Rhonda Needs Help & Sacrificing Virgins for Clouds - Part 1
Apr 13, 2016 14:34:06 GMT -5
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Post by Harry Hates Golf on Apr 13, 2016 14:34:06 GMT -5
I had been practicing rounds at Idanha Ridge Golf Club.
It had not been going well, but then again, it never did. It was the usual sadistic course built by some crazed son-of-a-b%&, and the bad golfing wasn’t helping either. The hooks and shanks were ripe, and were only sweeten by the ball landing in the rough or bunker. I resigned myself to the fact that there must be some sort of karma love between bunkers and my gameplay, since the ball seemed so drawn towards them. I concluded that there must be some sort of conspiracy against me, drawn up by agents of the Illuminati that had somehow infiltrated HB Studios. It was obvious that the elite of the Illuminati were hoping to discourage me from TGC gameplay, thus allowing them a wide berth to usher in their reign of terror. Yet, the Illuminati bastards had underplayed their hand. They had not taken into account the amount of alcohol I can consume during any one session, or multiple sessions, of TGC gameplay. The debauchery and blackouts only protected me from this horrific discouragement. It allow me to continue the fight.
I had taken a swat at the ball, bouncing it off one of the many trees, when my phone began to ring. I looked down at its glaring screen and saw the word “Unknown” glaring back at me. I would have ignored the call, as I usually do when the screen flashes the word “Unknown”, but I had recently left a message with Vanessa Del Rio that I urgently needed to speak with her regarding TGC Tours. Dr. Del Rio was a porn actress whose popularity soared in the late 1970s and earlier 1980s. She ended her pornography career around 1986, concentrating her time and efforts into the study of sociology, emphasizing in the field of Agents of Socialization.
I wanted to speak to Dr. Del Rio in regards to sociological and psychological tactics that could be used in protecting my fellow TGC Tour associates against possible infiltration by members of the Illuminati’s task force. I knew that the Greg Norman Course Designer had brought about numerous Agents of Socialization. That was a good thing, but unfortunately, it was a double edged sword. Obviously, the Greg Norman Course Designer allowed for the growth of creativity, which in turn, would then would lead to independent thought, social interaction, and healthy debate, all of which are essential to the human psyche. Yet, the Greg Norman Course Designer, and its ability to create new Agents of Socialization, could be warped into a twisted entity, which could possibly lead to world domination and the complete erasure of social agency. It was evident that the fools at HB Studios had no idea the power they had unleashed. With the help of Dr. Del Rio, and her studies regarding Secondary Groups and Primary Groups, such as the ones within the TGC community, would help fight against the discord among members, as well as dismantle the plot hatched by the elite of the Illuminati.
It had not been going well, but then again, it never did. It was the usual sadistic course built by some crazed son-of-a-b%&, and the bad golfing wasn’t helping either. The hooks and shanks were ripe, and were only sweeten by the ball landing in the rough or bunker. I resigned myself to the fact that there must be some sort of karma love between bunkers and my gameplay, since the ball seemed so drawn towards them. I concluded that there must be some sort of conspiracy against me, drawn up by agents of the Illuminati that had somehow infiltrated HB Studios. It was obvious that the elite of the Illuminati were hoping to discourage me from TGC gameplay, thus allowing them a wide berth to usher in their reign of terror. Yet, the Illuminati bastards had underplayed their hand. They had not taken into account the amount of alcohol I can consume during any one session, or multiple sessions, of TGC gameplay. The debauchery and blackouts only protected me from this horrific discouragement. It allow me to continue the fight.
I had taken a swat at the ball, bouncing it off one of the many trees, when my phone began to ring. I looked down at its glaring screen and saw the word “Unknown” glaring back at me. I would have ignored the call, as I usually do when the screen flashes the word “Unknown”, but I had recently left a message with Vanessa Del Rio that I urgently needed to speak with her regarding TGC Tours. Dr. Del Rio was a porn actress whose popularity soared in the late 1970s and earlier 1980s. She ended her pornography career around 1986, concentrating her time and efforts into the study of sociology, emphasizing in the field of Agents of Socialization.
I wanted to speak to Dr. Del Rio in regards to sociological and psychological tactics that could be used in protecting my fellow TGC Tour associates against possible infiltration by members of the Illuminati’s task force. I knew that the Greg Norman Course Designer had brought about numerous Agents of Socialization. That was a good thing, but unfortunately, it was a double edged sword. Obviously, the Greg Norman Course Designer allowed for the growth of creativity, which in turn, would then would lead to independent thought, social interaction, and healthy debate, all of which are essential to the human psyche. Yet, the Greg Norman Course Designer, and its ability to create new Agents of Socialization, could be warped into a twisted entity, which could possibly lead to world domination and the complete erasure of social agency. It was evident that the fools at HB Studios had no idea the power they had unleashed. With the help of Dr. Del Rio, and her studies regarding Secondary Groups and Primary Groups, such as the ones within the TGC community, would help fight against the discord among members, as well as dismantle the plot hatched by the elite of the Illuminati.
Dr. Vanessa Del Rio
Intelligence mixed with a little sweetness
Yes, the phone call could be from Vanessa Del Rio.
I answered the phone.
It wasn’t Vanessa Del Rio.
“Harry,” the voice on the other end of the phone said. “It’s me, Rhonda.”
“I know that, bubblehead,” I yelled. “You’ve been staining my life with the plague of your presence for the past twenty years!”
“Don’t torment me, you horrid man,” Rhonda barked back. “Meet me at the Chi-Chi Lounge. It’s an emergency!”
I would have inquired about the emergency my best friend was speaking of, but she hung up the phone before I was able to take another breath. This wasn’t like Rhonda. She usually stayed on the phone to harp on me for a minimum of thirty minutes, but this wasn’t the case today. The mood was obviously a lot darker. It is easy to forget how cruel and dangerous this world can be when you are focused on other task. My best friend needed me, though. We had seen hell before, and we had blood on our shoes, so our sins were washed away. Whatever needed to be faced, we would do it together.
I quickly showered and shaved, and then took out my navy blue Brioni Gaetano double-breasted suit, with a white Armani shirt and red tie. The peaked lapels of the suit coat would blend in perfectly at the Chi-Chi Lounge, and its handmade woven fabric would be durable enough to withstand the elements inside the bar, whether it would be cigarette smoke or bodily fluids. Before I put on the suit coat, I donned my shoulder holster and loaded up my police issued, dual point Taser gun. I had bought the Taser gun a few years back in Tijuana, bribing a police captain so I could purchase it from a local underground guns merchant. I holstered the Taser gun, feeling its weight under my arm my double breasted suit coat. Yeah, Chi-Chi’s was a rough place, but they poured your drinks heavy there, so it was worth the risk. I put my suit coat on, grabbed my car keys and cigarettes, put them in my trouser pocket, and stepped out the door.
I did not see the horror that hung above me until I had almost reached my car.
Then I saw the clouds.
Stratus. Cumulus. Even Cumulonimbus layers. The sky was filled with clouds.
When I saw that, I completely froze in terror. Clouds in the sky are not a good omen to me, and they are not a good thing for anyone within the civilized world. Thundershowers, hurricanes, tornados, flash flooding, bolts of lightning crashing into the tops of people’s heads, all of it coming from those supposedly innocent white, fluffy puffs of moisture. The Abenaki Indians of America would sacrifice virgins at a drop of a hat if they saw clouds on the horizon, or at least they did before civilization stepped its foot on the North American continent and put a stop to their barbaric ways. But then again, who is to say that the Abenaki Indians were wrong?
Yes, the clouds in the sky were staring me down, and the fear was ripe. When I discovered the billowy death machines hanging over my head, I darted back to the door that I came out of, standing in the doorframe underneath the overhang of my front porch. My chest felt pinched with pain, and beads of sweat started to pop out on my forehead. The Brioni Gaetano double-breasted suit I was wearing now felt like a layer of lead, constricting the pores of my epidermal layer of skin from breathing. I loosen my tie and unbuttoned the first two buttons of my shirt. I knew I needed to control myself, even without drink or medication. It would have been easier for me to make a mad dash back into the house, lock the door, and wait for the cloud towers to pass. Unfortunately, I couldn’t do that. Rhonda needed me.
Standing in the front doorway, I looked about, trying to judge the distance between my car and where I was standing, trying to calculate the amount of seconds it would take me to make a frantic rush to my car. While I was figuring the time and distance calculations, I noticed that one of my neighbors from across the street had come out of her house. Her name was Mrs. Kowlowski, an elderly woman who always wore her house dress and rubber slippers. The walker that she used supported her weight, but it had seen better days.
“Mr. Cooper,” said Mrs. Kowlowski. “Is everything all right?”
“Good Lord,” I barked at the old woman. “You fool, get back inside!”
“Did you lose at that golf game again, the one Helen told me about?” The old women kept coming down her walkway towards the sidewalk, the legs of her walker scratching across the concrete.
“Damn you, Mrs. Kowlowski,” I yelled. “Get back inside! I won’t be able to save you!”
Mrs. Kowlowski started to look about. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Oh, you stupid old fool! Your hymen was ruptured decades ago. You’re totally useless! Just go back into your house and check the TV for EBS reports!”
“EBS?” Mrs. Kowlowski rhetorically asked. “Has there been an emergency? A disaster?”
“JUST DO AS I SAY, FEMALE!”
“Oh goodness,” Mrs. Kowlowski said. “I’ll check the news for you, Mr. Cooper. I hope everyone will be all right.” She flipped her walker around and started to head back to her house.
“This could be the end times,” I shouted at her as she walked back to her house. “Fill up your bathtub with water, and don’t flush your toilets. We may need all the spare water we can get when society crumbles!”
“You can count of me, Mr. Cooper,” the old woman said. She stepped back inside her house and shut the door behind her.
I was alone again, standing in the door frame of my front door. For a moment I thought about calling Helen, but shook my head. No, that would be foolish. That was the woman I loved, and I would not have her risk her life exposing herself to these vile clouds. No, I was on my own. I had to battle this dilemma on my own.
I had chills racing through my body, but I was able to muster up enough courage, though. I gave out a deafening war cry, sounding out with every energized cell within my soul. I dashed to my car, flaying my arms wildly in the air, trying to ward off any oncoming threats to my physical being. Closer to the car, I dove across the hood, my upper torso landing on the far driver side end of the hood. The contact flipped me over, landing me flat on my back on the street. My eyes shut momentarily. A gust of wind shot out from my lungs, and I gasped for air. The nerve endings on my back discharged their pain receptors into my brain. I was almost powerless. I opened my eyes again as I laid on my back in the street.
I looked upwards to the clouds above.
I gave out another war cry, more horrific and terrifying than the last. I picked myself up off the ground, and began to thrash my arms around again, whipping my head about to see if there were any threats. Seeing that at the moment everything was clear, I pulled the car keys from my pocket and press the unlock button. I opened the driver’s side door and slid into the front seat, slamming it closed.
The sound of my labored breath was the only thing that was in the car with me. Other than that, it was completely silent. I saw that my hands were shaking. I wouldn’t be able to manage the car at the moment. I took my pack of cigarettes out and lit one, taking a long drag from the cigarette, hoping that it would calm me somewhat, hoping that after a few moments my hands would steady themselves enough to allow me to drive. I had been lucky. I knew that I could have been struck by a thunderbolt when I was outside of the car, but that was no longer a threat. Still, the clouds could form into tornadoes, and I knew that would be the death of us all. They wouldn’t be cute Kansas tornadoes. No picking up Dorothy and tossing her ass back to the Land of Oz. No, the clouds that hung above me now would form tornadoes that would spin you about until your adipose squirted from your pores. Being inside of a car, or inside of a house for that matter, would not help you. My only hope now was to get to the Chi-Chi lounge. Constructed in the 1950s, the bar had overhead plumbing. The copper pipes would offer some protection to Rhonda and me if the tornadoes came.
I had made it this far and I knew I could not turn back. I knew that Helen would be safe. Even though she was a woman, she had more common sense than most of them. If the sh%$ hit the fan and the clouds decide to go apocalyptic on society, Helen would get to me.
Rhonda was a different story. She wasn’t always the smartest girl in the room. It was as though she sometimes forget to pay her brain bill. Yeah, it was a pain in the ass, but she was my best friend. She needed me, and if death and destruction began to rain down from the clouds, Rhonda would really need me.
I let my cigarette dangle from the corner of my mouth. I put the key in the ignition and flipped it, gunning the engine. My thoughts turned to Charlton Heston, a true man. I already knew what he would do in this situation, and I didn’t want to let the memory of that American hero down. I rolled down my window, flicking my cigarette onto the street. I looked up to the clouds the hung in the sky, raising my fist towards the bastards in defiance.
“Goddamn you!” I shouted at the clouds. “Goddamn you all to hell!”
I floored the gas pedal and heard the squeal of rubber as it tore into the street asphalt.
"RHONDA NEEDS HELP & SACRIFICING VIRGINS FOR CLOUDS - PART 2"
Yes, the phone call could be from Vanessa Del Rio.
I answered the phone.
It wasn’t Vanessa Del Rio.
“Harry,” the voice on the other end of the phone said. “It’s me, Rhonda.”
“I know that, bubblehead,” I yelled. “You’ve been staining my life with the plague of your presence for the past twenty years!”
“Don’t torment me, you horrid man,” Rhonda barked back. “Meet me at the Chi-Chi Lounge. It’s an emergency!”
I would have inquired about the emergency my best friend was speaking of, but she hung up the phone before I was able to take another breath. This wasn’t like Rhonda. She usually stayed on the phone to harp on me for a minimum of thirty minutes, but this wasn’t the case today. The mood was obviously a lot darker. It is easy to forget how cruel and dangerous this world can be when you are focused on other task. My best friend needed me, though. We had seen hell before, and we had blood on our shoes, so our sins were washed away. Whatever needed to be faced, we would do it together.
I quickly showered and shaved, and then took out my navy blue Brioni Gaetano double-breasted suit, with a white Armani shirt and red tie. The peaked lapels of the suit coat would blend in perfectly at the Chi-Chi Lounge, and its handmade woven fabric would be durable enough to withstand the elements inside the bar, whether it would be cigarette smoke or bodily fluids. Before I put on the suit coat, I donned my shoulder holster and loaded up my police issued, dual point Taser gun. I had bought the Taser gun a few years back in Tijuana, bribing a police captain so I could purchase it from a local underground guns merchant. I holstered the Taser gun, feeling its weight under my arm my double breasted suit coat. Yeah, Chi-Chi’s was a rough place, but they poured your drinks heavy there, so it was worth the risk. I put my suit coat on, grabbed my car keys and cigarettes, put them in my trouser pocket, and stepped out the door.
Stop them in their track AND look good doing it
I did not see the horror that hung above me until I had almost reached my car.
Then I saw the clouds.
Stratus. Cumulus. Even Cumulonimbus layers. The sky was filled with clouds.
When I saw that, I completely froze in terror. Clouds in the sky are not a good omen to me, and they are not a good thing for anyone within the civilized world. Thundershowers, hurricanes, tornados, flash flooding, bolts of lightning crashing into the tops of people’s heads, all of it coming from those supposedly innocent white, fluffy puffs of moisture. The Abenaki Indians of America would sacrifice virgins at a drop of a hat if they saw clouds on the horizon, or at least they did before civilization stepped its foot on the North American continent and put a stop to their barbaric ways. But then again, who is to say that the Abenaki Indians were wrong?
Yes, the clouds in the sky were staring me down, and the fear was ripe. When I discovered the billowy death machines hanging over my head, I darted back to the door that I came out of, standing in the doorframe underneath the overhang of my front porch. My chest felt pinched with pain, and beads of sweat started to pop out on my forehead. The Brioni Gaetano double-breasted suit I was wearing now felt like a layer of lead, constricting the pores of my epidermal layer of skin from breathing. I loosen my tie and unbuttoned the first two buttons of my shirt. I knew I needed to control myself, even without drink or medication. It would have been easier for me to make a mad dash back into the house, lock the door, and wait for the cloud towers to pass. Unfortunately, I couldn’t do that. Rhonda needed me.
Our days are numbered….Sacrifice a virgin IMMEDIATELY!
Standing in the front doorway, I looked about, trying to judge the distance between my car and where I was standing, trying to calculate the amount of seconds it would take me to make a frantic rush to my car. While I was figuring the time and distance calculations, I noticed that one of my neighbors from across the street had come out of her house. Her name was Mrs. Kowlowski, an elderly woman who always wore her house dress and rubber slippers. The walker that she used supported her weight, but it had seen better days.
“Mr. Cooper,” said Mrs. Kowlowski. “Is everything all right?”
“Good Lord,” I barked at the old woman. “You fool, get back inside!”
“Did you lose at that golf game again, the one Helen told me about?” The old women kept coming down her walkway towards the sidewalk, the legs of her walker scratching across the concrete.
“Damn you, Mrs. Kowlowski,” I yelled. “Get back inside! I won’t be able to save you!”
Mrs. Kowlowski started to look about. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Oh, you stupid old fool! Your hymen was ruptured decades ago. You’re totally useless! Just go back into your house and check the TV for EBS reports!”
“EBS?” Mrs. Kowlowski rhetorically asked. “Has there been an emergency? A disaster?”
“JUST DO AS I SAY, FEMALE!”
“Oh goodness,” Mrs. Kowlowski said. “I’ll check the news for you, Mr. Cooper. I hope everyone will be all right.” She flipped her walker around and started to head back to her house.
“This could be the end times,” I shouted at her as she walked back to her house. “Fill up your bathtub with water, and don’t flush your toilets. We may need all the spare water we can get when society crumbles!”
“You can count of me, Mr. Cooper,” the old woman said. She stepped back inside her house and shut the door behind her.
Totally oblivious to the oncoming apocalypse, ruptured hymen and all
I was alone again, standing in the door frame of my front door. For a moment I thought about calling Helen, but shook my head. No, that would be foolish. That was the woman I loved, and I would not have her risk her life exposing herself to these vile clouds. No, I was on my own. I had to battle this dilemma on my own.
I had chills racing through my body, but I was able to muster up enough courage, though. I gave out a deafening war cry, sounding out with every energized cell within my soul. I dashed to my car, flaying my arms wildly in the air, trying to ward off any oncoming threats to my physical being. Closer to the car, I dove across the hood, my upper torso landing on the far driver side end of the hood. The contact flipped me over, landing me flat on my back on the street. My eyes shut momentarily. A gust of wind shot out from my lungs, and I gasped for air. The nerve endings on my back discharged their pain receptors into my brain. I was almost powerless. I opened my eyes again as I laid on my back in the street.
I looked upwards to the clouds above.
I gave out another war cry, more horrific and terrifying than the last. I picked myself up off the ground, and began to thrash my arms around again, whipping my head about to see if there were any threats. Seeing that at the moment everything was clear, I pulled the car keys from my pocket and press the unlock button. I opened the driver’s side door and slid into the front seat, slamming it closed.
The sound of my labored breath was the only thing that was in the car with me. Other than that, it was completely silent. I saw that my hands were shaking. I wouldn’t be able to manage the car at the moment. I took my pack of cigarettes out and lit one, taking a long drag from the cigarette, hoping that it would calm me somewhat, hoping that after a few moments my hands would steady themselves enough to allow me to drive. I had been lucky. I knew that I could have been struck by a thunderbolt when I was outside of the car, but that was no longer a threat. Still, the clouds could form into tornadoes, and I knew that would be the death of us all. They wouldn’t be cute Kansas tornadoes. No picking up Dorothy and tossing her ass back to the Land of Oz. No, the clouds that hung above me now would form tornadoes that would spin you about until your adipose squirted from your pores. Being inside of a car, or inside of a house for that matter, would not help you. My only hope now was to get to the Chi-Chi lounge. Constructed in the 1950s, the bar had overhead plumbing. The copper pipes would offer some protection to Rhonda and me if the tornadoes came.
A safe haven from tornadoes
I had made it this far and I knew I could not turn back. I knew that Helen would be safe. Even though she was a woman, she had more common sense than most of them. If the sh%$ hit the fan and the clouds decide to go apocalyptic on society, Helen would get to me.
Rhonda was a different story. She wasn’t always the smartest girl in the room. It was as though she sometimes forget to pay her brain bill. Yeah, it was a pain in the ass, but she was my best friend. She needed me, and if death and destruction began to rain down from the clouds, Rhonda would really need me.
I let my cigarette dangle from the corner of my mouth. I put the key in the ignition and flipped it, gunning the engine. My thoughts turned to Charlton Heston, a true man. I already knew what he would do in this situation, and I didn’t want to let the memory of that American hero down. I rolled down my window, flicking my cigarette onto the street. I looked up to the clouds the hung in the sky, raising my fist towards the bastards in defiance.
“Goddamn you!” I shouted at the clouds. “Goddamn you all to hell!”
I floored the gas pedal and heard the squeal of rubber as it tore into the street asphalt.
When men were men, and the women loved them for it
WILL HARRY MAKE IT TO THE BAR ALIVE???
WILL HARRY GET TO RHONDA IN TIME???
WILL THE BAR BE OPEN???
WILL A VIRGIN BE SACRIFICED???
WILL SOCIOLOGICAL THEORY BE ABLE TO SAVE TGC TOURS???
WILL THE DEATH CLOUDS CONSUME THE FIRST BORN OF EVERY FAMILY ON EARTH???
TUNE IN NEXT TIME FOR....
"RHONDA NEEDS HELP & SACRIFICING VIRGINS FOR CLOUDS - PART 2"