Friday, August 31, 2012
This is JT Lewis coming to you from beautiful
Ok….I know you all came here for my interview with Gabriel Celtic, but I just found out he has been called out of town on a big case. My ex assistant has just told me that Gabriel would try to call in from his current location…if he can!
Ok…ok! (sigh)…ok…actually this is very in character for Gabriel Celtic, who stays on a case like a bloodhound until he…um…solves the case! I believe we have him on the phone!
Gabriel!....Can you hear me? Oh, wait…since you are on a police matter…Can you read me?
Gabriel: “Who is this?”
JT: Hey! This is JT old buddy!
Gabriel: …JT?...JT who?
JT:...JT?…JT Lewis?…your writer?
Gabriel: Ohh…JT…my ghost writer!
JT: Oh…(ahem) (blush) …ummm…yeah
Gabriel: How ya doing JT…listen…this must be some kind of mix-up…I thought I was calling Lenny’s for some Stromboli’s…I’m not sure how I got your number mixed up with Lenny’s…I better go and call the right number, we’re starving over here…nice talking to you JT!
Gabriel:....you say something JT?
JT: Um…you were supposed to be doing an interview with me today…for your fans?
Gabriel: Reeaaallyy….Abby! You know anything about an interview?
Gabriel: (Muffled conversation in the background)…with JT?...( muffled expletives in the background)…are you kidding me? (muffled cussing in the background)
Gabriel: Ok JT…I guess it was actually Abby that agreed that I would do the interview…but in her defense…she didn’t know this big case would come up…so…can we put this off?
JT: umm…(blush)…(whispers) Gabe…everybody is here, waiting to hear from you…
Gabe: JT!...I told you never to call me Gabe!
Gabriel: Here’s Abby…
JT: (blushing) Hi Abby…JT here…I guess you have been elected to fill us in on Gabe’s…er…Gabriel’s exploits for the interview…
Abby: JT?...He.rrow…you wan me in.tro.vru?
JT: Abby? What’s with the Vietnamese accent? You don’t have a Vietnamese accent!
Abby: You no rike? You trub-oh too much, I not rike sis
JT:....ummm…I wrote that line…what is this?
Abby: I gro now…okray?…big Stromb…I mean….brig crew on crase…many many crews…no one can knowing diss one………………………………..cya!
JT: big clue on case?...what clue? What? (mumbling from ex assistant in background)…What? She hung up!?!?!?
JT: (mumbled expletives and cursing)
JT: (Throws phone across the studio)
JT: Bleep this! If he thinks he can bleeping get another bleeping ghost bleeping writer like bleepin me he can just bleep my bleeping rosy bleep and bleeping stick it where the bleeping sun don’t shine!
(door slams shut!)
Ex Assistant: hello?
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Monday, August 27, 2012
Saturday, August 25, 2012
In honor or the release this weekend of Volume 6 of the Pepper and Longstreet series, I thought I would revisit an earlier post, the origins of the Pepper and Longstreet series!
Asked to tell the story of the origins of the Pepper and Longstreet series, I sit down at the computer and prepare to write another mundane piece of self promotion. Sitting in front of the blank screen though, a tear slowly makes its way down my cheek as the memories come flooding back into my mind.
It has been over twenty years now, and I was at a sad turning point in my life. A messy divorce, my kids hundreds of miles away, and my meaningless job taking me nowhere…I am alone.
A searing pain in my mouth had added to my misery, and forced me to visit the dentist, an appointment I had held off making for as long as I could. Sitting in the waiting room, I mindlessly paged through a magazine as I nervously waited my turn in the chair. Stopping suddenly, my eyes focused on a singular word that suddenly held my focus like nothing had in months…Safari.
Two weeks in
living in tents, heat, bugs, animals surrounding me that could easily have me
for dinner. I stared at the page, reading and rereading the ad over and over
like my mind was trapped.
As a nagging voice finally made its way through to my conscious, I realized that I was up next. The annoyed hygienist looked at me over her glasses with disdain as she impatiently waited. Still in a trance, I slowly looked back down at the page on my lap, the magical word calling me with its simplicity.
Quickly making the decision, I reached down and ripped the page out of the publication. Flipping the remnants of the magazine on the table, I folded the page and walked around the woman as her mouth hung open in astonishment.
The hot Savanna wind cooled the sweat on my face as I stood looking out at the landscape before me. I had just arrived at camp after two days of travelling. A porter had taken my luggage to my tent as I took in the vastness of the African plains that was to be my home for the next two weeks.
The lilted voice gently floated from behind me. I turned into the setting sun seeking the source of the voice and was taken aback at the sight before me. The twilight made a halo of the bright red hair as the woman confidently approached me. Wearing a tan shirt and riding breeches, the smart-looking woman held out her hand in greeting as she drew near. The smile lighting her face was as bright as the day as she gripped my hand in hers, announcing herself as, “Pepper…Pepper Macready, at your service.”
I was awestruck at the strong beauty of the woman before me, and more than a little embarrassed when I caught myself staring at her face uncomfortably long. Stumbling over my name, I finally spit it out as she seemed to take the whole transaction in stride.
Her face gave away little information as to her age, but the small tinges of gray peeking out at her temple led me to believe she was probably in her mid-forties. I again found myself staring at the strikingly good-looking woman who was, I believed, fifteen years my senior.
“Is everything ok?” she asked innocently.
Finally snapping out of my revere, I smiled and stated that everything was just perfect. Smiling back, she asked if I would care to join her for tea. Walking to the end tent, we sat under the canvas veranda in front of it. The luxurious shade and the dry gentle breeze offered a comfortable repast as the porter brought tea and biscuits.
I found out that she was from
had spent most of her adult life as a private detective. Having taken one of
these trips twenty years before, she had become hooked, and had come back every
My story of course seemed so much less exciting as to seem to be of no consequence. But she seemed held in rapt attention as I spilled out much more of my life than I had intended. Sipping her tea as I droned on, her pale blue eyes twinkled over her cup as she listened in seeming fascination as the train wreck of my life spilled out.
We talked well into the night, getting to know each other as people tend to do on such occasions. But it was much more than that for me. I had never met a more interesting person, not to mention a woman. She shyly regaled me with tales of her cases as the night sped by around us.
I asked her at one point how she had come to find an interest in detective work, and her secret to being so successful. Looking over her shoulder, she held her gaze there for a few moments before turning back. She explained that she had just always felt it was her calling to seek out and solve mysteries. And as to her success…she explained that she had some very good help over the years.
Over the next two weeks we spent every waking hour together, and I enjoyed myself immensely. For her part, she seemed to be enjoying my company as well.
But there was one odd thing that presented itself now and again. Periodically, she would seem to be having a conversation with someone else, someone that was not there. I noticed it infrequently at first, but as we got closer and spent even more time with each other, it seemed to occur more frequently. Bothered by it a little at first, I came to accept it, figuring I would find out eventually if we spent enough time together.
On the second to last night at camp, I was in a quandary. I liked Pepper immensely, and was certain that these two weeks were not going to be enough…not near enough. She had easily dug me out of the hole of gloom that I had previously been buried in, and had done so effortlessly.
But she had a life back home, and I wasn’t sure as to how to proceed. Although she seemed smitten with me as well, I did not want to force myself on her just because our time here was becoming short.
That night around the fire, she got up to retrieve something and tripped on a root in the ground. Losing her balance, she started to fall. I was up in a flash, easily catching her in my arms. As we stood there, staring into each other’s eyes, I could smell her sweet musk of lavender and Savanna dust.
Her smile told me everything I needed to know.
We held hands as we sat close to each other the rest of the night with nary a word passing between us. Although it would have been the easiest thing for either of us to fall into bed together that night, we just sat there and let the essence of each other soak into our souls.
I woke at sunrise in front of the now dead fire, she in my arms. We got up and got ready for our day…the last.
This day was going to be a treat for the customers; we would be riding elephants on our excursion today.
Getting everybody up on their pachyderm took awhile, but the porters and the elephants themselves seemed to take the wait in stride.
Everything was going great as we slowly lumbered our way through the plains, taking in the birds and other wildlife around us.
Suddenly Pepper’s elephant let out a loud trumpet as it started swinging its trunk side to side, clearly agitated about something.
As I watched in horror, her elephant reared up as Pepper was thrown from her seat, landing hard on the dry, packed earth. I tried to get off of my perch quickly, getting tangled up in the reigns for my effort. I finally unwound the leather straps from my feet and slid down the side….just as the other elephant fell…on Pepper!
By the time I reached her side, the damage had been done. I quickly helped the porter get the animal up and ran around to find Pepper. She laid flat on her back with those pale blue eyes staring up at the sky, a small smile on her lips, a line of blood running down her cheek.
Tears stained my cheeks as I kneeled beside her, wanting to hug her, but taking her hand gently in mine instead.
She rolled her head slightly to look at me, her smile as bright as the day we met.
“It would have been grand,” she said as a small tear formed in one eye, “grand indeed.”
“It’s not over! You are going to pull out of this!” I yelled at her, “You have to pull out of this! I Love You!”
“Aye, I’m thinkin I’m a wee bit in love with you too,” she whispered, an Irish lilt coming to the fore.
I smiled through my tears, “damn good thing!” I whispered back.
She smiled brightly at me, but then looked back up to the sky suddenly. Her eyes glazed over slightly as she raised her other arm to the sky, her smile returning once more.
“Longstreet, I think I may need your help one more time.”
So that’s my story of how Pepper and Longstreet came about. The stories of a teen detective and her ghostly partner, inspired by a love lost that left me a better man in the wake.
I hope you have enjoyed this tale, and watch for the new Pepper and Longstreet~ The Haunted Camp~ out this weekend!
Friday, August 24, 2012
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Monday, August 20, 2012
Please welcome this guest post from Linda Rondeau ! Author of America II!
While writing is her greatest passion, the more favorable temperatures of Florida allow her to follow another great passion--golf.
Following unprecedented climatic changes, resultant pestilence and war brought the world into chaos. Eventually, each nation surrendered its sovereignty to form a global democracy, initially known as The Accord. However, the democratic government proved too weak and was soon replaced by a faux democratic rule.
The year is 2073, and current governor of
Edwin Rowlands, is poised to become the Constitutional Government’s second
president. Many fear that the sweeping reforms found in his proposed Preservation
Act will set him up as a dictator. If enacted, defection both past and present
would become a crime punishable by death, thus bringing all outlands into
crushing subjection. Western
While most believe reform is critical, factions disagree on how to prevent the Preservation Act from becoming law. Ahmed Farid, second President, believes reform can be managed within the existing government. Leader of the Revolutionary Army, Jimmy Kinnear, trusts only in military intervention. However, Jacob Goodayle, Chairman of Western America’s illegal outland government, favors separatism.
As tensions rise, civil war seems imminent. Who will be the voice of reason in a world on the verge of a third dark age?
A native of Central New York, Linda Rondeau met and married Steve Rondeau, her best friend in life, and managed a career in human services before tackling professional writing. After thirty-four years of marriage, they have relocated to Jacksonville, Florida, leaving rural America to live in a city of one million.
While writing is her greatest passion, the more favorable temperatures of Florida allow her to follow another great passion--golf.
Linda is the wife of one patient man, the mother of three, and the grandmother of nine.
An award winning author, L.W. Rondeau first book, The Other Side of Darkness (written under Linda Wood Rondeau), released Fall 2012, and won the 2012 Selah Award for best first novel. America II: The Reformation is L.W.’s debut sci-fi book and is the first of a futuristic, political thriller trilogy. A prequel is planned in the form of serial editions.
Or visit L.W.’s website: http://www.lindarondeau.com
Thanks for visiting Linda! Your book looks awesome!
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Today I'd like to present the concept for a new series I am developing...Michael Montana ~ The Consultant
It is still a long way off, but I would love to hear any feedback that you as a reader or an author may have on the story or the concept.
I personally think its pretty exciting!
Here's the premise:
Here's the premise:
Michael Montana is a fixer, working under the radar to solve people’s problems.
Wasting most of his first 23 years on this earth, his experiences and an amazing mind drive him daily as he takes on jobs that nobody can or wants to do...all at a magnificent profit.
So please, do not hesitate to leave feedback here, or even email me at: JT.Lewis.Books
Thank you for your time, and enjoy your weekend! :)
The day seemed different somehow, like the feeling in the air before a storm. Or maybe it was just what you felt before falling off of a tall building to your death.
Shaking his head at the thought, the man wiped his wet hands on the dirty white apron, his greasy dark hair falling into his face as he moved. Reaching down to grasp the rubber tub of dirty dishes, he saw the paper stuffed into the corner of the booth’s grimy cushion.
“Bastards,” he mumbled as he reached across the table to retrieve the wadded napkin. As he was about to add it to the pile in his tub, he noticed the writing.
It was a phone number,
Montana area code.
He wasn’t sure why he knew that of course, but he assumed he had run across that tidbit of information at sometime in his hazy past. People had described him as having an eidetic memory, at least they used to, before…
Something about the napkin kept him from tossing it into the swill of his tub however, so he hastily shoved it into the pocket of his apron and went on about his work. Bussing tables and doing dishes at the diner wasn’t hard enough work, but it kept his body busy, and the income kept him in rent money for the room at the flop house.
What the job didn’t do however was keep his mind occupied sufficiently.
The demons that had ruled his life for the previous twelve years were still there constantly, back in the recesses of his mind, knocking at the thin door of his determination. If he let his mind relax, they would once again come flooding back into the control center of his life.
He couldn’t afford that.
He was a junky. Drugs and alcohol had ruled his life since he was fifteen, more to the point they had ruined his life.
Waking up in a jail cell six months before had finally forced him to evaluate what was left of his life. At 27, his body had wasted away to a jaundiced sack covering a slightly built skeleton.
The potential he had shown in high school had been wasted chasing down his next fix or drink. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when the need for a buzz had turned into the obsession that had ended up ruling his life, but it really didn’t matter.
To keep his mind busy, he would observe the customers that flowed through the diner, making mental observations and even trying to imagine where they were headed next. It was a fairly easy thing to do, since none of them paid him any notice at all. To them, he was invisible.
Actually, he was ok with that part.
Having a minute, his mind went back to the napkin in his pocket. Sitting on one of the stools at the counter, he pulled out the crumbled paper and stared at the numbers. Rubbing his hand through the ruff of a scraggly beard as he stared down at the scribbled message, he didn’t know whether to dismiss it or not. He couldn’t put it into words, but this seemed important.
“Pedro! I’m taking a break.”
The dark-skinned cook visible through the order window looked up from his newspaper, the cigarette dangling from his mouth dropping ash on the floor as he waved him away with disinterest.
Jumping up from his seat, he went out the door and made his way the three blocks to Union Station. Picking up a phone at the long bank of payphones, he placed a collect call to the number on the napkin. When the operator asked his name for the notification, he stated simply, “Bill.”
The lady on the other end of the call was initially reluctant, but finally accepted the charges. When the operator left the line, both ends of the call were silent.
“Is this about the money,” the lady asked with what sounded like a Canadian accent.
“Money?” the man repeated, then, “My name is Bill.”
“How did you get my private cell number?”
Explaining how he had found the number on a napkin at a diner, the lady on the phone burst into sobbing.
“Did you see the man that left it? Was he ok?”
Bill looked into his memory at the two men that had sat at the booth before he had cleaned it. The one that had sat on the side that the napkin was on had to be the one she was asking about.
“Short red hair, three day’s growth of beard, I’d say about 5’8”, slight of build.”
Closing his eyes, he looked closely at the memory in his head, the man appearing as a picture in his mind.
“Also,” he added as another detail came to the fore, “He had a small blue birthmark on his left cheekbone.”
“Oh my God, that’s him!”
Another bout of sobbing ensued but ended quickly as a determined voice took over the lady’s attitude.
“I don’t know who you are, but listen carefully. The man you saw is my husband. He has been abducted, and they are holding him for a million dollar ransom.”
Bill was shocked at her pronouncement, his mind quickly processing the story.
“They told us no cops, but I have hired a Hostage Recovery team. It’s worth $10,000 to me if you tell me where you saw him. I can send the team there; maybe they can find him with your help.
Bill’s mind was really swirling then, the pieces of her story falling into place quickly in his mind. Simultaneously factoring in everything she had said with everything he already knew, he was as surprised as the woman with what came out of his mouth next.
“How much do they make?”
“How much does the Hostage Recovery team make?”
“That’s none of your business!” the lady yelled into the phone. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
A confident smile crossed Bill’s lips at that moment, the first one he could remember ever having in his adult life.
“I’m the man that knows where your husband is. The best I can tell, I’m probably the only one.”
“Are you trying to blackmail me?” the lady asked with indignation.
“No m’am, I’m trying to help. I can get your husband back; I just need to know how much to charge.”
The line was silent for a long time as the woman digested Bill’s sudden proclamation.
“You are either the dumbest man I’ve ever met, or the boldest. Do you even have any qualifications for something like this? How in the world do you expect me to trust a voice on the phone?”
Bill was ready for her questions, spilling out a string of lies masked as qualifications.
Starting with a stint as an Army Ranger and ending with a five-year stretch as an NYPD detective, Bill added as a final flourish that his corporation had never lost a hostage.
“Why wouldn’t I just back trace this call and send my team in anyway?”
“Two reasons,” Bill came back confidently. If you traced this call, it would come back as a pay phone at Union Station in
pretty big town; you won’t get anywhere that way.”
Silence for thirty seconds. “And the second reason?”
Bill hung up the receiver, his hands trembling with the realization that he may have just given up an easy $10,000.
Five long nerve-wracking minutes passed before the phone in front of him rang. Picking up the receiver, “$500,000, half of the ransom amount.”
“We’ll do it for half that in cash, and we only collect if we get your husband back.”
“I want the bastards arrested and prosecuted too.”
Taking only a moment’s thought, he agreed to the added stipulation.
“We’ll be in touch.”
Starting to hang up the phone, he thought of one more question.
“One more thing, is the million dollar ransom the extent of your wealth?”
“No,” the lady said matter-of-factly. “We could have easily come up with ten times that amount.”
“Ok, keep an eye on the news later.”
With that said, he hung up the phone. Turning on his heel, he quickly started making his way back to the diner, letting out a nervous breath as he walked.
Still wearing a smile, it wasn’t quite as confident as it had once been.
As a large part of his mind spun on automatic working out the details of his plan, the rest of it was anxious. He had never given a thought to anything such as this before, and the fact that the bold plan had spewed out of his mouth on the phone amazed him.
Pulling his shoulders back, he picked up his pace a little more, thinking of his next step. Reaching the door to the diner, he hesitated but a moment before pushing through it. As he saw the target of the next stage of the plan, he let his smile broaden as he took the first steps toward the man, muttering to himself, “You’re on.”
Sliding into the booth across from the sloppy looking man, Bill smiled confidently.
“You’re a detective, right? Or you used to be?”
Blowing smoke out his nose in reply, the man glared at Bill through bushy eyebrows.
“That’s what you think, eh?”
Bill had been seeing this man every day for weeks. He would come in after lunch, and order a cup of coffee. He would then spend the rest of the afternoon there, drinking free refills of coffee and smoking cigarettes.
The bulge under his coat, though slight, had alerted Bill to the fact that he was armed. Further observation over the weeks had led Bill to believe that he was at the very least, an ex cop. The intense attention that the man paid to the people walking by the diner had Bill believing that he was indeed a detective. That he no longer worked actively at it was apparent from the time he spent in the diner, as well his constant irritable mood.
He believed that the man had been forced out of the only job he had ever known. He wasn’t sure yet of the reason. It could have been forced retirement Bill conceded, but he was betting the man didn’t like playing by the rules.
“That’s what I believe, yes,” said Bill with confidence.
“So what?” the man said before bringing the menthol cigarette’s filter to his mouth and taking a drag through his dark bushy mustache.
“So do you have any pressing cases at the moment?”
Shoving his cigarette into the ashtray like he was trying to force it through the table, he looked at Bill with anger in his eyes.
“You got a point to this interrogation smartass?”
“Yeah, I do. You need something to do, and I need help.”
Looking over Bill with disgust, “Why would I want to help you?”
“Hey, breaks over!” Pedro calls from the kitchen, “Get to work!”
Bill raised his hand indicating that he had heard Pedro, but his eyes never left the detective’s.
“Maybe to get a little of your pride back,” Bill answered in a low voice.
“You little prick!” the detective said loudly, his two meaty fists pounding the table.
“Hey!” Pedro shouted over the commotion, “Start bussing the tables or get out!”
“Plus I’ll pay you $75, 000,” Bill said evenly, “And you’ll get credit for the collar.”
The detective was half way to standing up when he heard this; staying in that position for several moments before slowly letting himself back down into his seat. Another angry look, “Where would you get 75K?”
“That’s it! You’re fired!” Pedro yelled from his window. “Get your ass out of here!”
“From my client,” Bill told the detective, still looking at him confidently. “We get paid when the job’s done, you’ll just have to trust me until then.”
Suddenly, Bill was being jerked out of his seat. “I told you to get your ass out of here!”
Pedro was about to drag Bill out of the diner when he heard the distinctive “click” of a gun.
“Let him go,” The detective said quietly, “We were just leaving.”
Pedro’s hands sprung open as he released Bill’s shirt.
“Ok, ok,” Pedro uttered quickly as he raised his open hands over his shoulders. “I don’t want any trouble mister.”
“Humph,” the detective grumbled as he holstered the gun, “Thought so.”
Nodding at the detective, Bill turned to exit the diner, the detective following him out of the door. Once out on the sidewalk, Bill offered his hand.
“What’s your name?”
Ignoring the hand, the detective mumbled, “Joe, what do I call you?”
“You can call me Bill,” he said with a sly smile, “At least for now. You got any money?”
A look of anger crossed Joe’s face once more, his hand moving toward his holster.
“What kind of scam do you think you are running here…Bill?”
Bill raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, relax, I’ll pay you back. We just may need to bribe a hotel clerk is all.”
Standing outside the room in the dimly lit hallway, Joe had his gun at the ready.
Bill had remembered seeing a room key on the table when the kidnapper had been eating at the diner. Extracting the name of the hotel and the room number from his memory, he and Joe had made their way over to the hotel. $75 had bought them the hotel clerk’s cooperation, who had agreed to make a call to the room to tell the man he was behind on his bill.
The Clerk had told them that the bill was actually paid until Saturday, so this should sufficiently anger the kidnapper. The clerk had also informed them that there were just the two men in the room, confirming Bill’s theory that it was a smalltime operation.
“How did you know there would only be one kidnapper?” Joe had asked on the elevator ride up to the eighth floor.
“Because, my client could pay much more, asking for only one million seemed the act of a single man, or maybe two at the most. The kidnapper probably also theorized that they would be less likely to track him down for that amount than if he had asked for a lot more.”
Nodding his head at Bill’s thinking, Joe seemed a little less on edge as they got off the elevator.
Making their way to the room, they waited for the prearranged phone call. The ring of the phone in the room was followed seconds later by an angry outcry. After a minute of arguing with the clerk, he loudly stated that he was on his way down to ‘straighten the stupid’ out of his skinny ass.
Moments later, the door slammed open as the kidnapper angrily exited the room, the muzzle of Joe’s gun immediately on his temple.
“Freeze slime ball!”
Shaking his head at Joe, Bill looked at his partner in disbelief.
“Really? Slime ball?”
“It worked didn’t it?” Joe countered, disarming the man and pushing him gruffly into the room.
The redheaded man sat tied to a chair in the middle of the room. Bill made his way quickly to him.
“Mr. Gunderson I presume?” he asked as he untied the man.
A relieved look was on the face of the victim. “Thank you! Did my wife send you? How did you find me?”
“Your wife did send us, but I found your napkin at the diner. That was a pretty smart move Mr. Gunderson.”
“Hey! I recognize you now! You’re the busboy! I’ve been saved by a busboy?”
Smiling, Bill worked up a convenient lie.
“My partner here and I are part of a private firm, and were working undercover on another case. I called your wife, and she gave us the go ahead to recover you. We tracked down your location from there.”
“That’s amazing! I wasn’t sure anyone would find my note, I only had a second to scribble it out.”
“We are trained to be highly observant Mr. Gunderson. Now, you’ll excuse me, but we have some business to take care of. Call your wife and let her know you are ok. Ask her to bring the money here if you would. After payment, we’ll call the police and get this man arrested.”
“Who do I say rescued me when they ask?”
Nodding toward Joe, “Joe over there will take full credit for finding you and apprehending the kidnapper. He is a former police detective, and knows how to handle these situations. Our corporation needs to keep our anonymity, so we can’t take any credit for the operation. I’m sure you understand.”
“Sure, sure,” Gunderson nodded gratefully. “How can I ever repay you?”
“Your wife and I already have an arrangement made Mr. Gunderson. But now that you ask, have her bring an extra $75 with her. You see, Joe had to bribe the clerk, and I promised I’d pay him back.”
Friday, August 17, 2012
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
So, you’ve gone back in time, and you have all of this knowledge that will give you an edge. Your place at the head of humanity is assured, and you will lead a new industrial revolution while making sure that everybody has bread on the table.
Wrong! Or, at least partially wrong.
Yes you have this vast amount of knowledge to convey, and yes, you should come off as a relative genius.
But first…you have to use the bathroom.
“Excuse me? Where’s the bathroom?”
Get used to that look you just got. Unless you are in at least the 20th century when you utter your question, they will not even know what you are talking about.
Ok, so you muddle through a description, and they finally point you out back. Depending on what year it is, and the social status of your hosts, you might be looking for anything from an outhouse to a hole in the ground.
Finishing your business, you suddenly realize that there is no toilet paper!
Ok, you have a few options, none of them good. Let’s say you opt for pulling up your britches, running back into the house and asking about it.
Mark this moment in your mind, because this is the moment when your dreams and aspirations of heading a new progressive revolution fade into obscurity. Because once you make that fated trip to stand before your hosts, your pants filled with your own excrement as you ask them how to wipe your own ass…
Well, I think you see where this is going. If you can keep yourself out of an institution for the mentally deranged after this display, you would probably find yourself scrubbing floors at the local brothel. Your knowledge and leadership has been dismissed in a matter of twenty minutes by the mere matter of taking a dump.
Being successful in the past will be dependant on knowing what to expect. People that have a strong grasp of history are always the ones that lead in this world, for who knows how many great leaders of mankind are stuck in the past on their hands and knees with a wet brush in their hand.