oh brother

Writing ex – 9/3/08: 6m – 1425 (54m)
“But I have untold thousands more years” to bother you. If I stop now, look at all the teasing and humiliation I will take from you, the thousands and millions of laughs I’ll have at your expense.”
“You’re such a jerk. I don’t want to look at you right now. You’re stupid face makes me want to throw up.
“Well if I’m a jerk it’s only because I’ve had to put up with you for so long. I mean who wouldn’t want to tease someone as stupid as you.”
“I hate you.” Paul stormed out of the room, down the hall, the stairs and into the kitchen to grab some cookies. He sat at the table in silence, munching on his cookie, trying with the first bite to transfer his pain into the cookie, and then looking unsatisfied as the taste of the cookie allowed him to feel good, but not good enough. I don’t want a brother. He never does anything good for me. All he ever does is push me around, tease me, take my stuff and break it. Sometimes I just wish he were dead.Paul finished the cookie and chewed, staring at the light brown grain on the table, a small scattering of crumbs on the table under his face. What would I do if he were dead? I don’t think I would stay happy for that long. I bet I would miss him sometimes. Ok, maybe I don’t want him to die, maybe I just want him to feel what I feel right now, to know what it’s like to live in fear and hatred of someone you should be the opposite of in closeness.
Sam walked in the kitchen, his bare feet smacking on the floor. Paul stared with a sense of defensiveness, Sam a curiousity, though Paul could not tell if it was because Sam was curious how Paul was feeling, or curious because he was looking for a weakness to attack. They remained locked as Sam walked past Paul to the counter. He uncorked the jar and took one of the cookies from the top. He analyzed how to bite it so he’d get a whole m&m.
“You know.” He bit down. Chewing, “we make really good brothers some times.” He smiled and looked over at the look on Paul’s face, a vision of perfect confusion and disagreement. He swallowed. “I mean, we make really good brothers because we fight so well. I’m sure all brothers fight like this. I bet fighting is just as much a trait of brothers as it is to be loving friends. In fact, I bet most brothers our age with a few years apart fight just as much if not more than we do.”
“Lucky them.” Paul shot in to pierce him with his lack of interest. “You should teach a class then, if you’re such a role model.”
“Ha. That was a good one. Only if you’ll come along and let me give nuggies in front of the class.” Sam said as he jumped over, slid his left arm around Paul’s neck, turned behind him and gently rubbed his knuckle on Paul’s head. “You know I give the best nuggies in town.”
“Stop it!” Paul bit down on Sam’s forearm.
“Oww!” I was just jokin around”.
Paul threw Sam’s arm off of his neck. “You’re always joking around.” He stood up and pushed the chair back with his butt, it tipped over slaming on the tile. “I never asked you to joke around with me like that, so why do you think you can? Some day I’m gonna be bigger than you, and I’m gonna give you one heck of a nuggie!” He stood with a rigid finger pointing at his face. “So bad your hair el fall out and every where you go people are gonna be like, “What happened to your head?” (his finger down, mimicking the people’s questioning faces) and you’ll be like “Well, I uh, my little brother’s not so little anymore” (a face mocking retardation), “and uh, he’s making up for all the times I was a total jerk face” he shouted.
“A total jerk face…” Sam mocked, smiling as he shook his head back and forth at each word, coming closer to Paul’s face with each one.
“Yeah, you jerk head!” He pushed Sam back with his finger on his forehead. “And don’t you forget it!”
“Boys?” Their mom turned the kitchen light on, to which they all squinted – Paul covering his eyes with the blue sleeve of his superman pajamas.
“Moommm…It’s too bright.”
“Well, maybe you should’ve thought of that before you got me out of bed.” She leaned down to pick up the chair off its side. She set it upright and slid it under the table. “What’s going on? Were you fighting?” She stood between them, reaching down and guiding them in with each hand on their heads.
“Paul, were you picking on your older brother again.”
“What!” He turned his head up to look at her face, though it was covered by the hand she was resting on his head, now on his face. She smiled, “what’s a matter Superman, can’t see me?”
“Psh” He swung his hand and hit her wrist.
“Hey, that hurt. Be nice to mommy. I’m the one that made those cookies I see you’ve both gotten into.” She smiled as she looked at the crumbs on Sam’s face. “Now what’s going on here for real?”
“He’s been really mean to me. He gave me a nuggie and then he chocked me!”
“Sam.”
“But, I was just joking. We were playing. He made a joke about how I was so mean I should teach a class, so then I showed him what I would teach them. I was only practicing. I didn’t do it for real.” He looked down at the lines between the tile, then at his toes as he wiggled them up and down.
She lifted his chin with her finger. “How’d you like me to practice some nuggies on you without your asking?”
“Yeah mommy, do it! Do it real hard! Make his hair fall out and his brains too!”
She let out a slight giggle. “No Paul, I’m not really going to give him a nuggie.”
“Ahh, come on! He deserves it!”
“Maybe, but we don’t always get what we deserve now do we. Sometimes we have to show a little grace.”
Sam smiled, then wrinkled his nose at Paul. “Ha!”
“But that doesn’t mean you won’t say you’re sorry.”
He kept his wrinkle… “srry”.
“No, Sam.” She placed her hand under his chin and a thumb around his cheek. “Show me a smile,” hanging on the last word as she waited for him to budge, only to resort to tickling him on his neck with her forefinger. “There you go.” He laughed a bit.
“No fair.”
“Don’t you remember. Life’s not always fair.”
He gave his own wrinkle to her cheerful gaze, but couldn’t hold it long, as she knelt in and tickled his tummy.
“Hey, no fair, he was the one being a jerk head.”
“Paul Jones, you don’t call people names, especially you’re brother. He loves you very much. So much that he’s going to make you pancakes tomorrow for breakfast.” She gasped and shot a glance at a similar hole in Sam’s mouth.
“But-”
“Ha! You’re gonna make me a hundred million pancakes!”
“Aw, isn’t that cute, you just volunteered to make him bacon to go with those hundred million pancakes. That was nice Paul,” she grabbed him around the waist and tickled his side. She took Sam by the waist and yanked him to her side as well, tickling his ribs.
“Well you boys better get cookin, you might have to stay up all night preparing all those pancakes and bacon strips.”
“Nooo” Paul said shaking with laughter.
“Ok, get to bed. But I don’t want to hear about any more name calling or nuggie fighting.” She kissed Paul’s head, then spanking his bottom, “Now get!” He jumped a bit then ran around the corner and up the stairs. She leaned down to kiss Sam’s cheek, but he twisted and wretched his face.
“Ew, no mommy cuties!”
“Ok buster,” she turned and spanked his bottom, shooting him into his jog to his room.
-
“Sam.”
“Yeah.”
“I forgive you for being a total jerk face.”
Sam laughed under his breath.
“Yeah, I suppose I forgive you too, you and your hundred million pancakes.”
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, brother.” I love you Sam.
“brother.” love you too Paul.

the logic of a king

Writing ex – 9/2/08 : 289 words (7m)
“make new instruments of non-compassion” If we don’t they are going to revolt. This last situation is a key example of the need to push the research farther. The mayor was killed, the hostages all died-sept for the man who had a heart attack and woke up after the terrorists left. We need to harness the power to fuse the brain’s parts that use emotion with the logic part so that people make decisions based on logic and not emotion.
“But if we eliminate all emotion, then what will people live for?”
“What do I care? If I don’t have any emotions, I won’t care why anyone else lives except for how it allows my life to sustain itself. All we would need would be to keep living and watch how society becomes a haven without terrorists, violence, over indulgences and the like.
“Yeah, but how do you know that it would not be logical for someone to kill off a large section of the population because it would enable the rest to live more comfortably. And what is comfort anyway if we don’t have any emotions? Why would we care about living if we didn’t have emotions? If we didn’t have emotions, I still don’t understand what the point of living would be?”
“You have a point, but maybe we could have a certain higher class that is allowed to keep their emotions so that there is a point, but only for those in power.”
“But don’t we get back to the problem of violence and over indulgence. In this case it is with the leaders and not the common person, but wouldn’t that be worse, since the common people would be like slaves to their king?”

iraqihelpwanted.com

writing ex 9/1/08 : 263 (6m) 769 words total 23m
“it was awkward” “she didn’t even say anything. I went up to the table, but her and her friend kept talking. I didn’t want to interrupt, but eventually I was just standing there with an awkward look on my face, a half smile, half impatient how could you just keep talking when you know I’m waiting to talk to you expression. I finally got them to stop talking and look at me. I don’t know what I did, maybe it was just that they finally gave up their attempt to ignore me. I should have said excuse me right from the start, but you know me, not that smooth. Hey. I’ll have the usual, chicken cordon blue, medium with medium fries, no mayo, and extra honey mustard.” He stood aside and let Charlie step up to the counter. He looked down at the free lunch tickets, but didn’t take one.
“You should fill one of these out, you get a free sandwich, small after they send you an email coupon.”
“Yeah ok.” Charlie ordered his food as Tom turned and looked up at the television, the Indians were playing the White Sox. It was 6-4 Cleveland in the bottom of the fifth. He went around the island and sat on an attached stool, spinning slightly as if he owned the place. He tapped his fingers on the table, watching Melissa wrap a sandwich while Jerry shook the fries before droping them under the yellow heated light onto salted metal. He scooped them up into a medium container, pushing them down with the fry shovel. [6m]
Tom leaned over and grabbed a paper. The front page was on top, “Bush killed in terrorist bombing”. The picture showed the remains of three black suv’s all disheveled on the pavement of the Iraq street. Flames were shooting dark smoke into the air, hiding the windows above the store behind where they lay. The windows were blown out and you could see the glass glittering on the sidewalk. Soldiers were running towards the vehicles. Some were already there, three were standing in a huddle of sorts talking. “So where are you gonna work next. Well, I don’t know, probably not security. Really? I was thinking I could get top job if I switched to Al-Quida. You stupid s-o-b, if you joined Al-Quida they would send you out on the first suicide mission they got. Yeah, but if I hear right, the payment for that is 77 virgins in heaven to do whatever the heck I want them to do. That sounds a lot better than waiting around in the dessert for one of them to take me out on their way to the virgin prize. I’m gonna keep my out for suspects just to see if I can get recruited! Shut up Marley, Sarge’s commin. Saarge, I was just saying that if I’d a been here I would have shot them all in the eye with one shot while calling the president to tell him to stop before he got to the mailbox.”
"What are you talkin over here Tom," Charlie walked behind him and sat down a stool over. "You’d probably be wise not to make jokes about the president’s assassination. Some people might hear you and get pissed. Tom looked around. The clock above the tv said 2:34. There were two grey haired gentlemen sitting in the booths behind him, looking up at him as he turned to scope the restaurant. The gentlemen on the right slowly chewed his food, staring just long enough to show him he heard what he was saying. He did not pretend to smile, but coldly kept chewing his food, finally looking down to get a fry to dip in his vinegar. After putting it in his mouth he looked up again into Tom’s eyes.
“What? I was just trying to figure out what I would say if I were in charge of protecting the president and failed so miserably, only to have my picture on the front page of the paper with my zipper down before the nation.” He held up the paper and pointed to the guy in the middle of the huddle, mouth open but eyes lacking the assurance of someone confident they're going to keep their job. The man lowered an eyebrow, maintaining his emotional distance, this time grabbing a fry without looking down, still staring at Tom. He bit the fry, shook his head, and looked down. This time he looked up at his friend, Tom didn’t exist.They both ate in silence. Tom gave Charlie slanted eyebrows and wide eyes.