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57 Search Results for "emergency"

  • "Fragments Of Grace No. 2" "Fragments Of Grace No. 2"

    • From: splascratch
    • Description:

           I am a huge fan of photographic minimalism, the photographic presentation of a single thing or subject captured at a magical moment.  I was driving on the 237 Hwy from my home to Milpitas, Ca. and I saw this scene out my driver's side window.  The traffic light I was stopped at had actually turned green, but I put my emergency flashers on, set my brake and dug my camera out....This doesn't make me a self-centered/entitled artist does it?  Does the end justify the means?

    • 3 months ago
    • Views: 178

  • Story Series Story Series

    • From: allenhenriquez
    • Description:

      Wild Horses Live

      Part 5

      In upstate New York near the town of Centerville a panicked Carter Russell has jumped into the Mohawk River.  Carter, trying to escape a bear, crashed into a tree and then hit his head on the stone edges of the shore, and has yet to resurface.  And now as the sound of the river’s rushing water continues unending, the bears at the campsite find the food and treats and consume them while avoiding the traps set for them by Carter Russell.  Blake, on a hill above the site and witness to the event, is surprised that Carter is still under for what is more than three minutes.  Blake then takes out his cell phone and calls the local authorities.

                                 *     *     *

      In Centerville, New York, the town’s emergency services fish Carter Russell out of the river having found his body hung up half a mile from the campsite in a cluster of jagged rocks in the river.  He is dead, with his death ruled, by the coroner, to be a homicide.  Blake, the person that called it in to the police, is charged and convicted of manslaughter.  Centerville’s jury was with great certainty that with the thought of continued harassment and the murder of his dog, Blake wanted at most to beat Carter up, but things got carried away.

                                 *     *     *

      On a visit to the jail by Helen Utrect, before her husband is transferred to the state prison, she and Blake, in a limited time frame, express those thoughts they can push passed the overwhelming emotions they feel.

      “When the house is sold I’m going to get you a better lawyer.” Helen.

      “Stick with the plan, Chile then Rapa Nui.  I’ll be out in a few years and I’ll join you there.” Blake.

      “First we have to appeal the verdict, then we relocate.” Helen.

      “Don’t spend up the money from my father’s ranch making some lawyer well off.  Stick with the plan,” Blake states in a quiet voice with the anger in Helen turning to tears.

                                 *     *     *

      To be continued. . .

       

    • Blog post
    • 4 months ago
    • Views: 185

  • Story Series Story Series

    • From: allenhenriquez
    • Description:

      Nothing Remotely Redeemable by Allen Henriquez

      Part XV

      The trip or circumstance that becomes survival has its facts presented with clarity.  Any discovery during an emergency has a built in truth.

                                          *     *     *

      Horace Akers, the want to be gangster, did what any person who had been so cavalier and evil that it had landed him in jail, looking at stiff prison time, he talked his fool head off.

      The first murder victim and former owner of the severed head was one Michael Spielman, a college dude from Connecticut who loved to come into the city and party on Friday nights.  But he got hooked on meth and wound up homeless.  The sadness and horror of Michael’s end for a guy with a degree in engineering speaks for itself, but worse is that he isn’t, wasn’t and won’t be an isolated case from coast to coast and in between.  He ended up living on the subway, then wandered aboutQueens until he got assistance and after a drying out period started doing janitor work at a local high school.  But a drug dealer hooked him up and he started selling for him and taking bets.  After awhile the money started missing; so Michael Spielman went missing until his head was found.  Detect Denise Haberstem was correct, it was placed in the waste basket for Clyde Larkins to find.  It was a message forClyde because he too had money issues of unpaid bets.  A deadline for payment came and went and with itClyde’s hands and his life.

                                          *     *     *

      To be continued…

    • Blog post
    • 1 year ago
    • Views: 80
    • Not yet rated

  • Story Series Story Series

    • From: allenhenriquez
    • Description:

      Nothing Remotely Redeemable by Allen Henriquez

      Part XIII

      The warm summer night on this Friday into Saturday was as many are in New York City, black and obscured, a dreamy fantasy.  An expanded cocoon containing all the potential and possibilities that darkness promises while it suffocates reality and the truth.  The urge and opportunity to be fun loving or to be reckless and lawless, or act out some pent up horror at week’s end only to pay a high and heavy price is there.  In the emergency rooms and police stations city wide they expect it, because it’s coming.

      On this weekend many are dancing in clubs eating in restaurants, or drinking in bars, there was enjoyment, and good times, mixed in with some mishaps and unfortunate circumstances.  But our man Horace Akers, a want to be pistol packin’ tough guy, had assault with a deadly weapon, extortion, illegal weapons possession charges, and because he was working in concert with others to gamble, racketeering; which had hard time attached to it. 

      It is possible that Horace could’ve called Corbett and worked something out, but that would’ve been reasonable.  No, Horace had to put on a show, enhance his reputation.  However, Horace didn’t know that because of the murders in the Rockaways andRosedalehe was under surveillance.  So whether he could shoot, throw or pitch the rock, and or play some type of sports, he was in the arena on center stage.  He’d been given time to think and now it was time for him to get in the game.  Detective Carter starts it by advising Horace what charges he was looking at and how the years all added up.  If Horace’s imagination was intact he could visualize a guy that looked like him growing old, grey, and hunched over.  If he somehow lost shaving privileges he could with a little humor see an old man with a long, long beard.  Horace was then given time to let those images and particulars settle into his mindset after being offered a soft drink and a cigarette which he accepted, Detective Haberstem began his pitch.

      “Tell us what you know about the Rockaways andRosedalemurders and we’ll chop up those charges.”

      “How much chopping are we talking about?” Horace.

      “We dump the racketeering and make your thing with Corbett a personal argument.  And we make the gun shot an accidental weapons discharge.” Haberstem.

      “Corbett is a dirt bag we have his rape sheet, statutory rape with a 14 year old girl, and domestic abuse convictions,” Carter adds.

      “Yes.  So what you’re looking at is the illegal weapons possession, that’s one year.  If you play ball.” Haberstem.

      “I’ll tell you what I know.” Horace.

                                               *     *     *

      To be continued…

       

    • Blog post
    • 1 year ago
    • Views: 118
    • Not yet rated

  • OLIVIA For Love - For Money), OLIVIA For Love - For Money), part 1

    • From: JLSBProductions
    • Description:

      Check out this title's video right here on OvationTV.com. The video is a short-story of a screenplay based on a published, Raw and Un-cut autobiography, OLIVIA (For the Love of Money). A gunshot, a siren, the emergency room, and then the story begins. 17 years earlier, a young girl learns the value of money, hustles and goes into her teen years with high-hopes and dreams. Clueless of many things and a lack of morals, she was easily influenced and led down the wrong path. Her search for love and money in all the wrong places caused her to suffer a tragedy. What happened to Olivia? 

    • Blog post
    • 2 years ago
    • Views: 138
    • Not yet rated

  • OLIVIA, For Love - For Money, OLIVIA, For Love - For Money, part-1

    • From: JLSBProductions
    • Description:

      A gunshot, a siren, the emergency room, and then the story begins. 17 years earlier in a closed tavern...... Check out this video / movie-trailer that is based on my published autobiography, OLIVIA (For the Love of Money). The video is from the book's screenplay and it is arranged as a short story; the scenes are not actually in the order shown in the video. The video, part-2, is Coming Soon! COMMENTS ARE WELCOME! Producers Wanted > Agents are Invited!

    • Blog post
    • 2 years ago
    • Views: 92
    • Not yet rated

  • DPR Art Rescue DPR Art Rescue

  • OLIVIA (For Love - For Money), OLIVIA (For Love - For Money), part-1

    • From: JLSBProductions
    • Description:

      A gunshot, a siren, the emergency room, and then the story begins. 17 years earlier, in a closed tavern.... (Based on the autobiography, OLIVIA (For the Love of Money)

    • 2 years ago
    • Views: 50

  • viewing the body viewing the body

    • From: ruffmade
    • Description:
      a piece of me when in the emergency room with a herniated disc in my back.
    • 2 years ago
    • Views: 110

  • Drip.Drip. Drip.Drip.

    • From: Lazidaisical
    • Description:

      Hey guys, just thought I'd share the lastest post on my blog. It's a story composed for a writing challenge.

      ____________________________________________________________________________________________________

      This week for Indie Ink (http://indieink.org), I was challenged by A Lil Irish Lass (http://thecraicinmypsyche.blogspot.com) to write a piece inspired by this quote: "He who learns must suffer. And even in our sleep, pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God.”  - Aeschylus

      I don't know if I got every element in there or not, but what follows is what immediately came to me and i just let Microsoft Word's fickle ass capitalize and not-capitalize whatever words it felt compelled to embrace or ignore and left it that way. But I think Word's glitches worked well with this one.

      And check out tara/">http://thinspiralnotebook.wordpress.com for Tara Robert's answer to my prompt: erratic behavior.

      * * * * *

      I have to sleep on the futon in the living room. I’ll get up any minute now and move. Drip. I can’t sleep in my own bed. The faucets make too much noise. All of them. All three of the faucets in the bathroom. Drip. The fucking shower head. The fucking tub faucet underneath it that doesn’t even work. the fucking faucet to the sink. They all fucking drip. All night long. Drip. All of them drip fucking drip. I can hear them drip all the way from my bedroom. Drip. I get about three and a half seconds of sleep and then one of them drips again. At least it’s cooler in the living room. the air conditioner’s in there. drip. And it’s been said I only care drip about things like that anyhow. Drip. My personal comfort over anything else. Drip. I’m a dick like that, my sister says. Karma’s a bitch, she says. Drip. God sees all that you do wrong, she says. Mom sees what you’ve become, Jason, she says. Right, bitch. Drip. None of you give a shit. I’m sacrificing my comfort to hear these fucking drips. i won’t move yet. If I can stand this relentless noise drip for at least I don’t know how much longer, then that’ll prove I can withstand any relentless noise long drip enough that it eventually goes away and I stop hearing it and it stops affecting me and doesn’t turn me drip violent. I’ve survived two weeks of this dripping without killing my roommate’s cat, even though I almost always think about doing it each time a drip wakes me from the precious three and a half seconds of sleep I’ve caught since the drip last drip. If I can prevent myself from harming that fucking cat despite all this noise, it proves I didn’t actually hit her drip fucking baby. Drip. She keeps saying I’m lying but it’s not a lie if I’ve drip convinced myself it didn’t happen and I can’t drip recall if I just convinced myself it didn’t happen or drip if it actually didn’t happen. Which means it didn’t. which means she’s fucking overreacting. being at the emergency room with that baby right now. She said it won’t respond when she says its drip name. I said it’s a drip fucking baby! Drip. need to get some drip sleep. have a class in drip four fucking hours but the drip drips seem to be speeding drip up. drip. And each drip wakes me with a drip new thought. Like now. I’m thinking my sister would say the drips are god’s way of telling me something. drip. She just moved back to town after four, five drip years. Might actually drip be six. She’d left two days after mom’s funeral and I was drip alone with dad with no drip one to fucking protect me. Where the drip fuck were she and god, then? Not watching drip over me. It was my first time seeing it. she went to buy ingredients for dinner. Drip. she said i didn't have to worry because it was napping and it never cries or complains. Wrong and drip wrong. It didn’t fucking stop screeching when it saw me standing drip over it. “she’s an angel; I wouldn’t have purpose in life if it weren’t for her – my purpose is to keep her safe and happy.” what about me, bitch?! And if I don’t think drip about the rest, then drip its drip like drip it drip never drip happened.

      I relocate to the futon. I stretch out on the cool cushion. I smile. I’m calm. Nothing’s wrong. I have no thoughts. Nothing’s happened. I can’t be punished for something I don’t know I’ve done. She’s shit out of luck when the cops talk to me. I’m convinced something fell into the crib and that’s what did it. No one will know what mom and god saw. Probably nothing since they obviously don’t concern themselves with me. I smile.

      Rumble.

      My eyes spring open.

      I’ve never rumble noticed before that the air conditioner rumbles...

      * * * * *

    • Blog post
    • 2 years ago
    • Views: 161

  • Re: The Most Depressing Thing Re: The Most Depressing Thing in the World...

    • From: john_essmaker
    • Description:

      if anyone is depressed it can be treated. you can go to a regular doctor and ask for medication, he will have 5 or so types, he has free samples, the same medication also works for shyness. if you paint  but are afraid to price your art, same pill, just DO IT! DO IT NOW! make a emergency appt. and go!   john   if you can't go for fear, message me!, i'll help.....i use these medications.....

    • 2 years ago
    • Views: 216
    • Forum: Ovation TV ...

  • the return of art, 3 the return of art, 3

    • From: miwolf58
    • Description:

      respiratory...as expected respiratory school was difficult...as an artist i work intuitively, as a respiratory therapist i worked logically...the science was hard, chemistry, biomed, anatomy and physiology, pharmacology, etc...pharmacology nearly ended my career before it even started...a&p, however, i found fascinating...anatomy for artists was all about appearance...bone structure, joints, muscle...it was about being able to draw realistically...in this new context anatomy was something so much deeper...the interconnectedness of our bodies systems...nerve endings, blood vessels, etc...most importantly respiratory therapists must know well the heart, lungs and kidneys...and, of course, there was the necessary training in various therapy modalities...the class was small, only 12 students...11 of us graduated...and i was finding that i really fit in with healthcare workers...at everyone's heart was the desire to help those in need...once that common thread is established, pretty much any differences kind of take a back seat...i became friends with several classmates and still keep in touch with some of them...the class work was one thing...the clinicals, something else all together...clinicals are where you hone your skills and discover if you really have it in you to do the work...usually, the start of clinicals results in at least one or two dropouts...ours began just four weeks into the program...before they started we were told, in no uncertain terms, that as students we were never to go into the emergency room...my first day i was paired with our clinical director, as all interns must work under the supervision of senior staff...her name was sandy, and while she could be pretty intimidating to some, she and i worked well together...so there i was working under sandy's supervision when a code blue was called in e.r....sandy took off running. all rt's are required to report to all codes and/or traumas...as previously instructed, i stayed behind, but sandy looked over her shoulder and said 'come on!'...i ran to catch up, and said,'i thought we weren't allowed in er'...'you're with me', she said,' and i want you there'...i guess it was a trial by fire...the victim was an elderly woman, shot in the head for her social security check...it wasn't pretty. but the gore of it was outweighed by the urgency of the situation...i found myself at the head of the bed, taking orders from the attending physician and responding appropriately, much to my surprise...there were a lot of technical things going on, and somehow i knew what to do...one team was working to stop the cranial bleed, while our team kept her heart beating and her lungs functioning...i wore my first lead apron, while xrays were taken...i suctioned blood and mucous from her airway...i assisted in transporting her, her iv's and her ventilator to ct scan, and from there to o.r. for emergency surgery...it was exhilerating...i was praised by both sandy and the attending for my cool head and swift actions...and my classmates were, well, jealous...but not in a negative way...they all just wished it had been their experience...i was just happy to know that i was of some help, and more so, to know that i really could do this kind of work...at home, al was supportive...he helped me study for exams and showed pleasure at my achievements...otherwise, his life wasn't effected at all by my full-time student status...i do mean full-time by the way...monday through friday 7a till 430p...my dad had cosigned a loan to cover both tuition/books and my share of living expenses...the most al had to do was maybe purchase a few more groceries than usual...we saw very little of each other really, because he continued to work evenings, but we always had sundays together...something was happening to us though...or his view of us...we had always enjoyed an active sex life, but that was tapering off...it was at first not really even noticed by me, but      it started being that we'd only have sex once per week, and then nearly always on tuesday, during wheel of fortune...i chalked it up to his health...by this time he'd had a few heart attacks and was on several medications...he'd always tell me he loved me, but i felt like something just wasn't quite right...it was pointless to try discussing my perception...he'd deny there was anything wrong and anger if i pressed him...he was easily angered these days...there was nothing i could do if he wouldn't open up, so i let it rest...then one day it was all shaken...i drove to school only to find that classes had been cancelled...it was al's day off, so i saw it as an opportunity for us to spend some time together...i didn't yet have a cell phone, they were still relatively new, so all i could do was surprise him...i thought it would be a nice surprise...when i walked in, there he was nude and watching porn...the air was filled with tobacco smoke, butts in the ashtray, and he appeared to be drinking a bloody mary...he flew into a rage...'WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?!' he yelled at me...'my class was cancelled...are you smoking?' i asked heatedly...with his health that was forbidden...'what are you spying on me now?'...'no!...why?...should i?'...i was really thrown by his whole demeanor...i headed for the bathroom and he got between me and it, and was yelling at me...i don't remember what he said, it was all so unexpected...i clearly wasn't welcome and it hurt...and it was my home...i don't remember whether i said anything or not, but i just had to leave...later in the day, having really nowhere to go, i returned to find him gone...just a note on the kitchen counter that read, ' i'm sorry.  i'm an ass.  i got called in to work, see you tonight. i love you'...it was never spoken of again, but i just couldn't forget it...it sounded like he hated me, the way he spoke...what was going on?...i threw myself into my studies and started doing drawings of the things i was experiencing in clinicals... 

    • Blog post
    • 2 years ago
    • Views: 59
    • Not yet rated

  • The Monday Play The Monday Play

    • From: allenhenriquez
    • Description:

      What’s the Matter with Jack Lilly? By Allen Henriquez

       

      CHARACTERS

      JACK LILLY - a real estate broker, bird watcher

      JACK LILLY, JR. - 9 year old boy, loves baseball

      TERESA LILLY - romance novelist

      MARGARET NEEDS - Principal of P.S. 691

      ARTHUR HUNT - Gym teacher at P.S. 691

      SALLY WASHINGTON - Chairman of Town Council

      ALBERT GIBBS - house builder

      ALBERT GIBBS, JR. - 9 year old boy

      GINNIE GIBBS - Albert Jr.’s mother

      PARENT - female

      STUDENT # 1 - young boy

      STUDENT # 2 - young boy

      SECURITY GUARD -  male, works at P.S. 691

      CHILDREN -  a group of male and female children

      SETTING

      Smith Town, Nebraska – The school parking lot of P.S. 691.

       

      (The lights come up on the school parking lot.  Enter stage right - JACK LILLY and JACK JR. enter the stage having exited the school in an emotional and disorganized huff.  JACK JR.’S clothes are disheveled, his books fall out of his school bag as well as his bagged lunch.) 

       JACK: (turning to speak in the direction he just came.)  And you’d better believe it.  I’m sick to death of this nonsense.  This school is an abomination.

      (Enter stage right - MARGARET NEEDS a tall and composed woman.  She follows after JACK, entering from the right.)

      MARGARET:  Clearly, Mister Lilly, you’re overreacting.

      JACK: I’m not overreacting.   You’re under reacting.  Look at Jack Jr. He’s got a black eye.

      (JACK grabs JACK JR.’S face and turns it for MARGARET to see.)

      MARGARET: I’m well aware of the disfigurement to your son’s facial area.  It’s unfortunate.  Most unfortunate.  But these things do happen.

      JACK: Happen? Happen? What are you running in there a boxing gymnasium or a school?

      MARGARET: A school, Mr. Lilly.  A very good one in fact.

      JACK: Good for what? Training kids to win the Golden Gloves.  Well, I’ll tell you, Ms. Needs, I don’t want my son to have a pug nose, two cauliflower ears, and swollen hands, training to be the future heavyweight champion of the world.  I want him to get an education not get his brains beat out.

      MARGARET: Surely, Mr. Lilly, you were a child once yourself.  Don’t you remember getting into brief encounters with your classmates? It didn’t in its unpleasantness propel you to a life of violence and anger.

      JACK: You see that’s what I’m saying.  You’re saying it’s alright. 

      (JACK starts swinging both his hands as if he were a boxer.)

      JACK: Yeah crash, bang, boom.  Knock him on his butt.  Then what next time? What happens next time? What do you do, dangle him from a rope and let kids take turns punchin’ him in the face and stomach? Hmmm? Hmmm? Tell me?

      MARGARET: You’re behaving irrationally, there’s nothing I can discuss with you in your present state.  Go home, Mr. Lilly, and we’ll discuss this tomorrow.

      JACK: We already discussed it.  And this isn’t the first time.  On two other occasions Jack Jr. was attacked.

      MARGARET: Yes, but once was by a girl.  Samantha Gray, a lovely little girl, and normally so well behaved.

      JACK: Yes Samantha, a lovely little girl, with arms like a long shore man, and fists of scrap iron.

      MARGARET: Oh please.

      JACK: Yeah, well ask Michael Nolan, her classmate.  She hit him while they were making snowmen last winter.  They took him to the emergency room.  His face was swollen up like a helium balloon.  He said he could feel her knuckles through the glove.  Yes, her knuckles.

      MARGARET: Oh, don’t be ridiculous.

      JACK: Yeah well you can forget about the Senate commission on baseball.  They need to fly down here and test some of your students for steroids.  And I mean today.  Maybe it’s in the milk in the cafeteria.  I saw a kid in there taller than me.  A damn giant he was.

      (turning to JACK JR.)

      JACK: Tell her, Jack Jr.  Tell her about Samantha Gray.  Tell Ms. Needs.

      JACK JR.: Yes ma’am, Ms. Needs.  Samantha hit me last September in the park.  I rolled under a tree.  And when I woke up birds had pooped on me.

      MARGARET: That’s an ugly and distasteful episode in your life, Jack Jr., but it wasn’t on school grounds and it was quite some time ago, so unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do about it.

      JACK JR.: Yes, Ms. Needs.  I understand that it didn’t happen on school property and that there’s nothing now you can do about it.  But I would very much like to see the police arrest Samantha, have her handcuffed, beaten with a stick, and then taken to prison for a long, long time.

      MARGARET: Now, Jack Jr., that’s a terrible thing to say.  Poor Samantha would be so frightened that she’d cry and cry for her parents day and night and they would be sad.

      JACK JR.: Not if we give them cotton for their ears.

      MARGARET: Please, Jack Jr.

      JACK JR.: I’d be willing, Ms. Needs, to take a lie detector with Samantha, with the winner getting the stick and five minutes to use it.

      MARGARET: I’m sorry both of you are so upset.  I’ll talk to you about this tomorrow.

      JACK: Tomorrow Jack Jr. begins his first day of home schooling.  He won’t be returning to P.S. 691 unless you call in the Feds and put a restraining order on milk and cookie time and run test on the Gladiators within this orifice.

      MARGARET: (turning to walk away) I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Lilly.

      (MARGARET exits stage right.)

      JACK: No, Ms. Needs.  No you won’t see me.  You will not see me and mine ever again.

      (JACK watches MS. NEEDS reenter the school as he slowly tries to regain his composure.  JACK JR. is also watching when he realizes something.)

      JACK JR.: Dad, the costume you made, the one you made for the play next week, it’s still in my classroom.

      JACK: I’m not leaving that to those who think a Ring Billed Gull is just like a pigeon.

      (JACK walks toward the school.)

      JACK JR.: Dad, you want me to come with you?

      JACK: No, wait here.  I’ll be right back.

      (JACK exits stage right.  TERESA LILLY enters stage left.)

      TERESA: Jack Jr.

      (JACK JR. walks toward TERESA, who hugs him.)

      TERESA: Are you okay?

      JACK JR.: Yes.

      (TERESA begins picking up JACK JR’S books and lunch bag from the ground.)

      TERESA: What were you and Albert Jr. fighting about?

      JACK JR.: He said he was going to be a professional hockey player and I wasn’t because I was too short and weak.

      TERESA: What did you say?

      JACK JR.: I said who cares what he thinks or does.  I’m going to be a baseball player so he got angry and hit me.

      TERESA: Then what happened?

      (At that moment exiting the school is ALBERT GIBBS, JR. and GINNIE GIBBS.  Albert Jr. and GINNIE enter stage right.  GINNIE and ALBERT JR. stop when they observe TERESA and JACK JR.)

      GINNIE: Albert Jr. did you apologize to Jack Jr.?

      ALBERT JR.: I’m sorry for hitting you.

      TERESA: Why did you do it?

      ALBERT JR.: I lost my temper.

      GINNIE: Now you tell him it won’t happen again.

      ALBERT JR.: It won’t happen again.

      GINNIE: Now shake hands.

      (ALBERT JR and JACK JR shake hands after which GINNIE and ALBERT JR. start to exit stage  left.)

      JACK JR.: Hey, Albert, what are you having for dinner?

      (ALBERT looks up at his mom who answers quietly to her son.)

      GINNIE: We’re having spaghetti and meatballs.

      (ALBERT JR. turns to JACK JR.)

      ALBERT JR.: Spaghetti and meatballs.

      JACK JR.: Spaghetti and meatballs?

      ALBERT JR.: Yeah.

      JACK JR.: That’s good.  I hope the meatballs are as big as apples and they make you choke and vomit all over your mother’s dining room table and stain it forever.

      ALBERT JR.: Why you little…

      (GINNIE has to restrain ALBERT JR. with TERESA having to do the same with JACK JR.)

      JACK JR.: You sucker punched me, you little coward.  Next time I’ll be ready for you.

      (ALBERT, JR. is being dragged away by his mom.)

      ALBERT, JR.: I’ll show you how to play hockey, shrimp.

      (GINNIE and ALBERT JR. exit stage left.)

      JACK JR.: Hockey? I seen a ninety year old grandma outskate you.

      ALBERT JR.: (V.O.) I’ll show you.

      JACK JR.: (waving) See you on the ice, buddy.

      (TERESA then straightens out JACK JR’S book bag and his school clothes.)

      TERESA: All right.  Where’s your father?

      JACK JR.: He went back inside.

      (SALLY WASHINGTON enters stage left.  She is moving quickly with a briefcase in her hand.)

      TERESA: Hello, Sally.

      (SALLY puts her hand on JACK JR.’S chin.)

      SALLY: I’m sorry this happened to you.

      JACK JR.: Yes, Ms. Washington.  But the guy that did it isn’t and he’s going to do it again.

      SALLY: How do you know he is?

      JACK JR.: Because he’s a bully who wasn’t punished for it this time, so it’s a big joke to him.

      SALLY: Don’t worry, we’ll straighten this out.

      (SALLY looks at TERESA.)

      SALLY: We have to talk.

      TERESA: Jack Jr., go to the car, I’ll be there in a moment.

      JACK JR.: Okay, mom, but I have one question.

      TERESA: Yes, what is it?

      JACK JR.: Why did you teach me to not hit someone back in school when they hit me? You told me to tell the teacher and they would take care of it.  But that’s not true.

       

    • Blog post
    • 2 years ago
    • Views: 92
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  • 2012 2012

    • From: Rex
    • Description:

      This is about the supposed apocalyptic year.

    • 2 years ago
    • Views: 69
    • Not yet rated

  • Emergency Exit Emergency Exit

    • From: crenshawa
    • Description:
    • 3 years ago
    • Views: 151

  • life life

    • From: miwolf58
    • Description:

      the phone call and the heart attack...when i say i had become a sex hound, please understand that i firmly believe in monogamy...for me the testosterone hyperdrive resulted in a lot of frustration...once i'd settled into the routine of monday through friday, day shift, things began to change in our relationship...we maintained a deep affection for one another...and the sex was phenominal...but it started to be less frequent...while i was m-f am, he continued working at the restaurant, which was monday through saturday 4pm til whenever...we actually saw very little of each other...thank god for the dog!...i came home to an empty house nearly every day...every other day i'd stop at the gym to work out...the days in between i'd run 5 to 8 miles...i was in excellent physical condition, but mostly it kept me from getting lonely at home...saturdays were the worst...he'd leave home at 3 in the afternoon, and not be back til 3 in the morning...we never went out...it was always him at work and me home alone...the one time i stopped at a bar, on the way home from dinner with my parents, i was tempted by a very sexy man...i nearly gave in , but instead ran from it...feeling guilty for even having been there, i never went back...i loved al...i could never hurt him like that...i'd usually be sleeping by the time he'd get home from work...he'd always wake me to say hello...it was such special time, those midnight hellos...those one am hellos...those three thirty hellos...his home arrival began getting later and later...'we all stopped at the deck for some cocktails'...'the deck closes at two thirty'...'we all went to sonny's'...'i don't like you going there...people get in trouble there'...'go ahead and say it...you don't trust me!'...'of course i trust you...i'm just saying that place is gonna get raided some time, and you don't need to be going there'...'i'm sorry...i love you...'...'i'm sorry too'...the scenario repeated itself...sunday was the only day we spent together, with an ocassional unexpected week night, so they were all special...we'd always do something fun...we truly enjoyed each other's company...sundays made the rest of the week bearable...it also was the day we'd unleash all that pent up sexual energy...it was never, ever boring, and that's the truth...one major thorn in my side revolved around christmas and his absolute insistance that he be 'home', meaning his parents' home in upstate new york, every year...when we were on the same work schedule it didn't bother me so much, but now we had so little time together...i really resented these forced seperations at what is touted to be the 'most wonderful time of the year'...he wasn't 'out' to his family, so there was no way i could be included...it would always cause tension between us when he started the annual trip planning...so it was particularly bad timing when we got the call...it was the night of the annual van dyke place staff and friends christmas party...that was always a fun party!...we had all become really good friends over the years of working together, so it was great fun to kick back, relax and enjoy the open bar...despite my still being unhappy about his leaving for christmas, we had shared an absolutely lovely day of presents and holiday food together...'our christmas'...and now this fun and festive party...the resentment had subsided...we got home from the party around four and found the message light flashing on the answering machine...while al went to get undressed, i pushed the listen button...'you think you have the perfect marriage...think you got it so good...he fucked me just last night...'...the voice was vaguely familiar, but i could not place it...i flew into a rage...'WHO HAVE YOU BEEN FUCKING?!!!'...al, 'what are you talking about?'...'your friend just left a message telling me you fucked him yesterday!'...'i really don't know what you're talking about!'...pushing the listen button again, i said,' who is this...he sounds familiar?!'...al listened to the recording...'it doesn't say I fucked anyone!...how do i know it's not about you?!'...he was twisting the argument...i knew i had not had sex with anyone but him in over five years...i said as much...he got teary eyed...'i know you haven't,' he whispered, 'i trust you completely...i love you'...'but what about the message al?...'...'it's probably one of those jealous queens from the party...they can't stand seeing anybody happy...they're just tying to stir up trouble...don't you trust me?' he asked...'of course i do,' i answered...i wasn't completely convinced, but it is true that there are people in the world who love causing trouble...the next day al left for his annual christmas at 'home'...in his absence that message kept reverberating...i wanted so badly to trust him that i sort of forced myself to do just that...when he got back to our home, life returned to the routine...including his late nights...i saw signs of cocaine usage and confronted him about it...'it's just recreational...don't worry about it'...in light of that phone call i started questioning his every move...i sure as hell did not like the all night partying...or the coke...i was increasingly annoyed by the loneliness...he had insisted on living on the east side of detroit...i was a west sider by birth...all of my friends were at least thirty minutes away, most even further...i wanted to believe in his faithfulness, but he wasn't giving me much to work with...i came to the conclusion that maybe it was time to move on...i still loved him with all my heart, but i didn't trust him...i'm not very demanding...i pretty much roll with it...but monogamy is something that i am most adamant about...it's not just about the emotions, though that is a significant factor, it's about the health risks involved in promiscuity...if you're single, well, we all gotta get off sometimes, but when you have a partner you love and who is more than adequate in love making skills, why risk bringing disease into it?...i also started feeling like a fool for staying faithful while his loyalty was in question...i started frequenting places where gay sex happened...restrooms, rest areas, adult book stores...i never touched anyone, or let anyone touch me, but i was troubled to find myself drawn to these places...my heart was breaking as i realized that this relationship was dying...i don't know what he was thinking, but it rarely seemed to be about my happiness...i decided to tell him what i was thinking...let the chips fall where they may...i called off at work for the next day, because i figured it would be a rough night once i spoke my mind...he came home relatively early for a change...he wasn't feeling well, and looked it...i was very troubled by his appearance...he complained of nausea, tightness in his chest and was sweating profusely...i'd seen those symptoms before, when my dad had his heart attack...'sweetie, we gotta get you to the hospital'..'no...no...i'm alright'...'really baby, we gotta go...i think you're having a heart attack'...he refused...an hour later he woke me and said, 'ok, take me to the hospital'...'i'll call 911'...'no!!!just take me!'...ten minutes later we were at st. john hospital's emergency room...two minutes later they called 'CODE BLUE ER STAT!!!'...it would be at least a week until he opened his eyes and spoke again... 

    • Blog post
    • 3 years ago
    • Views: 120
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  • Payday Advance Store Payday Advance Store

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    • 3 years ago
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  • Submit A Site Payday Loan Submit A Site Payday Loan

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    • 3 years ago
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