The Continuing Adventures of Mordecai the Forever

originally posted on ficly.com

He is alert now. More then ever before.

He can feel the heat rising in the air, taste the fear.

He smells urine, sweat, and regret.

He senses the change in the atmosphere, the residual ozone of his brothers cut down by the last group of stragglers. The food chain is made of barbed wire sometimes.

They had cornered the family in an old church. Mordecai could smell the dry rot and termites. Dust of prayers never finished, the Lord had been gone a long time.

One by one his nest had braved the doors only to be spurned and burned by the family holding a cross.

“Back demon! The power of our God will smite you!”

With a confident stride he walks towards the church door. When he is aroused by blood, Mordecai becomes silent and arrogant.

“Demon! You will not harm us! Die like your foul brothers!”

A man puts the cross in Mordecai’s face. They expect fire, they receive a chuckle.

One by one Mordecai feeds. The last survivor clings to the cross, “Why didn’t the cross stop you?”

“I’m Jewish.”

A week or so late

Wow, such a large amount of time has passed since I've last updated and to tell you the truth, I really haven't missed it.

Normally, I leave a semi big footprint in the online world. I follow a lot of blogs, webcomics, and news sites. I twit and regularly post on writing sites like ficly.com. I probably spend a good four to five hours a day farting around on this here internet.

And I do it all at work.

Or I did. Company changed an internet policy lately that doesn't really police my internet, rather it measure my bandwidth.

I got food poisoning at the beginning of last week and that coupled with work restrictions, I've been unplugged as they say. And it felt pretty good.

I'll probably ramp back up to my former speed soon. But for a while it was nice to not be tethered to a facebook or twitter feed.

Take it easy internet.

PS. Go see Moon. It's fantastic.

TV Episode Review://Rescue Me "Torch"

I love the show Rescue Me.

Tuesdays 10pm on FX. Check your local listings.

It's one of those shows that consistently f's with the audience. Things too tense, here's a comedy show. Laughing too much here's some heartbreak. That guy is your favorite character, well now he's dead.

Seriously this entire show's catalog is a roller coaster of emotion.

This week's episode went a little too far.

And I love it.

The entirety of "Torch" is pretty messed up. Denis Leary's Tommy finds he can't cry after years of alcohol, death, and loss. So he drinks an entire bottle of Jameson and takes a blowtorch to his leg. Then while patching himself up he gets his cousin's widow to have sex with her, in an very S+M borderline rape scene.

But that's not the troubling part.

At the very beginning of the episode, Tommy's Fire Engine squad report to a three car pile up.

The joke, they laugh, and they get to work.

Lou, Tommy's friend, is trying to get Tommy out of the house so he can bang his Hooker/Thief girlfriend (it makes sense if you watch the show) when he stops dead in his tracks and begins to weep.

The other guys run over and all start vomiting and crying. Except Tommy.

It's a kid they say.

Tommy says he'll handle it and goes and gets a blanket.

Movies might be the high art of film, but TV when done right can nail powerful emotion without being explicit.

Tommy kneels in front of the camera, which is tight on his face.

Tommy begins gathering the kid into the blanket.

And when I say gather, I mean reaching in different directions. The camera never leaves his face and never shows anything horrible.

When he stands up the blanket isn't covering a human shape. It more resembles a pile of dirty laundry.

I still can't get that scene out of my head.

It was a master's class of staging and writing, and I applaud Leary and company.

Watch it people.

Update:// Here's the clip while it lasts

Customer Service

Another ficly.com original. Ficly.com the most fun you can have with your pants on. At work

It never gets easier.

This fucking job…

A punch clock on the soul. Start and finish, minute and hour. Ever closer to death.

I exist in definitions I’ve never found to be true.

For eight-ten hours a day, I become labels and employee handbook regulations. I walk through a door and become someone I am not.

The beauty part is that it all starts over again tomorrow.

I have dreams and aspirations. But not from 9.00 AM to 5.00 PM. Those hours I’m a drone.

Minute and hour.

For what? I don’t even fucking know anymore. You come to my house it looks like a goddamn Ikea catalog.

I hate my fucking nightstand.

I have nothing to show for myself outside of this time frame of work. Everyday I turn myself off for 8 hours so that I can enjoy the other 16.

My house bores me to tears.

So, I tell you this not to be depressing, but to tell you, don’t take it personal.

It’s a paycheck.

Now close your eyes.

You won’t feel a thing.

That’s a good girl.

Don’t flinch…