What the $#^%?

Over the years shows such as CSI, CSI: Miami, CSI: New York, Criminal Minds, NCIS, (I think you get my point) etc... have been bringing in Hundreds of thousands if not millions of dollars. One begins to wonder... Why? Why is it that we are drawn to the macabre and the horrifying? Why is it that we seem to have a... "Blood lust" which draws us nearer and nearer to these scenes of terror?




But let us go in another direction. Why do watch "Who done it"'s? As i walk from room to room in my house i witness my father watching Judge Judy.... Personally i think that this kind of entertainment is the lowest form of TV trash. TTV if you will. Though i have complete faith that Judge Judy is a good woman and a strict mother, i believe that the revealing of peoples sheer incompetence for entertainment. Its like recording a feud between two roommates. Yet, i digress. When i asked, "Dad, why are you watching such TTV?" He responded with, "Well, I wanna see if she rules the same way i would." Interesting... Now that i think of it, i watched Scooby Doo as a kid and tried to figure out who did it... hmmm... Once again... i digress. ADD.

I believe that we surround ourselves with pictures of murders and scenes of crying children in order to reaffirm who we are and how we got here. I think that the Morgue man from CSI: NY put it best,


"For without death one can not appreciate life" -Morgue man from CSI:NY

We watch these shows because deep down inside we know that in the end, good prevails. The bad guy gets caught and justice is done. It is basically the same reason why we watch horror films.
People are disgusted by the ferocity of the human mind, the mere fact that we may live in a perfect world is comforting. When shows end with the bad guy winning we feel robbed. "Hey, what the @#$%? That isn't supposed to happen." We want to see harmony in this controlled chaos. Because in the end... We are just little kids hiding under the covers, praying that the monsters go away.

More and more today you are seeing pictures of lovely nude women with tattoos. There is something rebellious about it. Something that screams innocent with a knife through it's back. What prey tell could it be? Is it the human races endless endeavor to mystify like the endeavors of Schumann? Could it be that even though we are fine with our bodies we long for improvement?



Perhaps the answer can be found in deviant Art. Another popular website, Deviant Art is used by armature and professional artists to publish their work. I have a page and you should check it out sometime (search for jaredsigi) yet i digress.

I believe that society is finally running away from the old social stereotype of "If you have tattoos you're a tramp, biker, or troglodyte (Someone who roams the sewers hunting for alligators [See NY])" and finally moving into a new era of nude professionalism. The tried and true classics such as "David" or "Venus" have come and gone. They are being replaced with edgier and more thought provoking photos. By challenging the mind to seeing something it normally doesn't we are at the same time challenging our beliefs. Through broadening our horizons we are opening up to the possibility that there is something else out there, that perhaps not everything we see is definite in its own right. To see that which is seareal or obscene or just plane different is to look into the eyes of another. "A Photograph and say a thousand words" Time to take charge and form your own opinions. I'm not preaching communism or anarchy i'm preaching the openness of new idea's and bringing about an age of educational awareness to other peoples cultures who are not like our own. To Bring a nude photograph into your home is to bring the most intimate part of the subject into your life.

Photographs tell a story, so the idea that Photo's and Tat's go hand in hand is not a crazy one. A story within a story, (it sounds like something an old Russian writer would compose) Having a tattoo is like wearing a very intimate and meaningful part of your life on your sleeve. There is a tribe in Africa that believes that when you take a picture you are taking apart of their soul. Therefore if you are taking a picture of someone with tattoos you are also taking part of their heart. The tattoos add feeling and emotion to the picture. The viewer is no longer drawn to their eyes (like most people are in the throngs of embarrassment of looking upon a naked body)

The fact of the matter is that the number of nude women with tattoos, appearing in photographs has risen dramatically. I above all are extremely happy with that.

And personally, I view it as the new beautiful nude.

I feel very conflicted when i am writing about this situation. On one hand I'm against Banning people from an establishment based on their sexual orientation. On the other hand I'm against allowing people in a bar who only go there to watch the patrons as entertainment. And on the third hand. I'm a hypocrite. I am a founding father in a fraternity. An organization which is based on brotherhood and exclusivity. So it is hard for me to be for or against someone in this situation without sounding even more hypocritical and not sounding like I'm homophobic.



I realized that its stupid try to plan out what I'm going to say on these blogs i write better when i write from the heart. Whats the point of pitching a pre-made story on a blog?

A Aussie bar has recently been granted the right to ban non-gay patrons from entering. Not just from entering.

"Aussie Pub Allowed To Ban Non-Gays; Montreal Woman Refused Service At Gay Bar
Wednesday May 30, 2007

Gay marriages. Gay pride parades. Benefits for those who have lost their partners. They've become a fact of life in Toronto and show how far the community has come in gaining acceptance and equality. But there are two separate stories from opposite ends of the world that may show how far things have gone the other way - and how far they still have to come.

The first one takes us to Melbourne, Australia where a hotel that caters to the gay community has successfully won the right to bar so-called straight patrons - and even lesbians. The Peel Hotel went to court to argue that its entirely male clientele wouldn't be comfortable with people of other sexual orientations trying to frequent the establishment. So, despite an Aussie law that prohibits discrimination of any kind on the basis of race, religion or sexuality, a tribunal has agreed the establishment has the right to keep out any non-gay patrons.

Tribunal president Cate McKenzie heard evidence that straight male customers and women's groups were entering the bar and viewing the regular customers in a derogatory way. "To regard the gay male patrons of the venue as providing an entertainment or spectacle to be stared at, as one would at an animal at a zoo, devalues and dehumanizes them," she told local newspapers. So for the first time in the country's recent history, a kind of reverse discrimination has been sanctioned.

Couldn't happen in Canada? It did, if you believe one woman's story. Audrey Vachon has filed a complaint with the Canadian Human Rights Commission after she sat down at a gay bar with her father in Montreal and the waiter refused to serve her. She claims the staff informed her dad that the bar didn't cater to women and that only he could order a drink. "On the spot I didn't believe it, I thought it was a bad joke," the 20-year-old explains. "I didn't say a word until I'd left. I was too shocked. I was embarrassed, I was humiliated, I felt guilty that I'd even gone there, like I'd done something wrong."

Le Stud owner Michel Gadoury claims his establishment has banned women on certain days since it opened more than a decade ago and that it's a 'choice' his clients have asked him to make.

Photo credit: Getty Images/AFP/William West"


What do you think??

This is a horror story i have been working on for a long time. I'm looking to get it published. I hope you enjoy!!!



================ John Creek


John Creek always wanted to be manager at The Johnson and Johnson Company. Ever since he first walked past that giant blue sign just outside of his home, he knew that this was the life for him. The wind gently kisses his face as he walks to work. John has a car but allows his wife Cherry to use it. After all, the exercise is good for him. He had been working with Johnson and Johnson now for five years. Quick to climb the corporate ladder he has found himself in a rut. There is only one thing that holds him back, his nervous tick. Ever since John was a kid he would wet his pants when ever he became nervous. The children had called him names like ‘Potty Pants’ or “PP” for short. Girls wouldn’t stand near him and the boys used him as the butt of all of their jokes. “Potty Pants Potty Pants!!” The children would cry. Tears would glide down his face like water collecting on the side of a car window during a rainy day. Doomed to live his life as a social outcast John turned his thoughts to his studies. As the children turned their eternal hatred to more pressing thoughts such as that of young girls and boys, John started to notice that his social fop au deterred those of the opposite gender from speaking to him.
*
As days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, and months turned to years John started to grow more and more comfortable with the fact that he kept two pairs of pants in his locker in case of an accident. Forever focusing on a life yet led John worked up the courage to ask Polly out on a date. Polly was the perfect girl. Captain of the Cheerleading squad, 4.0 GPA, beauty queen, and leader of the popular crowd. Her hair did not drape across her neck; it flowed. Radiant blonde hair and gorgeous blue eyes ensconced her essence. Skin perfectly tan, a tan that did not remind one of a spray yet brought forth visions of her naked body lying on the beach bathed in a glow that made her look like a angel. She had the grace of a gazelle and the looks of an Athenian goddess. Every girl wanted to be her and every boy wanted to be with her.
*
John saw her in the hall during 4th period algebra “Hi, um Polly?” he said. “Oh hey, John” narrowing his energy to his loins John prayed to five different gods of different religions that he wouldn’t pee his pants. “I was wondering if you…” John slowly felt a familiar trickling down his left pant leg. “Would like to go to the dance with me?” Polly stood there puzzled. Why would someone so gangly and ostracized from the general public attempt to speak with her? Before her heart could tell her brain that he was sweet her eyes found his pants and she erupted in throngs of laughter. Giggle. “You want to go to the dance with me? Why the hell would I go to the dance with you? Look at me. I’m amazing! You’re just a bookworm who still has to change his pants because he wets himself. How old are you? Four?” Polly’s laughter rang in his ears like the toll of bells warning citizens of an air raid. The only girl who wasn’t laughing was Cherry. One of Polly’s lackeys, Cherry had always been blessed with a heart of gold. He turned to her and cried. Not tears of sadness but tears of embarrassment as Polly walked away. Cherry must have felt bad for him because she quickly piped up, “Don’t worry John. I’ll go with you to the dance.” A snot nose bubble slowly popped as John said, “You, you will?” “Of course I will” said Cherry, besides she knew how hard it was to stop wetting the bed. John felt a smile creep across his face.
*
Twelve years later John found himself passing under the same tree as when he would walk to college. Thinking to his self, I’m so glad I married that girl. The leaves blew across the ground and created an almost romantic atmosphere. In the distance he could make out the tall blue billboard that stood in front of his office. To say it was an office is pulling at strings. John worked in the “Bullpen,” a four by four cubicle that was surrounded by offices of the notable higher ups in the company. As John approached the door leading to the inner sanctum of the most prestigious company on the eastern sea board he was stopped by a homeless man known only as “Murray”.
“Hey, John spare any change?” John’s boss always lectured the employees about giving out what he called a “Free lunch” but it fell deaf on John’s ears.
“Of course Murray, here’s a five. Go to that McDonalds’ and get a Big Mac. That always makes me feel better.” The homeless man looked at the gentle patron and appreciated his kindness. Not five minutes before he had approached John a man of about John’s height and stature walked by looking like a million bucks. “Hey, Mac spare any change?” he proclaimed. The man stopped in his tracks and turned to Murray with a large noticeable grimace on his face. “Listen you; do you know who I am?” Murray stood there puzzled. His tattered cloths announced to the world that he had fallen on hard times. The man which stood before him towered over his physique higher then that of the 80 story building which he was about to enter. “My name is Joe Sharken. I made more of myself in my first nine years living on this Earth then you have in your entire life time.” Joe turned on his heel and walked into the building. The glassy doors stood open and then slowly closed by themselves. John flashed Murray a smile and a tip of his imaginary hat. “Have a good day sir” Murray chimed. Murray quickly pocketed his five dollar bill and ran to the nearest McDonalds.
*
Turning into a building in which fortunes are made and legends are born John prepares himself for another day at the office. Inside the eighty story building were columns covered in the finest marble in the world and one receptionist that sat in front of the entrance. Mrs. Wendy manned the phones like a Navaho code talker. Her hair was blonde and was strung like a crumpled up ball of yarn. With a yellow complexion and a voice that was clear and concise Mrs. Wendy always greeted the employees. “Good morning Mr. Creek.” John smiled, waved, and kept on walking to the elevator. Standing in front of the titanium doors were two of his co-workers; Adam and Steve. “Morning Gentlemen” John proclaimed. The two men stood at the edge to eternity and with a wave of their Starbucks coffee acknowledged John’s existence. The room containing the elevator door was constantly filled with the aroma of fresh caramel macchiato’s and the dried tears of failure from the recently laid off. An angel like Ding rang through out the hall and the silver doors greeted its newest residents. As the gentlemen entered the gates to glory Steve spilled his five dollar coffee on his three-hundred dollar pants. “Son of a Bitch!” rang through the halls. The doors closed. The soft hue of smooth jazz filled their ears and calmed Steve’s anger. “My wife just bought me these pants!”
“Hey, calm down it is not the end of the world” said Adam.
John was quick to assess the situation and offered Steve a spare pair of pants which he had stashed away in his cubicle. Relieved, Steve thanked John for his kind offer. Then Steve stopped, “Say John,” said Steve “Do you still have that problem?”
*
Last year John warned Adam and Steve that he couldn’t give their presentation to Mr. Sharken because he would wet his pants. Thinking it was a bad joke the three men approached Joe Sharken with a plan to market their product to the youth market. Yet, before John could open his mouth he felt the all too familiar release of worry. “What the hell are you doing?” said Joe as John ran for the door. John was able to avoid Mr. Sharken’s eyes as he escaped through the door apologizing and giving an excuse that his wife just called him with an emergency. Tears covered his face and pierced his soul as the acknowledgement of his failure was displayed upon his pants.
*
As the elevator door opened John said, “Do you want the pants or not?” Steve made his way towards John’s desk to receive the generous offer. Once Steve left his desk John sat down for another day at work. The tinted windows around him kept out all signs of light. The only way John knew that there is another world outside of the building was the ticking sounds from the rain hitting the window. The ticking sound invaded the ears and filled the mind with a dark despair. Ticks turned into white noise as the wind blew tales of tears from laid off angels. The mood changed with the rain. Like a predator searching for its next victim Mr. Sharken emerged from his dark lair. Phones stopped ringing and everyone’s attention turned to Joe Sharken. His pinstriped suit gave him an aura of command. His gold Rolex ensured that those around him knew that though he was a leader he was a profitable leader. Each arm of the watch glided along the face not stopping at each second. After all, time doesn’t wait for Mr. Sharken. His shoes were rubber soled yet he drug his feet along the flush carpet. The Dockers symbol on the soles of his shoes let those who walked in his footsteps know that only someone like him could have made these strides. His stain free slacks allow for late nights at the office with minimal damage to the time his wife must spend washing spilled coffee from the pinstriped design. Each thread is perfectly sown into place and even though this suit is three weeks old, every thread remains in place.
Mr. Sharken passes his employees with the majesty and grace of that of a seasoned dancer. He circles the bull pin looking for the next “Mr. Sharken”. John has just finished a sketch of a boy holding up the latest product of the Johnson and Johnson Company. The boy’s golden curls will make the teeny-boppers swoon over him and throw their money at ‘the next big thing’. John stands up to release the tension in his legs. It feels like he has been running for miles. All of a sudden a dark shadow covers his desk. Standing in front of his desk John turns around and wets his pants. The urine seeps down his leg and into his shoes. The watery yellow essence is predominant on the outside of his khaki pants. Joe Sharken’s blue eyes pierce through John’s soul. With every slight movement of the blue sapphires’ John peed himself a little more. “Follow me into my office,” boomed Mr. Sharken’s voice. “Sir, may I… may I please change my pants? Sir?” begged John. Mr. Sharken’s Dockers scraped against the carpet. The whole office seemed to have gone quiet. “Why God? Why!? Why can’t I just be like everyone else? All I want to do is be like Mr. Sharken,” but God was not there. More scraping of his boss’s Dockers. John walked the gauntlet of horrific stares. The women in the office muttered apologies to themselves, while the men looked away, unable to acknowledge John’s existence. Adam and Steve denied knowing John when they were approached with his embarrassment. All the while the rain kept pouring onto windows outside; reminding them of their humanity.
*
John stood at the gateway to Mr. Sharken’s office. Mr. Sharken propped himself up on his two thousand dollar chair. “Come in John,” Mr. Sharken’s voice boomed and the world seemed small.
“Sir”
“Don’t call me sir!” screamed Mr. Sharken.
The business awards that sat upon his desk shook with a mighty thunder as his fist struck the table. The fury of a prize fighter filled Mr. Sharken’s face. “You are like a Son to me damnit, DONT CALL ME SIR!!!” John stood in the doorway unable to understand what he was hearing. John’s lips curled together to form the words, “What… What… do you want me to call you?” Mr. Sharken’s long arms motioned to the burgundy chair in front of his shaken desk. “Have a seat” he said. John’s pants were now thoroughly wet and began to smell of shame; ammonia filled the air. The seat felt good upon his back yet the damp fabric from his pants crushed coolly against his naked legs. Brief flashes of light lit up the room. The wind howled.
“Call me Joe,” he explained “Call me Joe from here on out. You are like a son to me and always have been.” John thought this odd because “Joe” had never taken an interest in him until now. “I have seen past your,” Joe paused, “abnormalities, and seen your true potential here at this company. Your ad campaigns are witty and viral.”
For a brief moment John allowed a smile to cross his face. “Why thank you Joe. I nev-” Joe cut him off. “You’re welcome. Now, let us get down to business. The company is taking a turn into an area of which you have already begun to explore.” The room remained silent except for the cracks of lightning and panging of the wind outside. Joe’s face was covered in rain drenched shadows. This was all so odd to John. Everyone knew that Johnson and Johnson was headed towards an older market rather then a younger one. John took up a pile of papers on his desk, neatly shuffled them together and fed them to the endless pit which resided inside the paper shredder to the right of his chair. The loud grinding of the paper as it was shredded fell sharp on John’s ears. He had never really looked at it before. The metallic iron shone in the dim light of the office and seemed to be the only “pure” thing in there. Its large gears were made for crushing hard drives and could easily take off a human finger if not handled correctly. It seemed almost… welcoming. Another smile crossed John’s face. He felt alive. Joe piped up again, “I want you to spear head the company campaign for the entire youth market.” The blood drained from John’s face. His heart started racing and sweat began to gather at his brow. No one in the history of middle management had ever been given a task of this size and prestige. “Sir… I mean Joe, I am honored.” Their eyes met and Joes knowing stare radiated in the room. The clouds lifted to reveal the grey outline of a drenched city. “I know you will make me proud,” Joe proclaimed. Just as John sat up from the chair to shake Joe’s hand, he grasped him. Joe looked John in the eyes and said, “I’m gonna need a full project presentation on my desk by tomorrow morning.”
John urinated at this thought.
“A full project presentation Joe?” were the only words that came out of his mouth. “Yes, now go change your pants.” John left Joe’s office with the look of victory on his face. Eyes wide open and a smile from ear to ear. As he stepped back into the bull pen he chuckled knowingly to himself and got back to work on his sketches.
*
The sky was now a darkened hue of grey and blue as it set upon the Johnson and Johnson building. The windows were clouded with the steam of humid rain of which once had filled the sky and now fills the streets. John was glad he didn’t have to walk home in the rain tonight. He knew that Cherry would be glad as well. It being a Monday and all, Joe left at four pm sharp; as always. Before he left Joe muttered to John, “By morning.” And then walked away. Never to be one to leave the office early John stayed the course until he finished up his sketch. The office was abuzz and wondering why John had not begun the project of the century. As more and more people filtered out of the office and into the elevator soon John was the only one left. The only thing to keep John company at this moment were the soft sounds of the cleaning crews vacuuming the floors. The windows were now black; the soft carpet felt good on John’s bare feet as he produced his master piece.
John had been working for months on just such a presentation to give to Joe. After many previous months spent in turmoil over how he could advance in the company John had set out to create an ad campaign that no one in their right minds would turn down. John had spent the last couple of months staying late at the office so that he could work in peace and secrecy. He had recently finished it two days ago. It looked just as beautiful as it did the first time he set it out on paper. John stood up from his chair and stood in front of the one drawer in his desk which had a lock on it. After he produced the key it slipped into the hole like race car driver slips into his seat. Click. The lock popped open. Sitting there on the bottom of two days worth of paper work lay three months worth of blood, sweat, and tears. John lifted it up and held it above his head. He had put everything he had into this presentation and felt grateful for being given the chance to use it. Joe was such a kind and understanding man and John wished that he could one day be like him. Chuckling at the thought of being Mr. Joe Sharken he stepped into his boss’s office and set up his presentation on his desk. John chuckled to himself again for being so sneaky. Just as John was about to leave the room he saw it again. The paper shredder. It looked at him and pierced his very being just like that of Joe. John headed towards the door and took one final look at the gloriousness of his very genius as he took one last look at the paper shredder.
*
Poor Cherry had spent so many nights staying up late in bed and waiting for him to get home that John thought he would surprise her by coming home early tonight. John slipped into his shoes and turned off the lights to his office as he collected the keys to his house. We need to go on a vacation he thought as the stainless steel doors closed to take him back to the real world. Still sitting at her desk John wished Mrs. Wendy a good night and bid her ado. Always cautious when walking home at night John made sure to look both ways before crossing the street and watched his step so as not to slip on any wet leafs. The trees spread their leaves around like Halloween candy every day here. John knew that the boys who raked the yards made a killing and he half started to think about creating his own lawn business when he saw home sweet home.
Blades of grass now gleamed in the moonlight as its rays reflected off of dew, still present from the day’s afternoon down pour.
He could see the lights still on in his bedroom as he approached the steps to his one and only sanctuary. Wooden planks creaked as John ascended onto the porch. Looking back John could see the moon masked by the midnight sky, reaching out to him through the clouds. Carefully, John climbed the steps to the door and inserted his key. John was being quiet, so he could make it an even bigger surprise for Cherry. John came to a halt as his brain became flooded with memories of his loving wife. His lips tingled at thought of their first kiss. God, he loved that girl. Without making a sound, the door swung open. John took off his wet shoes and proceeded to hang his rain coat on the wooden rung which hung upon the door. John thought he heard something up stairs, yet shrugged it off as his imagination playing tricks on him. Wearing only his socks, John began to climb the stairs. The flowers scattered on the carpet, warmed John’s heart and made him happy to be at home. The lights on the wall were dim and masked his entrance. With each step John grew more and more excited. The anticipation growing, now bubbling into his throat making it almost impossible not to smile. One step, two steps, three more steps till he reached the bedroom. When he heard it.
*
“Oh! Oh! Fuck! Me! Oooooo” John opened the wooden door. Creak. “Oh fuck!” John stood at the gateway to his bedroom. There on his red satin sheets stood Joe; naked from head to toe. His body jetting back and forth, every muscle in his body was gleaming in the lights as sweat covered his arms. Cherry, bent over taking Joe’s fiery essence like a farm animal going through heat. Her supple breasts looked sore from jerking to and fro; her long blonde hair was draped across her shoulders. Her eyes were wild and lusting. Then, she sat up to explain.
“It’s not what it looks like.” screamed Cherry in a terrified tone.
John stood there silent and stagnant. “He… He… Fell.” John did not move. He could feel his loins, dry, rub against his pants. He just stood there taking in the horror. Joe quickly pulled out of John’s bride. The only thing pure about her now was the look of fear upon her face. He could hear the rain begin to fall, heavier this time then that of any other time in his life. His boss, always swift to speak was choking on his own words. John slowly turns away from the door; not needing to change his pants and climbs down the stairs. The shadows pass over his figure as he passes the flickering of the lamps which hung upon the wall. He hears the crash of lightning and thunder fill the sky outside, but that isn’t the last thing John hears as he leaves the house. The door to the bedroom closes and the creaking bed shrieks, as the moans from his wife start up again. He closes the door behind him and steps out into the rain. This time, he does not take his rain jacket.
*
The next day at work his colleagues learn of his astonishing tale. “How was he able to get the project finished so quickly?” They all asked. Rumors of an ad campaign mastermind quickly flew throughout the company. Even Mrs. Wendy greeted John with an extra big smile as he walked into work. Adam and Steve met John in the elevator and steadily and stearnfastly began to quiz him. “How did you do it?” asked Steve, “Did you hire some help?” offered Adam. John wasn’t smiling anymore. The elevator door closed. “Hey,” Steve paused, “Did you get new shoes?”
John’s feet felt good in his new five hundred dollar Dockers. The new socks fit him well and were a welcome comfort from his soggy GAP ones. The metallic doors open and smooth jazz proclaims John’s entrance to the rest of the workers. They all looked up and told John how proud they were of him. John did not answer; he spent his day in silence until Joe walked in for work. Coming in, Joe was a little later then usual. Wearing his signature pinstriped suit he walked right past John’s desk and into his office. After Joe hung up his coat he paced around his office looking through his fancy windows and into the bull pen. What was he going to say to John? On his desk stood the most magnificent presentation he had ever seen. He read through John’s amazing work and couldn’t believe how fast he had gotten it done. No wonder he came home early. The man works with the speed of two hundred people. After carefully examining the presentation he makes a call to his boss and hangs up the phone. Joe is set on resolving this… this… misunderstanding, and plans on showing a good faith offering. Yes, a good faith offering…. something that will help him reward Mr. Creek and at the same time get him out of his hair.
The door to Joe’s office opens and the phones stop ringing. All eyes are on Joe as he approaches John at his desk. John, working tirelessly on a new sketch is unwilling to show it to his colleagues. “Hello, John” John is silent. “You did some pretty amazing work. I’ve never seen someone finish a project that fast in my entire life.” John continues to work silently on his sketch; he blocks Joe’s view from his work. “In fact,” Joe states (this time a little bit more loudly so everyone can hear) I am giving you a two weeks paid vacation to Costa Rica.” The employees give out one sporadic gasp. Mr. Sharken has never given out a paid vacation. Joe looks around with a smile on his face as he observes his followers. Then it hits him. “John, did you get new shoes?” Joe recognized that pair of rubber soled shoes, and those socks.
They were just like his. John continues working without even a flinch. Getting desperate, Joe makes one final push, “I am sending you there effective immediately.” John slowly stands and pushes the chair away using the back of his legs draped in dry pants. Calmly, John turns and his soft sapphire eyes have found their way to his boss and look deeply into Joe’s soul, sending shivers up Mr. Sharken’s spine. Every hair on his body stands at military salute as he watches John slowly walk to the elevator and down to the first floor. As he turns to head back to his office, Joe notices that John took the sketch with him.
*
Hours turn to days and days turn to weeks. The two weeks pass by uneventfully at The Johnson and Johnson Company, and news of John’s return was buzzing about the building. The metallic elevator doors open with a resounding; Ding! Mrs. Wendy halts for a moment to see who has interrupted her day to day duties. The sounds of footsteps echo through out the first floor as black Dockers slowly find their way onto the elevators hardwood floor. All the while the women of the office’s first floor look at John with a face of almost absolute horror while the men can’t believe their eyes. It’s John, but it’s not at the same time. “Wow, John you look…. different,” said Steve as they took the elevator up to the office. “Ya,” proclaimed Adam, “You look just like…. Mr. Sharken.”
*
On his visit to Costa Rica John partook in the sun, fun, and wonders of plastic surgery. It wasn’t hard to find a competent surgeon in this part of the world. After spending twenty minutes conversing with the local shop keepers of this paradise, John was made aware of a surgeon with special talents.
Laying face up and staring at the bright translucent lights of a backwater plastic surgery office he observed the cock roaches scurrying about as lights were being turning off and on. The metal table felt cold upon his bare back. Covered in a blue patients’ robe, the last thing he could remember before he went under the knife was what he said to the doctor, “Deseo parecer él” or “I want to look like him.” raising his hand and producing a picture.
*
The elevator doors opened to reveal this dark stranger. The whole office stood in wonder at how much he looked like Mr. Sharken. Though his resemblance was only in fashion, something about how the bandages covered his face gave a curious allure. John sat down and began to get to work on his drawing. Shock seemed to turn to curiosity as the entire office began to wonder what sort of project John was working on. The only problem was that no one had gotten a glimpse of his mysterious masterpiece. Lacking of any physical evidence the office conversation soon turned to wide spread rumors. Talk began to spread like wild fire about plans of a new age of ad campaigning, one spearheaded by their very own, John Creek.
Peering through the closed blinds Mr. Sharken observed his little bee’s buzzing back and forth. The hive had been awaken. Rage began to fill Mr. Sharken as he peered down at to check the time so diligently set forth by his gold Rolex. Each stroke brought forth images of inefficiency. Upset that his workers weren’t working, Joe stepped out of the office to see what was the matter. As his door opened he followed their gazes to John’s desk. “How was your vacation John?” John didn’t answer. Joe looked at John sternly for Joe was not used to people not giving him their full attention. As Joe looked him up and down he noticed something; John was wearing the same kind of pants. Then the horror struck Joe. Looking up at him was a mirror, yet only dressed from the waist down and differently from the waist up. Horrified, Joe ran back into his office. John turned back to his drawing. He could feel the stares of the workers upon his face. They will never understand, he thought to himself. Then laughed.
*
The next day, a cool breeze from the air conditioner wafted through the office. The plastic leaves from office plants shook with each passing breath. The office almost felt alive today. People were laughing and joking with each other. The work for the week had been completed and everyone was about to go home; everyone except Mr. Sharken. Joe Sharken had been buried under a pile of paperwork regarding the newest ad campaign for the youth market. Between phone calls with company partners and the massive amount of red tape he had to get through, it became apparent that Mr. Sharken had to stay late at the office. The tinted windows glared as the light reflected from workers brandishing keys to their cars. The sun was setting and they wanted to beat the traffic rush. The crowded masses began to filter out of the building one by one, until all that was left in the office were the sounds of vacuums and the rough scraping of Mr. Sharken’s pen.
The shadows were the only thing keeping Joe company during this lonely night. He worked tirelessly on the mammoth amounts of paper work which covered his desk and flowed onto the floor. The air was still and peaceful. The horrific ringing of the phone invaded Joe’s ears. Again and again it harped, each time getting louder and louder. Yet, he could barely hear it for it had just begun to rain. The ticking of rain drops filtered out the first couple of rings. “Hello, may I ask who is calling please?” “Joe it’s… It’s your wife.” She sounded like her entire body was shaking. “Honey what’s wrong?” “How did you get back to the office so fast?” “What do you mean?” Joe’s confusion was only quelled by the curiosity displayed on his brow. “Honey, we just had sex, and well. Something didn’t feel right, you never said a word during it and, and it felt… wrong.”
The blood drained from Joe’s face. He hadn’t left the office since this morning. Then it hit him. Joe slowly set down the receiver.
“Honey? Honey?” were the only words heard from the conversation. Lightning crashed and in an instance John was standing before him. Before he could let out a word John leaped over the desk and grabbed Joe’s throat with both hands. John squeezed with the force of a thousand men. It felt so good. He watched as the blood drained even further from Joe’s face. He squeezed harder. The wretch’s eyes rolled into the back of his head revealing the remnants of a soul once sold to the devil. His eyes! His Eyes! Finally something pure! The pure white corneas’ were prominently displayed for John to see. The last gasp for air fell short as Joe’s body went limp. Each part of this horrid mans soul laid in John’s hands. He must get rid of it. John’s dark eyes darted across the room searching for a savior in grace when he found it. The industrial paper shredder. John chuckled to himself as he drug Joe’s lifeless body towards the metallic god. John gently began to feed Joe’s fingers into the shredder and smiled as his bones were crushed and shredded just like the life he was to have with Cherry. Each part of the body filled the metallic container with gallons of blood red like the fires of Satan’s eternal anger, flesh like an unhealed wound, and bone soft as the earth which forged it. John emptied the paper shredder 33 times that night. Each time he took special care so as not to spill the contents.
*
After the last of the job had been completed John produced the sketch which he had so carefully guarded. On the pale sheet of shredded trees stood a kind man who always wanted to work high up in the Johnson and Johnson Company but was held back because of one thing, his nervous tick. John shredded the sketch and took a seat in Joe’s old chair. The next day at the office no one could seem to find John. Only Joe, and even he didn’t know what happened to John Creek.





Word Count: 5,738

Have you ever seen something that so transfixed you that you forget everything and just stare and walk towards it? whether its a girl who is so beautiful that you walk into a pole staring at her (happened to me), or maybe it was a cool class of water on a hot summers day. For me It was a painting i saw at the Ringling Museum of Art today with my Dad.

I mentioned to him earlier in the week about how i really wanted to go and see the new exhibits they had there. I haven't been in so long. I was going to go with a friend that was in town from college but she had already been two days before. My father being the sentimental guy that he is....... decided that this would be a perfect Father Son experience for us. My Father really misses me. It is understandable, he is now the only man in the house; but i digress.

I was walking around taking pictures of the paintings with my new cell phone [Aside: I didn't have the flash on (for all of those art enthusiasts out there). I know that the flash can damage the paintings.], when a little Asian woman in a burgundy jacket with a brisk walk came toward me. The woman looked up at me (she was a good foot shorter then me) and said, "There are NO pictures taken in the gallery." I smiled and said in my rebellious bad ass way, "Ok." *Shrug* what was i gonna do? Flick off this poor woman or start an argument about how my eyes reflected more light onto these paintings then my camera PHONE lens? Nope. Why waste your breath when there are paintings to be had!



I gathered my Father and we walked into the next room, all the while the little Asian woman was staring at only me. Dad went straight to a picture of Cattle. (For those who don't know; i spent the first two years of my life on a sheep farm. Yes, my first words were, "BAAA." like the sheep...) When i saw it. Hanging there before me was a vision of pure artistic excellence. A vision from God, the Alpha and Omega himself.

I stopped everything i was doing, and turned my full body towards the art. I was so transfixed by the art that i didn't realize that i was walking towards the art. I had to stop myself less then an inch away from walking into the painting. It reminded me of a scene from my vacations in Colorado and Canada. I couldn't help but think to myself.... I've been there. The water was green at the edges and the clouds were the essence of dreams. Some say that art is a window into a word already discovered. I can see what would make them say such a thing. The painting truly looked like a window to a world to which i have already explored.

As we left the stares of the aggravated Asian woman i couldn't help but think. Did I walk where he did? And, did he see and feel the same things as i did when i was there? Will a boy ask the same question 500 years from now when he sees the same picture as I? And better yet, will i be standing right behind him wondering the same thing? Only time will tell. Or a crystal ball.....

Vampirology: The Science That Sucks


I am writing to you because i skipped class today to go see a lecture on vampires. I was trying to dodge class "outside of my girlfriend's room" when it hit me. There is a fucking guest Vampire Lecture going on!!! A LECTURE GIVEN BY A HONEST TO GOD VAMPIRE!!!!!



So what do i do? Do i go to Business Statistics like a good little boy? Fuck no! There is a vampire at F.S.U. and i NEED to go see him. So i go and collect Arturo and we run off to the Student Life Building. As we run towards the SLB i decide to make the wonderful decision to call my mother to tell her where i am going. Because she is so freaking amazing she laughs so hard she forgets that she is calling from a doctors office. [Aside: I love my mom.] As we enter the SLB we can't find anyone who even looks like a bloodsucking vampire (except for those who have yet to get up from the computer for over 5 hours). I am disappointed. I have a handful of Italian Garlic and no one to use it on. We ask the receptionist where we might see such a unholy professor. She kindly points to the lecture hall and in a smoky Energy Drink induced state declared, "The movie theater."

We enter the lecture hall and stumble on our shoelaces. It is very dark in the lecture hall. After all, it is mid-day and Vampire dude needs some darkness. We see a man completely clad in black. He is a blading/bald man with a VERY thick Slavic accent. But for all his fashion short comings he is pretty bad ass (at least his topic is). I can immediately tell that if he was not talking about something as interesting as Vampires, then i would never want to go to his class.

But, he has some very interesting points. He brings up the fact that Vampires may fight for the Holy Cross as crusaders, but only if they are fighting Islam. Vampireism is a plague is not only a real plague but a metaphor for the Slavic people needing the blood of their sons to fight against the turks. The shame of Kosovo is a metaphor for the failure of the Christians in not being able to protect their land.

The Vampire represents a ultimate perversion. The need for blood over food is seen as a perversion of life over death. The Slavic nations have been seen as the cradle of life/death. His discussion on Vampire Phantasm: Community and Gender, is pure genius. He clams that Vampireism is ultimately the male envy of women. All the blood taken by vampires is that of women. The blood is a substitution of blood and mild, some may contend semen. The Countess Basthorta is s woman who nurses a skull on her teet. It is the ultimately a topic on Sex and Death.



Freud once said, "Sometimes a Cigar is only a Cigar." Meaning that sometimes you need to take things at face value (like economics). Freud's love of cigars do not denote his sexual attraction towards his mother or homosexual tendencies. He just likes cigars. So sometimes when you see Vampires they represent the sexual drive of men and envy of women, but sometimes they just represent blood sucking Vampires. But let us take a look at the first. The sucking of blood may be a psychotic sexual ecstasy of deriving pleasure from sucking the life out of another person. At the same time it represents a longing for oral merger that stays with us after we are weened off of nursing as children (refer to the blood as milk reference

G. Deleuze, Coldness and Cruelty On De Sade:
"Destruction is merely the reverse of creation and change, Disorder is the other side of order and the decomposition of death is equally the composition of life. The negative is the all pervasive, but the process of death and the destruction that it represent is only a partial process." Death and Destruction may be a life affirming process. Needless to say the guy who wrote this was REALLY into S&M. He served his dominatrix s' well until the day he died.

Karl Marx once said, "Capital is dead labor, which vampire-like, lives only by sucking living labor, and lives the more, the more labor it sucks." Perhaps he was a vampire?

Suggested Reading on Capital and Vampires; Hauntology: Specters of Marx By: J.Derrida

Ever see something so beautiful that it just stops you in your tracks? On V-Day i had that experience. I was getting ready for another date. Stressing a bit but trying to hide it all the same. My jeans were clean and my shirt was smokin, though it was to dark for a beautiful day. I asked the girls at the desk if they thought so too. They concurred. So i go back and change into something a bit more... colorful. I run back into my closet and pull out a red shirt for the holiday. As i leave and return to a apathetic greeting from the two girls, i am confronted by my friend "Marc". Jared! Have you seen Danielle? No i reply. Why? He says, "You need to change now!" So as i go down the hall i see the most beautiful thing i have ever seen in college.



She stops me in my tracks.

Now, I'm not the mushy one here but an exception may be made in this case. This is the FIRST time a girl has EVER stopped me in my tracks. Other girls could be charged for giving me whip-lash by making my head turn, but they have never stopped me in mid walk.

I have NEVER Ever witnessed something so beautiful as i had on that day. I was transfixed for the rest of the night. She said, "lol, what are you staring at?" what could i say? The fact that your beauty has put me in a wanton spell? That your eyes scream an emerald roar while sparkling moonlight? Or that you almost made me drop dead because you are so gorgeous?

Needless to say i was very pleased and had a smile on my face for the rest of the night; nay; week.

One of Sigma Pi's premier philanthropy's is the SAM Spady Foundation. Sam Spady was a girl who died up north do to alcohol poisoning. Sigma Pi went to her parents and wanted to know how we could help. We then helped start the SAM Spady Foundation. SAM stands for Student Alchol Management.




The reason why i say that this is ironic is because as a fraternity we are stereotyped as drunks. Though some of us who are over the age of 21 may drink, it does not mean we all do. And though we may be helping a Alcohol program, we are not telling girls not to drink, we are telling them what to do in the situation of alcohol poisoning. We don't want girls to die.

We are starting the SAM Spady Foundation up on campus as a Student run Organization; also.




If you wish to make a donation to the Foundation please visit their website at http://www.samspadyfoundation.org

China's Economy is going to be taking an upward trend over the next several years. China's recent appropriation of public land into private. Showing the beginning of a privatized economy.

People are more likely to take care of land when they have a monetary investment in it. Think of it like a bike. A long time ago at FSU a RSO on campus bought bikes for the FSU campus, they were red bikes that said SGA on the side of it. Basically if you were in a jam and needed to get to class faster you could hop on a bike instead of humping it to class.



Needless to say the bikes were not taken care of. The bikes were in a constant state of disrepair. Wheels were missing or flat, bikes went missing, and were overall the community whipping boys'. No one took care of them because why would they? It wasn't their property.

Now the Chinese populous has an investment in their land, they will cultivate it with care, make sure it gets enough fertilizer and water. This makes the land more appealing to buyers and raises the property value. Incomes will grow as land is sold. Before we know it China will receive a real estate boom. Look out Florida!

N. Korean officials announced that they have just set off their first nuclear test. During a time of US political uncertainty N. Korea decided to test the limits of world officials and blatantly slap the United Nations in the face.

Minutes before the blast N. Korea sent a message to China informing them of the explosion. China then sent a message to their embassy in D.C. to inform the President. We could only watch as N. Korea gave the world a blatant F-U.

One might remember N. Korea's announcement of pursuing nuclear activity right around the time of 9/11.

Once again N. Korean President Kim Jung IL showed the world his political prowess via testing a nuke a time when the worlds largest Super Power is currently involved in a war with two major countries. And, as anyone who gets CNN can see, an unpopular war at that.

Knowing that the President dare not risk another "unpopular" war, Kim Jung IL is not only testing the waters but flexing his countries muscles. Showing the world that N. Korea is still a major player on the international scale.

Sunday's Test will lead to one of two outcomes for N. Korea.
1) The test will force the neighboring countries of China and Russia to strengthen their ties with N. Korea for fear of a nuclear war.
2) The test will widen the gap between Russia, China, and N. Korea. China and Russia are N. Korea's life line supplying oil to a country bedridden with embargoes.

Lately fliers just aren't�?? doing the trick any more. Those who want to get something out there have found a new advertising medium. Facebook.

Need people to come to a program? Send out an "Event Invite". Having trouble getting your friends to read their e-mails? Send them a Facebook Message. A recent study proclaims that 85% of College students use/have a Facebook.

After all of the Hullabaloo (I think that is how it's spelled) the Facebook News Feed has become an important asset in the war on Marketing! But what happens when major Corporations begin to flood Facebook with ad's promoting soft drinks and dating services? Will Facebook hold back a sea of advertising? As it stands, if you are a Student and wish to advertise for a company you are able to do so. Will this be the case once/if Facebook public?

The same people who will condemn Facebook for allowing non-student Advertising will be the same people who use Facebook to advertise for fund raising events and parties! In both cases, Parties actively exchange a good for a service. Once our generation realizes this, we will truly learn the meaning of hypocrites.

This is the tale of the FSU Mystical Lady.

The last time i went to an SGA meeting i met a rather ambiguous woman. Kind yet with an air of indiscriable jenu se qua. "You're Polish aren't you?" she said. Startled i looked behind me and starring me in the face was the said woman (eating with her hands)[but i won't judge]. The first words out of my mouth were, "Wow, how did you know?" "I can tell by your facial features, most dominant on your mothers side i take it?" At this point I'm a bit freaked out. How could a woman i have never seen before know such things about me? But, i wanted to know more of what she knew.

She told me that i probably had a very English last name. Conveniently enough my last name is Lord! Twas a very interesting experience. She knew that my mother's side of the family was catholic. Then she said the one thing which stuck out at me the most, "Yeessss, the polish are very competitive. Always feeling they have to something to prove."

When one is approached with facts that no one else but you and your family would have known it shakes one to the very core. It makes one stop and take a look at the world around them. Maybe there is something beyond this world that has yet to be addressed. Maybe, the woman was an anthropologist and has been well versed in the facial features of different regions.

As i was leaving i told her, "I'm sorry i didn't get your name?" to which she responded, "Oh don't worry, you will see me around."

And she was right...