian are bartenders and roommates. This was our first time hanging outside of work. We were on our way to get rolls. Ian has a “guy.” Ian’s this pudgy little half-wit-goof-ball from the Deep South – he talks real slow. Sebastian’s a fast-talking Brit with a crude sense of humor. I have no idea how they came to be roommates, but the banter between them is always hysterical. They were in the back seat arguing about whose “guy” he was as well as how to get to his house. It was supposed to be a 20-minute drive. We drove around in circles for an hour listening to arguments on who met the “guy” first. Megan was smiling, but she was definitely not happy. My buzz was wearing off and the banter was no longer amusing. I was trying to come up with a way to call off the goose chase, without sounding like a pussy, when all of the sudden Ian violently shook my seat, “That’s it!” He was jumping up and down pointing to this extremely fancy townhome complex – far too nice to be any drug dealer’s house. Maybe I’m just used to the trailer courts in Pequot – there were no security gates there.

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Source sevenstrangeyears.com


Real Letters. Strange Stories.

hole

January 28, 1999
Phoenix, AZ.

Dear Dean,

Living with people is hard to do. If I were you, I would never move out of your parent’s apartment. You have it made. Megan has been down here less than a month and the fuse is burning short. It’s my fault. I saddled Tommy with a roommate he didn’t want and he never agreed to. They’re like a couple of rabid badgers when left alone.

The three of us have had some epic adventures. Yesterday started with all the makings: The three of us had the whole day off together – plus today. That’s rare these days. Megan went straight for the pool. Tommy and I began our day with a bike adventure – we hadn’t been since Megan came. We thrashed around the neighborhood like the carefree days before Tommy started school. After racing down our favorite spiral parking ramp, Tommy and I swung a strange sharp left instead of our normal right. We found this rad office building with this perfectly slanted slate granite wall. If you got just enough speed bombing the grassy hill you could launch off the granite wall, over the stairwell, and ramp down off the picnic table on the other side. I bent my sprocket and rear wheel, again. I’ve already had to have my rear wheel pressed straight three times – shit’s expensive. Anyway, after a hard couple hours, we returned with the thirst. We joined Meagan at the pool. We quickly drained our supplies. Tommy and I buzzed up to the grocery store in Megan’s car. Our mission was to gather barbecue supplies: Beer, Booze and Beef. You can get all that at the grocery store here – none of that 3:2 bullshit. We crashed our carts up and down every aisle. We made no friends. It was my treat; we filled the carts – isn’t that what credit’s for?

After grilling up some ribeyes in the courtyard we retired to the apartment. I charged an electronic dartboard a while back – we’ve been getting pretty competitive lately. The game was on. The lady above our apartment had tweaked Tommy’s last nerve the night before. She has a baby that cries all throughout the night. I don’t hear it, but it drives Tommy batty. Anyway, two nights ago — at about 2 a.m. — he finally went up and chewed her ass. She told him to piss off. Last night we cranked the stereo in retaliation. This morning we received another noise complaint – we really showed her. Anyway, we were drinkin’, rockin’ out, and playin’ darts; we were truly enjoying each other’s company. And that’s when everything went sideways. Megan, one dart away from taking the championship, missed the 16 she needed by two holes. One of Megan’s college classes was Kickboxing – Megan dropkicks the air whenever she misses a critical shot. On this unfortunate occasion, she was too close to the wall. Her little black combat boot was stuck in the sheetrock. 

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Source sevenstrangeyears.com


Real Letters. Strange Stories.

Little Red Hyundai

January 2, 1999
Phoenix, AZ.

Dear Robert,

Happy New Year! Wish I rang it in with you. If I had, I would surely have partaken in some deranged act that would be worthy a resolution – I’ve got nothing. My New Year’s celebration, I’m sure, was far less thrilling – more on that later. First off, thank you for introducing me to the Green Pony. That little guy gave me one hell of a ride. You made Saint Cloud feel like the place to be. I think my favorite flashback is tripping around the parking lot while some liquor-crazed homeboy chased me with a cinder block. If you need a break from the Minnesota cold you should definitely head south. I can’t guarantee Green Ponies and liquor-crazed homies, but if there’s any fun to be had in this dry town, I’m sure the two of us could dig it up.

I fled Minnesota with visions of an epic New Year’s celebration driving my heel. I was sure Tommy had something special waiting for us. We had to make Phoenix by New Year’s Eve. There was no time to spare on site seeing – no money to spare for lodging. I stomped on Megan’s little red Hyundai with little resistance from the road. What little sleep we got was in the car. We rattled into town JUST in time. I told Tommy I would arrive sometime on the 29th. We got slightly sidetracked in a couple national parks – the mountains of Northern Arizona are amazing. We arrived late on the 31st. Tommy was not happy with me. His plan was ruined. “We should have left the house an hour ago.”

We were right back on the road. I relinquished the driver’s seat to Megan, offered shotgun to Tommy – he declined – and the three blind mice rattled out into the big bad city. Tommy and I were cracking beers before we left the parking lot. Soon after, despite his best efforts, I caught Tommy enjoying himself – he was really digging not being the semi-sober driver. From the moment Megan and I walked into the apartment he had made it glaringly obvious that he was very unhappy with me for moving Megan in. He quickly turned away when I spotted him smiling, but I could tell by the look on his face he was beginning to think this just might be a good thing. The next thing I knew we had reached our destination: The Fiesta Bowl Block Party in Tempe. Tommy didn’t have many details, but it was New Year’s Eve in a college town!

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Source sevenstrangeyears.com


Real Letters. Strange Stories.

Grand Canyon

December 30, 1998 
Phoenix, AZ.

Dear Dean,

I would like to express my deepest apologies for being unable to attend your X-Mas party. My imagination can produce nothing wilder than the times I was sure to have had I attended… I’ve been in desperate need of such a party for quite some time. But, my Christmas plate was heaped full with a double helping shortly after my arrival. Knowing the rumor mill in those parts, I’m sure you heard all about how I kidnapped Megan and Drug her to the desert – don’t miss the small town gossip. 

I do miss spinning ridiculous rumors about myself just to see how long it takes to return. Most of my closest friends couldn’t last more than a week. Just last summer I learned of a leak planted years before – to my own brother. I was just about to seal the deal with Mindy Murry when she pulled back and recited the familiar rumor. I always told an original tale to everyone I knew – so I always knew exactly where they came from. You may recall a very heartfelt breakdown I poured out to you, back in the High school days, when I confessed my teenage anger to be the product of an inability to read. “I skip class because I’m afraid the teacher is going to ask me to read,” was one of the lines I believe I used… That one got back to me pretty quick – I’m sure I would’ve spilled such a juicy story if the tables were turned. I understand. Anyway, this tale was original to my brother – how many links in the chain was the only question. When I denied the story as truth, Mindy answered the question, “That’s what your brother said.” I thought he was one of the few safe ones. So, for the record, any rumors you hear concerning Megan or myself were not started by me. And, like those rumors, the truth is probably far less sensational – Megan’s folks might disagree. Spending quality holiday time with her family was a bit more awkward than usual this year. If Megan’s parents didn’t hate me before, they surely do now. My biggest Christmas smiles had little effect. I have stolen their 18-year-old princess with no hopes of ever supporting her — an unemployed bum. And the fact that she dropped out of college to move across the country with me — and Tommy – certainly doesn’t help matters. They have hated Tommy ever since they came home early from the cabin to learn I had coerced their innocent daughter into throwing a party. As they pulled into the driveway everyone grabbed their booze and scattered out the back door – everyone but Tommy. He had a better idea; he grabbed his bottle, stripped clean down to his birthday suit, and greeted Megan’s folks at the door – his rum in one hand and his knob in the other. They were not impressed. And he doesn’t seem to be too impressed with our new living situation. The fact that our transportation status went from BMX to car held no sway – It is a piece of shit Hyundai…

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Source sevenstrangeyears.com


Real Letters. Strange Stories.

Gelt Tabs

December 23, 1998
Crosslake, MN.

Dear Tommy,

I will no longer be requiring you to pick me up at the airport on the December 27. I would like to tell you I secured my own ride because I knew how much of a pain in your ass it was going to be to get Darcy’s car and drive all the way to the airport on a school night, but that is simply not true.

 As you well know, I am a selfish bastard. The truth is, I will not be returning to Phoenix on December 27. There has been a slight change in my plans. I will return — just a few days late. If all goes according to plan I will be in sunny Arizona on New Years Eve — with wheels. You need to plan something wild to ring in the New Year — we’ll have a car and driver. I don’t want to ruin any more of the surprise, but let’s just say I should have an easier time paying rent. Which will definitely be a good thing because I really don’t think my boss bought the old “my mom has a brain tumor” line — conveniently over Christmas. Hopefully I get a few loaded Christmas cards to float me till I can find a new job. Anyway, we plan to hit the road on December 26. License or not, I’m driving — you should expect me sometime late on December 29.

Phoenix has turned me into a sissy — It’s COLD here. Dead, Brown, Cold, with patches of ice, there is no snow — so much for coming home to a white Christmas. You are a smart man for staying. Dean has been bugging me to attend his annual “Trash the Folk’s House” X-Mas party; I think I’m going to miss it. I feel like the rope in a game of tug-o-war. There is no possible way to make everyone happy. I can’t wait for Christmas to be over.

I did have a Strange evening in Saint Cloud on the night of my arrival. The tone was set somewhere around 35 thousand feet. The turbulence struck earlier when I checked in at the airport. I was immediately bumped to stand-by. Plastered to the sticky pleather seat of gate B-28, between two wholesome families complete with wailing babies, watching everyone else board the plane would drive even the purest man to drink. Coach was full. Merry Christmas. The next flight, the snooty gate attendant informed me, was only 10 hours later. My plans were ruined. Merry Christmas. The gates began to close. “Johnny Richards,” gurgled over the intercom in a nasally women’s voice. I stormed the counter to collect my new boarding pass for the following morning’s flight. Each violent step reeked of attitude. I was going to give her a piece of my mind. It all played out in my head as I lugged my suitcase to the counter. I was going to start out with how piss poor her customer service was, then tear into her over her inability to manage expectations. By the time I reached the counter, I was, in my head, giving her the reaming of a lifetime. It felt good – until her face lit up as I approached the counter and she told me the news. Merry Fuckin’ Christmas. I got bumped to first class. Now that’s the way to fly — big seats, free cocktails, and high altitude. I was pretty well lit by the time we touched down.

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Source sevenstrangeyears.com



The Interesting & Strange