So.....um.....

On Jan 25, 9:16*pm, " wrote:
On Jan 25, 6:58*pm, Giles wrote:





On Jan 25, 6:47*pm, Giles wrote:

On Jan 25, 6:37*pm, " wrote:

On Jan 25, 5:20*pm, Giles wrote:

is it just me.....or has anybody else noticed that the internet is WAY
slow this evening? *I mean, it's relatively warm here for this time of
year.....so I don't think the internet pipes are frozen or anything
like that. *Is there something going on that everybody wants to read
or write about?.....and nobody told me?

giles
who supposes it ain't the chili recipe......but would not absolutely
frown on the revelation that it was.

Just you -- as usual.

Um.....o.k., since you asked nicely and all that.

It was about 1956. *My eldest brother, Siegfried had just told me
about the "library."

Huh?, I said.

You go there to get books.

I scowled. *I held my peace.

Eventually, my sister, Ursula, showed up. *I asked her about the
"library," fully expecting a condescending sneer.

You wanna go there?

Um.....sure (with all the bravado I could muster.....not all that much
considering the term lay a decade or so in the future).

So, we went to the "library."

The library was an old church, long abandoned by its (mostly dead,
presumably) parishioners and, by default, reverted to city ownership.
The city, apparently, could think of no better use for the property
than to fill it with juvenile literature and open the doors.....a
revelation at which I arrived only MUCH later.

We walked in, she, evidently blithely, and I with some
trepidation.....I already knew a church when I saw one. * * *

Lo and behold, ALL the walls were lined, floor to ceiling (an altitude
never quite contemplated, let alone comprehended, by yours truly up to
that time) with bookshelves. *And the bookshelves were LITERALLY
filled with......BOOKS!

Well, well, well, thinks I, casting furtive glances in all directions,
what have we got here? * * * *

In retrospect, the first not so faint glimmering of a psyche decidedly
bent in the direction of criminal intent.

I look over my shoulder and see my sister casually cruising the
shelves.

Of course, thinks I.....act nonchalant.....probably no one will
notice.

So I begin casually cruising the shelves, nodding in apparent approval
at some of the more obvious selections.....but every once in a while
sneaking surreptitious peeks at the scowling behemoth behind the
"checkout counter" whatever the hell THAT might mean.

She, obviously an old hand at the game, spent most of her time
puttering with one thing or another on the surface in front of her,
but there was no hiding the fact that she kept at least one eye on the
incipient, if not yet actually committed, miscreant who had so
recently invaded her sanctum.

Oh, we knew one another.....instinctively.

After a while I see Ursula, holding several books in her arms,
approach the gargoyle.

This cannot end well, thinks I.

The hag scowls at the approaching waif, ceases whatever illusory chore
she was involved in, and brawny arms suffused with the glow filtering
through stained glass windows. leans forward with clenched knuckles
bruising the innocent countertop in front of her.

"Well?" she fuliminates.

I cannot hear the rest of the exchange from my position across the
nave, but I have no trouble sensing that the dialogue is neither
relaxed nor pleasant. *Whatever the witch's mandate, she evidently
takes it most seriously.

And then, mirabile dictu!, Ursula saunters toward the door, books in
arm.....and no one materializes to try to stop her. *No negroes with
buzz-saws, no policemen with truncheons, no wops with
stilettos......no one.....nothing!

I am stupefied. *I look behind me. *No one in sight. *I look left and
right. *No one returns my gaze, even ever so briefly in a telltale
sneak peak. I look at the demented succubus behind the counter. *She
stares back stonily.

****! * * *

Well, she had already seen Ursula walk out with an armload of books
and she must clearly see that I was about to try to reprise her
performance. *Even at my tender age I could hardly escape the obvious
logic. *There was nothing for it but to brazen it out.

I strode boldly (well, it almost felt like it anyway) to the counter
and set the books down gently.....as I had just seen my sister
do.....and then slowly lifted my head and met the eyes of the gorgon.

She sort of smirked, frowned, grimaced, leered (and, perhaps, shat
herself, for all I knew) all at once. *Slowly, her gaze never leaving
mine, she reached across the counter, and suddenly scooped up all
three books.....never again to be seen by your humble servant.....or
so I thought. *But then she picked up a strange device and, with a
fury that was no less impressive for being entirely expected (although
the actions were not clearly understood till much later) and, opening
each book in turn, SLAMMED the weapon onto the inside front cover of
each......and then pushed the pile back across the counter at
me......with what appeared to be a taunting, daring air.

I stared at them.....craving a sign.

I looked up.

I met a frozen countenance (this was summer.....something was
decidedly WRONG about a frozen countenance). * * *

Slowly, I reached up.....and slowly I reached forward.....and no
whistling blades separated my young fingers from their proper mooring.

I held the books in my hands.....and, once again, looked up.

No change in the frozen landscape before me.

Hm.....

As casually as I deemed plausible, under the circumstances, I let my
gaze wander about the place as I slowly started to inch toward the
door, whistling (as well as I could at that tender age) what little I
had memorized of the tune of Mack the Knife.....or something like
that.....casting occasional glances over my shoulder and fiercely
(well, as fiercely as possible) calculating vectors, ranges, speeds
and times.

At last, I made a bolt for the door and, eventually, caught up with
Ursula on the sidewalk outside.

We walked for a bit.....I trying manfully (or, what I thought manfully
must look and feel like, at the time) to catch my breath and limit my
hurried glances over my shoulder to a seemly rate.

After a while, Ursula said, so, what did you get?

BOOKS! *I replied with a grin that should have split the bottom of my
face from the rest of my head. * * *

She nodded.

After a while I said......um.....what the **** just happened back
there? * * *

giles
who, some decades later, knows that the lines of communication have
been kept open.....and that he is still being watched.....every time.

You seem to be in a fugue state.

Oh well. Better than anal genital warts, I suppose.

You're absolutely right.....it's better than being you.

Do you EVER get tired of stepping on your dick? Have you considered
something with EXTREMELY high heels.....and stilts?

g.
it's a lot like mist nets. you band a bird.....and next week there it
is again.....and again.....and again.....and again.....it just WILL
NOT learn.

On Jan 25, 10:46*pm, Giles wrote:

Do you EVER get tired of stepping on your dick? *

Not that I have a dog in this and personally like both of the on going
combatants here (even if I only know one of them personally), but if
my dick was big enough for me to step on.......well you know.

On Jan 26, 9:18*pm, Wayne Knight wrote:
On Jan 25, 10:46*pm, Giles wrote:

Do you EVER get tired of stepping on your dick? *

Not that I have a dog in this and personally like both of the on going
combatants here (even if I only know one of them personally), but if
my dick was big enough for me to step on.......well you know.

Very short legs will do.

giles