Good morning folks.
As you are aware, a mysterious writer has been inflicting chapters of what seems to pass as a story to Rolling Thunder, Haggis, and myself.
We, of course, being anti-social, insist on inflicting it on you.
We are not sorry, so if you think this is an apology, you are tripping. TRIPPING.
AHEM:Many of you seem to like reading this. I've heard rumors that some of you, nursing Sunday Sports Hangovers no doubt, actually look forward to your weekly infusion of strident conceptualized meyhem!
Now...imagine a Monday without a 'Fajita Sunrise'.
Imagine that you wake up, log onto Absolutewrite, and there are no Fajitas, no Sunrises, nothing but LOL Hamsters and new threads with obscure names.
What would your life be like then?
What would your life be like without stylized avatars cavorting in mindless frenzy across the landscape of a land best not described to normal humans?
Could you actually return to life as a regular coffee or tea or Mountain Dew addicted writer out to complete a thousand words by sunset?
There is a way to prevent this from happening.
Yes, just $13.78 USD donated to Absolute Write via the neat little PayPal icon floating around here somewhere....
yeah..that one.
Ok.
So, donate to AW TODAY, donate so that next week, as well as this morning, you can wake up with a hangover the likes of which has never seen day before....(or in the case of non-drinkers...a case of caffine withdrawl severe enough to crack your skull)..
No...stop focusing on the hang over, I'm trying to explain...
DAG...you don't have to freaking shout!
(yeah, well your grandmother kisses odd turtles in public you wanking pre-vert...now shut the pepper shaker up and let me finish.)
Never mind..I forgot.
Remember Button, Sunrise, Donate...
FAJITA SUNRISE: CHAPTER FIVE!!!
Chapter 5
"Jay, I'm telling you, there's no way we're gonna be able to get on a plane with all this hardware," said Haggis, dragging a back pack full of plastic explosives and detonators from the limo. "They watch for this stuff now. We'll wind up in jail. Or worse, P & CE."
"I called in a chip," I told him, pulling several bandoliers of ammo from the trunk and slipping two assault rifles over my shoulder. I tipped the driver—a free pass to the Comedy Cabaret—and we entered the terminal through a restricted access door. George was already there, waiting for us.
"Boy, howdy! Jaycinth, you sweet thang. Good to see you again. Real good." George opened his arms as if to hug me, then seemed to remember what happened the last time he tried to touch me. He stuck his hands in his pockets instead.
"How they hanging, George?" I said. "How's Laura? The twins?"
"Fine, fine....
"Say, Jay-darlin'? I don't know how to tell you this, but you've got a dawg riding betwixt your fun bags."
"That's my partner, Haggis."
"Jay, I'm a smart man. You can't fool me. That ain't no partner. That there's a dawg. A chee-huey-huey, if I'm not mistooken."
"Don't let his appearance fool you. He's the best partner I ever had. You think Cheney's good? Haggis is way smarter, and a better shot too."
"Well, any friend of Jay's is a friend of mine. We'll have to have all y'all up to the ranch when I finally get this monkey of a job off my back."
"Believe me, every American is looking forward to that day, George," I said. Haggis and all the Secret Service men nodded enthusiastically. "Let's get going."
George grabbed the back pack and both rifles and led us out a side door, across the tarmac to an isolated runway, where Air Force One warming its engines. Two Marines in dress blues stood at parade rest beside the ramp. They snapped to attention as we climbed the stairs and entered the airplane. George couldn't travel with us (he and Laura had already planned on watching West Wing on the tube) but told the crew to take good care of us. The door closed and the plane slowly moved down the runway.
Haggis had taken George literally. He was having the time of his life. As soon as the plane leveled off, he'd unbuckled his seat belt, flopped himself onto the big leather couch and punched the "service" button. The flight attendants came running and soon were all over him. I guess they thought he was cute or something. Little did they know he'd been dead more than six-hundred years.
Haggis lay on his back with a warmed snifter of one-hundred-year-old Napoleon cognac next to one paw and a fat Cuban cigar by the other. One short-skirted flight attendant rubbed his belly, while another fed him bacon wrapped scallops, one by one. "Haggis," I said. "We've got to plan."
"Later, Jay," he said. "Can't you see I'm busy?"
"Haggis. Now!"
"Come on. It can wait."
I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and slammed him off the side of the plane. Then I shoved the lit cigar down his throat.
"You seem unhappy, Jay," he said, spitting out little pieces of tobacco. A tiny puff of smoke followed his last exhalation.
"Mel. Armadillos. Sauerkraut," I said. "We need to plan. Get the map."
Haggis pulled the map from his backpack and unrolled it onto the floor of the plane. As he poured over it, I called Aunty Bug on my secure cell phone to see if she had managed to dig up any usable info.
"The dinner's tomorrow night at 8:00," she told me. "They're promising everyone a meal they'll never forget."
"If they eat what Mel cooks, they can count on it," I said. "Get back to me if you hear anything else."
I hung up the phone and—
"Haggis! You weren't supposed to pour over the map that way."
"Sorry, Jay. I didn't see any sign for the little dog's room."
Some day I'm going to kill that dog. Again.
We landed in LA a little before 5:00 PM. A limo met us by the ramp and our weapons were loaded on board. "That George," I said to Haggis, "He thinks of everything."
"Since when?" said Haggis. "Are we talking about the same George here?"
Crap. He was right, and I knew it. This must be part of Ben Panced's nefarious plot. That limo driver was out to destroy us.
"What are we going to do?" whined Haggis. "The weapons are packed. The driver's waiting for us. And I'm sure he's packing."
"Eh. I'll just toss another glamour."
Haggis got the driver's attention by morphing back and forth between a Chihuahua and a human, then I turned him into an armadillo. The driver, not Haggis.
"Good choice," said Haggis. "Maybe he'll wind up on the menu."
I got behind the wheel, and he hopped into the shotgun seat, and we headed off toward the hotel.
############
will the driver become a nefarious lunch?
will George and Laura get back to the ranch in time to watch TV?
will Auntie Bug get more intellegence?
will Haggis get the stewardess...or at least more bacon?
You'll have these answers and more when...
(...you stop whining about your freaking hangovers already before I give you something to really whine about...you want that.?....cause I can do that...you know I will....)
you read...FAJITA SUNRISE...CHAPTER SIX!!!!
next week....same OP time...same OP thread...ish.
As you are aware, a mysterious writer has been inflicting chapters of what seems to pass as a story to Rolling Thunder, Haggis, and myself.
We, of course, being anti-social, insist on inflicting it on you.
We are not sorry, so if you think this is an apology, you are tripping. TRIPPING.
AHEM:Many of you seem to like reading this. I've heard rumors that some of you, nursing Sunday Sports Hangovers no doubt, actually look forward to your weekly infusion of strident conceptualized meyhem!
Now...imagine a Monday without a 'Fajita Sunrise'.
Imagine that you wake up, log onto Absolutewrite, and there are no Fajitas, no Sunrises, nothing but LOL Hamsters and new threads with obscure names.
What would your life be like then?
What would your life be like without stylized avatars cavorting in mindless frenzy across the landscape of a land best not described to normal humans?
Could you actually return to life as a regular coffee or tea or Mountain Dew addicted writer out to complete a thousand words by sunset?
There is a way to prevent this from happening.
Yes, just $13.78 USD donated to Absolute Write via the neat little PayPal icon floating around here somewhere....
yeah..that one.
Ok.
So, donate to AW TODAY, donate so that next week, as well as this morning, you can wake up with a hangover the likes of which has never seen day before....(or in the case of non-drinkers...a case of caffine withdrawl severe enough to crack your skull)..
No...stop focusing on the hang over, I'm trying to explain...
DAG...you don't have to freaking shout!
(yeah, well your grandmother kisses odd turtles in public you wanking pre-vert...now shut the pepper shaker up and let me finish.)
Never mind..I forgot.
Remember Button, Sunrise, Donate...
FAJITA SUNRISE: CHAPTER FIVE!!!
Chapter 5
"Jay, I'm telling you, there's no way we're gonna be able to get on a plane with all this hardware," said Haggis, dragging a back pack full of plastic explosives and detonators from the limo. "They watch for this stuff now. We'll wind up in jail. Or worse, P & CE."
"I called in a chip," I told him, pulling several bandoliers of ammo from the trunk and slipping two assault rifles over my shoulder. I tipped the driver—a free pass to the Comedy Cabaret—and we entered the terminal through a restricted access door. George was already there, waiting for us.
"Boy, howdy! Jaycinth, you sweet thang. Good to see you again. Real good." George opened his arms as if to hug me, then seemed to remember what happened the last time he tried to touch me. He stuck his hands in his pockets instead.
"How they hanging, George?" I said. "How's Laura? The twins?"
"Fine, fine....
"Say, Jay-darlin'? I don't know how to tell you this, but you've got a dawg riding betwixt your fun bags."
"That's my partner, Haggis."
"Jay, I'm a smart man. You can't fool me. That ain't no partner. That there's a dawg. A chee-huey-huey, if I'm not mistooken."
"Don't let his appearance fool you. He's the best partner I ever had. You think Cheney's good? Haggis is way smarter, and a better shot too."
"Well, any friend of Jay's is a friend of mine. We'll have to have all y'all up to the ranch when I finally get this monkey of a job off my back."
"Believe me, every American is looking forward to that day, George," I said. Haggis and all the Secret Service men nodded enthusiastically. "Let's get going."
George grabbed the back pack and both rifles and led us out a side door, across the tarmac to an isolated runway, where Air Force One warming its engines. Two Marines in dress blues stood at parade rest beside the ramp. They snapped to attention as we climbed the stairs and entered the airplane. George couldn't travel with us (he and Laura had already planned on watching West Wing on the tube) but told the crew to take good care of us. The door closed and the plane slowly moved down the runway.
#
Haggis lay on his back with a warmed snifter of one-hundred-year-old Napoleon cognac next to one paw and a fat Cuban cigar by the other. One short-skirted flight attendant rubbed his belly, while another fed him bacon wrapped scallops, one by one. "Haggis," I said. "We've got to plan."
"Later, Jay," he said. "Can't you see I'm busy?"
"Haggis. Now!"
"Come on. It can wait."
I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and slammed him off the side of the plane. Then I shoved the lit cigar down his throat.
"You seem unhappy, Jay," he said, spitting out little pieces of tobacco. A tiny puff of smoke followed his last exhalation.
"Mel. Armadillos. Sauerkraut," I said. "We need to plan. Get the map."
Haggis pulled the map from his backpack and unrolled it onto the floor of the plane. As he poured over it, I called Aunty Bug on my secure cell phone to see if she had managed to dig up any usable info.
"The dinner's tomorrow night at 8:00," she told me. "They're promising everyone a meal they'll never forget."
"If they eat what Mel cooks, they can count on it," I said. "Get back to me if you hear anything else."
I hung up the phone and—
"Haggis! You weren't supposed to pour over the map that way."
"Sorry, Jay. I didn't see any sign for the little dog's room."
Some day I'm going to kill that dog. Again.
#
We landed in LA a little before 5:00 PM. A limo met us by the ramp and our weapons were loaded on board. "That George," I said to Haggis, "He thinks of everything."
"Since when?" said Haggis. "Are we talking about the same George here?"
Crap. He was right, and I knew it. This must be part of Ben Panced's nefarious plot. That limo driver was out to destroy us.
"What are we going to do?" whined Haggis. "The weapons are packed. The driver's waiting for us. And I'm sure he's packing."
"Eh. I'll just toss another glamour."
Haggis got the driver's attention by morphing back and forth between a Chihuahua and a human, then I turned him into an armadillo. The driver, not Haggis.
"Good choice," said Haggis. "Maybe he'll wind up on the menu."
I got behind the wheel, and he hopped into the shotgun seat, and we headed off toward the hotel.
############
will the driver become a nefarious lunch?
will George and Laura get back to the ranch in time to watch TV?
will Auntie Bug get more intellegence?
will Haggis get the stewardess...or at least more bacon?
You'll have these answers and more when...
(...you stop whining about your freaking hangovers already before I give you something to really whine about...you want that.?....cause I can do that...you know I will....)
you read...FAJITA SUNRISE...CHAPTER SIX!!!!
next week....same OP time...same OP thread...ish.
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