Standoff (3840 hits)
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Submitted by UberMadness! (View user info) at 2007-02-20 11:20:19 EST
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Entry 1
Redundancy:http://www.switchpod.com/users/ubersite/Standoff.mp3
Just in case this doesn't work:
Nope. Didn't work. In any case, headphones are cool.
And this might work:
Standoff.mp3 (7 MB) [audio/mpg]
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Entry 2
DAY ONEI got up at 6am this morning to do my usual Saturday chores and walk the dogs. My shower was a pain in the ass because the water pressure was low. It fluctuates, so I didn't sweat it.
It was so quiet I could hear the dogs' nails ticking on the asphalt. A lot of people here are unemployed. They stay up late and sleep late.
When I got back to the house I went to fill the dog's water bowls and the water was just a trickle. I figured I better ask the neighbors if their water pressure was low as well. If it was just my pipes I'd have to call a plumber. I put a big bucket under the bath faucet and let it fill, just in case the water was going to be out for a while.
I crossed the street and listened a moment. I could hear Glen Phillips's little boy laughing at something, and figured the family was up. I knocked on his door and he confirmed that his water was off too.
Heading back to my place I saw Miguel Cruz standing on his porch. He lived next door, on the north side. He might have been an illegal, but I didn't care. He didn't speak a lot of English and my Spanish was shit, but he was a good guy with a nice family. On my south side I had some poor white trash assholes.
"Hola, Miguel," I said. "Um, tienes agua en su casa?"
"No, jefe" he said.
My name is Jeff. I think he started calling me 'chief' as a joke, and the name stuck. He rattled off a string of words.
"Uh huh," I said. "Well, shit."
Miguel nodded, and I went inside.
The bucket in the tub was full and the trickle from the faucet was like a stream of piss from an old man with prostrate trouble. I grabbed another bucket, figuring what the hell.
I turned on the TV to channel 3, the local NBC affiliate, and realized the problem was bigger than I had thought.
There was a live shot of guys wearing hazmat suits standing on a concrete wall in front of a body of water.
"...water shutdown on orders from the Governor who is working closely with Bay Area county health departments and the State Water Resources Control Board. You are watching investigators from the Centers for Disease Control, who are conducting water quality tests at the Hetch Hetchy Water Reservoir in Yosemite National Park. Although the CDC has not yet issued a statement—"
I switched to channel 4, KRON, and saw a disheveled Arnold Schwarzenegger giving a press conference.
"I can assure all Californians that this water shortage is temporary and we are already putting emergency plans into action to make sure no one goes without water."
Ah-shu-ah. Kelly-fuah-nyins.
Arnold was talking a lot but he wasn't really saying anything.
I heard a gurgling hiss and went into the bathroom. The last of the water was now in that second bucket and it was three quarters full. I turned off the tap.
I went into my second bedroom. I had my computer set up there, and used the rest of the space for bulk storage. When you have two young pit bull mixes, you need a lot of food on hand.
I sat down at my laptop and clicked on the link for sfgate.com weather info.
People in the northeast may have been freezing their asses off, but the five-day forecast for the San Francisco Bay area showed anticipated daily temperatures in the high seventies.
Schwarzenegger had said 'temporary.' Even if temporary was a few days, that was a few days without baths or showers or drinking water. Toilets wouldn't flush either.
I looked over my shoulder.
Along one wall beside a pile of fifty-pound bags of Science Diet dry dog food, there were three stacks of paper cartons, each stack four feet high. Each plastic wrapped carton held 35 bottles of Crystal Geyser Spring water, and I had a few more cartons in the kitchen.
I decided to get a few chores done. Doing the laundry was out, but I had a little work to do on my '72 Impala. We were the same age, and sometimes I thought the car was in better shape than I was.
As I worked the day got hotter. Whenever I wanted a drink of water I left the driveway and went inside.
Miguel rolled by in his Dodge Caravan, and came back a few hours later. He went into his house and I heard him and his wife yelling. When he came out on his porch to light up a smoke I joined him.
"Caliente," I said.
"Si," he replied. He looked pissed.
"Everything okay?"
"The store," he said, in halting English. "No agua."
"Sold out?" He gave me a nod. "Jesus, that was fast."
"Si, an they say, no more. Governemente say, no more."
Glen crossed the street. "You guys talking about the stores? You hear that shit? Schwarzenegger has redirected all water shipments to some central depot for distribution. They aren't saying where it is, and they aren't saying how we can get at it."
Miguel caught my eye and gave me a look, like he knew a lot of bad shit was coming down the road.
I kicked back for the rest of the evening, drinking a few cold beers and flipping through the channels. No one was saying much. The local coverage was vague and confused, but Fox News made it seem like the end of the world. Every once in a while I heard someone yelling outside. That night I pissed and shit but didn't flush it. I have two bathrooms. Two toilets. Two flushes before I have to resort to buckets or a hole in the back yard.
I started writing this stuff down. Who knows? Things could get interesting.
DAY TWO
By 9am Sunday morning it was already 65 degrees. I checked the weather forecast online. All the numbers were revised, bumped higher. I walked the dogs down a road that gave me a nice view of the hills rising over the East Bay. I saw a truck moving up a distant road toward Linda Vista Estates, one of those gated communities of million dollar homes that always seemed to fill quickly no matter how bad the economy is doing. The truck was red, and I could see the logo from where I was standing. It was a delivery truck from Arrowhead.
When I got back to the house I looked up the number for Arrowhead and called them. The phone was answered right away. It was not quite 10am on a Sunday morning.
"Hi, I'd like to arrange a delivery, please."
I'm sorry, sir," a young woman said, "but due to the current water shortage you have to go through the Office of Emergency Services. If they approve an order, we can process it. Would you like that number?"
I said sure, and wrote it down. I dialed, and waited on hold for five minutes. When I finally got a response I brusque voice asked where I lived. I gave the man my address.
After a pause the man said, "I'm sorry sir, but due to the state of emergency declared by the Governor last night, we are holding all water shipments."
I hung up the phone, smoked a cigarette, and then called back.
This time when I was asked for my address I told the man I lived up on the hill in Linda Vista. I gave him a random number and the name of the main street in that community.
"We can arrange that, sir," the man said after a moment, "but you must understand that with conditions as they are, the cost will be considerable."
I hung up the phone.
I live in a mobile home park, in a doublewide bigger than any apartment I ever rented. It's cheap, and comfortable. Down the road in one direction are nice neighborhoods. Single family homes and apartment buildings in clean and safe developments. Head in the other direction and you hit low-income housing. Not quite the projects, but it seems to be heading there. Unlike most of the residents in Sunnyside Park I moved here by choice, not in desperation. I have a good job in the city, managing inventory at a Jiffy Lube warehouse. A lot of the guys around here are on disability, most of them scammers. And there are a lot of Latinos like Miguel. Miguel is one of the lucky ones. He was able to get enough cash together to replace his old mobile with one of those big modular homes. My place isn't paradise, but it isn't the low rent hellhole you'd expect, either.
Was it really possible that only one day into this crisis, things had already deteriorated to the point where only the wealthy could get water?
There was a knock on the kitchen door. It was Glen.
"Hey man," he said. He looked like he hadn't gotten much sleep.
"Glen."
"Listen, I hate to have to ask, but Saturday morning is when we do our regular shopping time and by the time I hit the stores they were cleaned out. Do you have any water? Just a bottle or two? All I got at home is a few colas and toilet water, man."
"I might be able to spare a few bottles," I said.
"Thanks, man. " Glen looked uneasy. Embarrassed. "My little boy is thirsty."
I opened the fridge, glad that the door blocked his view of all those chilled bottles, and grabbed two.
"Here," I said. "Go easy on it. It's going to be a hot day."
"Sure," he said. "Thanks, man. I appreciate this."
When he left I went to my living room window. I watched Glen pause in the shadows of his carport and open one of the bottles. He drank half of it in seconds.
He opened his door and I heard distant voices. His wife asked if he got any water and he said yes. I heard his boy ask for some and then he closed his door.
I spent the day indoors watching the news, but I didn't learn much. People were hitting the stores and clearing out anything close to water, juice drinks, clear sodas, and lots of beer. There was speculation that the government was going to start stockpiling those items as well. In Hunters Point, one of San Francisco's less desirable neighborhoods, two men had been shot by the SFPD. It was rumored that they had broken into a supermarket and were trying to steal water.
There were over two million people without water, in San Francisco, San Mateo and Alameda counties.
I went out on the porch for a smoke. The poor white trash next door was living it up. I could hear one of them calling for 'another beer, fool.' Down the street I could hear someone singing and laughing. Drinking booze to quench your thirst was a bad idea. It would dehydrate you, and if the situation deteriorated the last thing we would need is a bunch of belligerent drunks.
A lot of driveways were empty. People were probably away for the day, going to wherever the water was.
Before I went to bed I drained half of the water out of each toilet tank to completely fill that second bucket. Drinking water for the dogs was more important than some stewing piss and shit.
DAY THREE
I went in to work Monday morning, and had the radio on as I sat at my computer and filled orders. A lot of people were staying home, since the toilets in businesses didn't work. People who did come to work discovered that there were vending machines full of bottled water. Fistfights were breaking out all over the city, and there were a lot of people in the emergency rooms, cut by broken glass when they tried to break into machines.
Local government agencies were advising people to stay home if they could.
At lunch my boss told me that he would be closing up shop until the water was running again.
He spoke softly. "You okay for water?"
"For now," I said.
He looked around and then whispered, "You know I live out in the boonies, up in Mendo huh? I got a spring. I got water, and if things get worse I'm gonna protect it. I got a gun."
"You gotta do what you gotta do, Tran."
My boss had been one of the Vietnamese Boat People. He'd been through hard times and worked his ass off to provide for his family. He wasn't going to cause any shit, but he wouldn't take any either.
Before I left the shop Tran told me to be careful. "There's a story linked on the Drudge Report. Says that this crisis is spreading to surrounding counties. Sonoma, Santa Clara, San Joaquin, Yolo, all over. Sacramento too. Let's see what Arnold does now that the state capitol is getting fucked, huh?
I got home around two in the afternoon and it was hot.
I went inside and filled the dogs' water bowls, and then went into the second bedroom. I had to do a count.
I order groceries from Safeway sometimes. I do most of my grocery shopping myself, but sometimes I don't feel like screwing around with cases of water and beer and soda so I do big delivery orders and for ten bucks they bring it to my door.
A few weekends back I got an order early on a Saturday. I thought I ordered just a few cases of Crystal Geyser, the ones with thirty-five bottles in them. I must have fucked up, because the guy brought thirty-five cases. That's over a thousand bottles of spring water. I decided to just take the delivery and not send any back. I wouldn't have to order any for months, so I just stacked it in the bedroom.
I'd only gone through a few cases. I still had about a thousand bottles left.
So far none of my neighbors had said anything. They were used to hearing the truck pull up every few weeks, and I was hoping no one had seen all that water going into my house.
I drove to the supermarket to pick up some canned goods, but anything with water in it was long gone, from soups to vegetables and fruit. The display cases in the produce section were almost empty, and the prices were three times what they had been a week ago. I considered getting things like sardines or pickles, some of the few things packed in water that were still available, but then realized the salt in them would just make me thirsty. I ended up buying condensed soups and canned meats. I had plenty of water to add to them. I bought a lot of Wonder Bread too. Wonder Bread was shit, but it could sit in your fridge for a long time before getting moldy.
I started thinking that I should stay in the neighborhood and avoid any more extended shopping trips, just in case.
Later, while I was home watching the news and eating a couple of canned ham sandwiches, I heard some noise down the street. I pulled on my sneakers and went outside, wondering when we would hear what had happened to the water supply. Some reports said it was infested with a new kind of cryptosporidium that survived the chemical treatments in the water processing plants and that it could kill you in twenty-four hours. Some reports said the water supply had been poisoned.
Ed Felder and Carlos Dominguez were standing in the street holding an inflatable kiddies swimming pool. Under their feet the street was dark with splashes of water. Ed and Carlos were shouting at each other.
Old Anna Guerra was on her front stairs. She crossed herself.
"Hey Anna," I said. "What's all this?"
"Meester Felder's sweeming pool. Eet ees full of water. Carlos want to take eet."
"Holy Christ."
Carlos pulled on the pool again and I heard water sloshing around. The thought of drinking it made my stomach roll.
Ed stood his ground. He was an old white haired guy who lived with his thirty-something kid, Frankie. Frankie was sitting on the porch cheering on the old man. I could see Frankie's wife and kids looking out the window.
"Fuck that wetback, old man!"
Ed looked back at his son and laughed out loud.
I bought Ed a beer once in the bar around the corner and said I had heard he was in Vietnam. I was just trying to introduce myself, be friendly. He poured the beer on the floor and told me to stick the glass up my ass. I didn't have any hard feelings. He'd been over there. I had not.
Carlos's wife ran out onto the street. I didn't know her name. She always had her long dark hair tied back in a ponytail. She grabbed the plastic pool on Carlos's end and both of then started pulling Ed across the street.
Ed was wearing a loose flannel shirt and blue jeans. He reached back, flipped up the tail of his shirt, and then he was holding a gun. He shot Carlos in the chest. The young guy fell flat on his back. Up on her porch, Anna screamed and ran inside her house. I took a backward step. Ed grinned at Carlos's wife, and then shot her. The bullet hit her in the throat and she fell on her side, a pool of blood spreading around here. One end of the pool dropped to the street and the water ran onto the warm asphalt. Water and blood mingled in the gutter.
Ed tucked the gun back in his pants and let go of the pool. He looked up and down the street and saw me.
"Nobody fucks with me today," he said. Then he went into his house.
I went and checked on Carlos and his wife. They were dead. I knocked on Anna's door and asked if she had called 911. She had. I asked if Carlos had any kids. Anna said no.
Twenty minutes later the cops showed up and took Ed away.
I began to wonder where I could get a gun without having to wait.
DAY FOUR
People were beginning to get desperate.
On TV, President Bush declared a state of emergency for most of northern California, and Schwarzenegger repeatedly denied that he would use the National Guard to keep the peace. Arnold also asked that people stay in their own areas and offered assurance that things would be back to normal very soon. Some talking heads wondered if he could declare Martial Law. I did a little reading online and the opinion seemed to be that only the President could declare Martial Law, but some sites said the Director of FEMA could as well. We had not heard a single word from the Federal Emergency Management Agency.
The local economy was getting hit hard. Bars and restaurants were almost empty, and most businesses had closed down. Movie theaters were doing okay, selling canned and bottled drinks, but their supplies of soda were running out.
Hundreds of schools were closed.
Violence was spreading like a wave. People were drinking way too much booze, or getting sick from drinking stagnant water. People were breaking into houses to steal water. There were shootings and stabbings and beatings. I heard one report that people were siphoning water out of car radiators, which was crazy. Anti-freeze in a cold climate is an engine coolant in a warm one, and either way that shit would kill you fast.
It was raining hard down in Los Angeles. A Pacific storm headed for us had slipped to the south.
I was surprised that more people didn't have at least a few days supply of water on hand. Living in California you hear about the threat of earthquakes all the time. City, county and state agencies are always advising people to have emergency kits on hand for the big one, including at least seventy-two hours worth of food and water. I guess it was one of those things people always intend to do soon and never get around to getting done.
There was a rumor going around that cops, paramedics and firefighters were being paid in bottled water.
A woman in a Chanel suit was in tears because her spa was losing business. Boo-fucking-hoo, babe. I turned off the TV.
There was a noise in the back yard. My dogs came trotting into the room from their usual resting place on hot days, the cool linoleum in the kitchen. Rip gave a little woof. Tear lowered her head and silently bared her teeth like she had done before chasing off some asshole's German Shepard that snapped at me one day while I was out walking my pits.
I kept all the blinds drawn to keep out the sun and keep the room cool. I looked past the edge of the blind and saw three black kids creeping toward my house. They were kids, but they were big.
I went into the spare bedroom and rooted through a cardboard box. I found what I was looking for, an old deadbolt I had replaced a few months back. I went to the window, and shouted, "Hey!"
The kids froze, looking around.
I racked the deadbolt back and forth in the metal housing.
"Now I'm loaded for bear, motherfuckers!"
I guess the deadbolt sounded enough like a gun being cocked because the kids turned and ran.
I felt weird being home on a Tuesday with nothing to do. When I walked the dogs I saw a flyer taped to a lamppost announcing a weeklong flea market. It was on a field near the local high school. I had a few bucks in my pocket so I went over there for a quick look, and something to do. In twenty minutes I was walking down aisles of tables and stalls filled mostly with crap. A lot of the people I saw looked messed up, almost like they had bad hangovers. In the relentless heat two women and one man collapsed while I was there. They fainted and hit the dirt.
People smelled bad now. No one was washing.
There was a growing crowd around one table and I heard people shouting 'thief' and 'fuck you!' I went over and saw a table filled with bottles of that Aquafina shit. I never understood why people bought that garbage, since it was just filtered water. Unless it says spring water on the bottle, it is most likely expensive tap water. There was an old guy behind the table. On either side were three huge guys who had to be his sons. They all had big jaws and small eyes. The younger guys were holding baseball bats. The older guy was holding a huge wad of small bills.
The 500ml bottles were selling for ten dollars each.
At another table I picked up a CB radio for ten bucks, and then went home.
There were a lot of quiet homes and empty driveways in the park. People might have been staying with friends and neighbors in areas that had water, or they might have left packed up and hit the road, modern day Oakies fleeing the drought.
Frankie Felder was on his porch. When he saw me looking at him he grinned.
As I was walking in to my driveway I saw Miguel and his wife each carrying a big plastic bucket into their house. The buckets were sealed, and heavy. Written on the buckets in black marker was 'sangre de res.'
Miguel saw me looking at him and seemed embarrassed. I gave him a nod and went inside.
I got my Bantam Spanish / English dictionary and leafed through it.
Miguel had been carrying buckets of cow blood.
I had to take a crap, so I got a plastic bag, one of the ones that come in a roll and are made for small wastebaskets. I set the bag inside the now dry toilet. When I put the seat down it held the bag in place. When I was done I tied off the bag and threw it in the trash just like I dumped all of the dog shit I had to pick up. I pissed in mason jars. In the evening I went out to a bare patch in my back yard and emptied the jars. There were a few anthills out there. Maybe I'd get some benefit from what was happening and kill the ants.
It amazed me to realize that aside from a lack of water, life went on. There were fewer cars on the road since the owners couldn't refill the radiators, but the garbage was still picked up on schedule, TV and radio were still broadcasting (although two local stations were now just carrying network feeds and no local programming), and I could still surf the net.
I dicked around with the CB radio and soon enough I was hearing truckers within a radius of a few miles. They were guiding each other around trouble spots in the road.
"Remember fellas," one gruff voiced trucker said, "They ain't roadblocks, they're detours."
Fell asleep early, listening to the crackle and chatter on the CB.
DAY FIVE
I spent a lot of time on the net now. I stayed up late, while it was cool, and tried to sleep late into the morning aside from a quick run with the dogs. I always had the CB on, and the truckers were saying things were far worse than I was hearing on TV.
Legitimate online news sources gave you the impression things weren't that bad, so I had started reading the news at a half dozen new websites that had been created in the last few days. According to drystate.net there had already been over a hundred deaths related to the water shortage, and the National Guard was in San Francisco. I hadn't heard any of that on the news. Dyingofthirst.com actually had a body count running and pictures of gun toting men in military uniforms at the intersection of Van Ness and O'Farrell.
At dyingground.com there was a report that people were being prevented from leaving the affected counties. Now there were suspicions that whatever had tainted the water might be carried by people, like a disease. They also had interviews with local farmers who were losing both crops and livestock at a terrible rate. Huge numbers of people were getting sick from drinking sea water from San Francisco Bay and the Pacific.
All of the sites I visited expressed concerns that the food supply would be hit next. There aren't many foods made without the use of water, which meant food would have to start coming into the area from farther away.
I clicked on the link to the Drudge Report. It was still down after he had posted a story claiming a similar water crisis was just beginning in East Texas. Some sites said that the orders to censor the news had come from the White House.
I finally went to bed around 2am, lowering the blinds and opening the windows. I got up four hours later to walk the dogs. The bedroom was cool now, and as I was pulling on a pair of sweatpants I saw a cat in my backyard. Even though the heat would be back it was still February, and the nights cooled down a lot. The cat was licking dew off of blades of grass and the leaves of plants. It disappeared from view and I went into the kitchen. From that window I could see the cat licking dew off of the front bumper of my car.
"Clever little shit," I said.
DAY SIX
I'd gone back to bed after walking the dogs, and went I got up later I went into the kitchen to make a small, strong instant coffee with a little bottled water. I looked out the window and saw Miguel on his porch.
I went out into my driveway. "Hey buddy, you okay?"
He looked at me and I was rocked by his appearance. He looked weak and worn down, and he was breathing fast.
"My sons," he said. His accent was heavy, and his voice was soft and raw. "It is bad. I try to go far away to get water, but Federales stopped me on the road. This is why I bought the sangre. Jus' in case."
I guess I could have easily gone back in the house and let Miguel deal with things on his own, but he was a good guy and the thought of his wife and kids dying because this country couldn't get its shit together was too much for me. We can airlift food and medical supplies into countries half a world away in times of need and get a big 'fuck you America in return,' but we couldn't get some water across the state line?
I was drinking eight bottles of water a day, and the dogs were drinking another four each. A lot of people would have thought I was crazy giving them any water, but I never gave much of a damn what others thought. I'd had Rip and Tear since they were pups. I wasn't going to abandon them now.
I had enough water to last two months, and if this went on much longer there was going to be complete anarchy.
I walked down to the end of my driveway, looking up and down the street. It was deserted. "Miguel, wait by your back door."
I went into the house and came out with a case of water wrapped in a blanket. Miguel opened his door and let me in. When I uncovered the case of water he didn't say anything. He just grabbed two bottles and went down the hall.
"Slowly, Miguel," I said.
I went back home.
I spent some time setting empty water bottles in their cardboard cases. There was no way I was going to throw them in the trash or recycling.
A few hours later I went into the kitchen for a bottle of water. I looked out the window and saw someone at the end of my driveway. I went outside and saw Frankie Felder standing there.
"Hey Frankie. What's up?"
Felder stared at me. He looked thin, feverish, pissed off.
"Frankie?"
"I don't see you going out much," he said. "Except to walk your dogs. You got healthy dogs."
I shrugged.
"See, everyone else is scrambling around looking for water. Not you, though. You look nice and healthy. Plump. And your dogs are full of energy. In all this heat."
I saw a curtain move at Glen's place. He was watching and listening from his front room.
"What's your point, Frankie?"
"I was in your back yard. The ground back there is damp with piss."
I began to wonder if Frankie was packing a gun like his dad had done.
"Takes a lot of piss to soak the ground enough that it stays damp in this heat."
He steeped really close to me. His lips were dry and cracked and his breath smelled like rot. "I hardly piss at all, you know that? If you aren't drinking, you aren't pissing."
"Go home, Frankie." I wanted to tell him to fuck off, but I didn't want to get shot.
He turned and took a few steps, and then looked over his shoulder.
"You got one day," he said quietly. "It's either give or take. Your choice."
I spent the rest of the night trying to figure out where I could get a gun and kicking myself for not having done it earlier.
At one point I noticed a red glow in the sky and could actually see a high column of smoke illuminated by flames hidden from sight. One or more of the low income houses down the road was burning like hell.
When I took the dogs out for their last piss of the night I saw the glow of a cigarette on Frankie's porch down the street. I took the dogs behind the house and let them piss in the back yard.
Before I went to bed I looked out the window. I could still see a column of smoke that seemed to dance in the light of fires below. I heard the occasional distant shout, but didn't hear any sirens.
DAY SEVEN
I heard something tapping on my window at 5am. I got up and looked outside. Miguel was standing out there in the dark. I went out back and asked him what he was doing. For a moment he was quiet, and we watched the flickering glow from down the road.
"Come, to mi casa."
I went into his house. It was dark, but I could see his wife and kids sitting on the couch. His wife was holding a bottle of water. She raised it and said, "Gracias." Her name was Rosita.
Miguel opened his mouth, and then looked at his oldest boy and started speaking Spanish. Victor and Javier were nine and ten years old. They went to a local school and spoke perfect English. I always called them Vic and Jay when I saw them. They seemed to get a laugh out of it.
"My dad couldn't sleep last night," Victor said. "He was here, by the window, all night. He saw Glen and Frankie and a few other men going up and down the street and into each other's houses. Whenever they went by they looked at your house."
Miguel was still speaking rapid fire Spanish and I was glad that his son was translating.
"My dad thinks that those men are going to try to take your water. He says he doesn't want to see you get hurt."
Javier said, "The old man shot somebody," and his mom shushed him.
"My dad has an idea," Victor said. "He says that to be safe you should come to our house. There is an extra room for you and your dogs. We can share the water and..."
Victor paused. Miguel repeated himself and Victor said, "We can share the water and defend ourselves."
Miguel left the room and came back a moment later carry a long wooden box with rope handles. He set it on the floor and lifted the lid. An old bolt-action rifle was wrapped in burlap. Miguel opened three other burlap bundles to reveal three revolvers. The metal was pitted and stained with age.
"Those belonged to my grandfather," Victor said.
Miguel pointed at the street and said. "Fahk those guys, jefe."
I thought about my place. It was comfortable, but it was just a mobile. The doors and windows were as flimsy as hell. Christ, even the walls were thin.
"Okay," I said.
We spent the rest of the day moving stuff from my place to Miguel's. I put the dogs in the bedroom I'd be using and told them to stay put. We got the water done first. We took a break to eat, a stew with pork in it, heavy on the peppers and onions. I thought it was going to blow my head off and when I said it was hot Miguel's sons laughed at the look on my face. By the time we were carrying the last few bags of dog food and cardboard boxes of canned goods between the homes a group of men had gathered on the street. Frankie Felder was there, and Glen, along with a couple of other guys. They all looked like hell, and they were all watching us closely. They stood there in the street, in the heat, until sundown. No one said a thing until Frankie called out to me.
"Time's up, water boy."
There were two streetlights on our part of the street. Frankie pulled out his pistol and shot both of them. The men on the street faded into the darkness.
DAY EIGHT
The dogs were letting out little barks and yips. I sat up in bed and heard the faint sound of breaking glass. It was still night, or early morning. I went out to the living room, feeling my way through the dark in my neighbor's house. Miguel was standing at the window, looking through the blinds to one side. He was holding his rifle. He saw me and said, "I'm sorry, my friend."
I looked out and saw that my front windows had been smashed in. My front room lit up as if the TV was on, and then I saw an orange tongue of flame.
"You've got to be kidding me," I said.
Miguel and I stood and watched my house burn.
There was no point in calling 911. The line was always busy.
The men gathered in the street again. There were more of them now.
"Fuck," I said. "There's gotta be twenty guys out there."
Most of them had guns. I saw a few baseball bats, and an axe. One guy had a rake. A goddamned rake. I nearly laughed when I saw that.
One of them shouted, "Bring out the water!"
Without saying anything Miguel moved the blind aside and held his rifle up for the men on the street to see.
The men frowned and mumbled to each other.
The fire torched my living room and half my kitchen and then died out. My bedroom and the spare bedroom still appeared intact.
The men stood out on the street all day. Sometimes just a few of them, sometimes all of them. A few of them held up umbrellas for shade. At noon some of their wives brought them sandwiches and the men shared a few cans of beer.
I'd brought my laptop with me, and since the router in my spare bedroom was still working I did some wireless surfing. Some men had tried to hijack a big water truck under Army escort in downtown San Jose and shooting broke out. There were over a dozen dead in minutes, and when one of the hijackers got behind the wheel and drove away from the gun battle he lost control of the truck and rolled it into a McDonalds on East San Carlos Street. The tanker truck ruptured and most of the water went down the drain. Violence was still spreading across San Jose.
Schwarzenegger was pelted with balloons full of piss thrown by student protestors when he visited a Sacramento hospital full of people dying of dehydration.
Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper offered to airlift bottled water to northern California, stating that the air force could start delivering relief immediately. Just as the plan was being put into action it was suspended when Liberals began accusing Conservative Harper of cozying up to the United States once again and using international aid as a tool to strengthen his own political future.
Miguel's boys spent a lot of time down on the floor, bored out of their minds. I let them play some of the games on my laptop. Miguel wanted them down and out of the way in case there was any shooting.
We heard a noise from the back of the house and Miguel down the hall. I heard a couple of muffled thuds and a scream. Miguel came back wiping blood off of the butt of his rifle. He did a little pantomime, and I got it right away. Someone had jimmied open a window back there and reached inside. Miguel had smashed the man's fingers with the rifle butt.
We went to the window and peered through the blinds. It was twilight now. The men on the street were in a huddle. The huddle broke up, and one of them was holding a glass bottle full of pink liquid. A wet rag was jammed in the mouth of the bottle.
"Molotov," Miguel said. "Soap. Gas."
If they were thinking of burning us out, they weren't thinking things through.
The man holding the bottle flicked a Zippo lighter and held the rag over the flame.
I opened the window a crack and shouted through the blinds. "Hey, you fucking morons! Any water we have in here is in plastic bottles! Think about it!"
Glen Phillips reached out and pulled the rag out of the bottle just as it began to burn. Frankie Felder pushed both men aside, raised a long hunting rifle to his shoulder, and fired once.
I felt something go through me and burn my chest and back as if I had been stabbed with a red hot knitting needle, and there was a duller, harder hit to my upper body and my own blood sprayed up into my face as I reeled backward and fell against the couch.
Miguel stuck the barrel of his own rifle through the hole in the window and fired back once. I heard the round strike something metal and the men outside broke into raucous laughter.
I looked down and saw blood on my shirt. I could hear Javier crying, and Victor quietly said, "Shit."
Miguel's wife appeared with a handful of dishtowels. She ripped open my shirt. I was going to make a crack to Miguel, tell him that I had that effect on women, when I stated coughing instead. I didn't taste any blood and hoped that was a good sign. Rosita started speaking Spanish and Victor translated from the other side of the couch.
"The bullet went through you. It broke up one of your ribs. That's gross. My mom is going to stop the bleeding."
Rosita stuffed a small wad of cloth into the hole in my chest.
My stomach flipped over and everything went black and when I opened my eyes again I was wearing only my underwear and Rosita was behind me, wrapping strips of torn up bath towel around my chest like bandages. My shirt and pants were lying nearby, and there was puke all over them.
I wanted to ask if they had tried to call for help again, but I passed out.
DAY NINE
Every time I opened my eyes I saw Miguel or Victor at the window. Rosita took care of me the best she could. Little Javier made sure my laptop was always plugged in and charged up.
Someone had let my dogs out of the room and they were curled up beside me. Tear kept sniffing at my bandages.
I spent a lot of time on the floor, lying flat or propped against the couch. Rosita forced me to drink what seemed like an ocean's worth of water. I didn't have any appetite.
On dyingground.com there was a new link called 'Atrocities.' The page featured hazy pictures taken with cell phone cameras. Soldiers shooting civilians on Van Ness Avenue in San Francisco. A group suicide leap from the Golden Gate Bridge, the falling bodies mere colored specks, like confetti. A man had been selling what he called 'desalinization processors' to make sea water potable. When people realized the devices were just water filters with a bit of silver paint on them they burned down his house and hung him from a tree in his yard. That was a grim series of photos. A picture of Schwarzenegger getting out of the back seat of a limo, holding a half liter bottle of water in his hand. And dead bodies. Bodies in the streets, in emergency rooms, in cars parked by the side of the road.
Jesus Christ. It was just water. How could things fall so far, so fast?
I couldn't see them, but I could hear the men out in the street. Some of them were raving, either drunk or delirious.
Late in the afternoon my internet connection was cut off. Ten minutes later, the lights went out all over the park.
My laptop battery was probably good for an hour or two. It was a few years old.
DAY TEN
Well, I took a few minutes to go over what I had written earlier and cleaned it up.
I don't feel very good.
Miguel says there aren't as many men outside now, but he is afraid they will get desperate.
I'm going to get some sleep.
DAY ELEVEN
I really don't feel good. I think I'm getting a fever or something. I'm cold and I don't feel like writing. Everything is dead and shit and those motherfuckers are still outside.
DAY TWELVE
The boys let the dogs out the back door for a pee. Someone shot at them. Rip is dead. He was my dog. Tear is with me now. She is sad. So am I. Going to sleep.
DAY THIRTEEN
Only three men outside now. Frankie, Glen, and some other guy with dreads. Rosita helped me stand up and take a look. They look really fucked up.
My bandages smell bad and most of the time I feel sick and chilled.
Something exploded a few blocks away, like there were bombs being dropped. It shook the house and scared the shit out of all of us.
I think I'll try and eat some soup.
DAY FOURTEEN
I'm outside in the street, leaning against the wheel of a car.
The men on the street tried to burn us out after all. There were only two of them left. They started fires on either end of the house. I was helped to my feet, and as we came out someone shot Miguel in the knee. Victor shot Glen right in the eye with one of the old pistols and then burst into tears. The guy with the dreads grabbed me by the throat and Tear jumped on him. I heard him screaming for quite a while.
When Miguel dragged me up against this car he whispered, "You got a good fucking dog."
We sat and stood in the street, hearing pops and hisses as water bottles burst open or melted down. Miguel's knee looked bad.
Javier was a little hero. Somehow he had salvaged two bottles of water. And my laptop.
We all turned when we heard a gun being cocked.
Frankie was standing there, holding an automatic pistol with both hands. His hands were shaking and the gun was waving all over the place. His mouth was so dry it was nothing but a raw red rim of cracked flesh. He couldn't speak.
I raised one arm and pointed at Miguel's burning home. "You fucking dick," I said. I was exhausted.
Frankie fired a single shot, and everything started getting dark.
"Fuck," I said. "Miguel, I'm dying."
Miguel limped closer, looked down at me, and frowned.
I was scared. "Everything is getting dark, man."
Miguel started to laugh.
"Is going to rain, jefe," he said.
I looked up. Dark clouds were scudding across the sky, and then the rain came, heavy drops thudding on the roofs of cars and hissing as they struck the street.
Frankie wandered away.
DAY EIGHTEEN
Only a few mins left on laptop battery.
Been raining 4 days straight.
Miguel & family packed into ruins of my house.
The rain is cool. Fresh.
Stret outside paved with pots & pans & buckets catching rain. I listen to the rain & sleep.
No appetite.
Nat'l Guard truck drove through park a while ago, moving fast. Recorded msg coming from speakers told us - crisis is almost over - President & Governor apologized to the people of N. Cal - order being restored.
I think my wounds are infected.
Water and power have not yet come back on.
Shutting down my laptop, saving this stuff.
I hope I make it through this.
Entry 1:
AllyJeans
apollo88
BadSamaritan87
baking_Lady
Beano312003
c1ndy
Caulaincourt
charminglybeef
Coleslaw_Murphy
Coyote
Crudite
darko
DeathJester
Dexter-Brown
EchoBoxing
experima
FunnyAsCancer
gank
iddqd
iMoh69
jojo747
JonnyX
kaos-king
KindaNews
maiorano84
messmind
Method
notyou
ParlorTrick
peckerhead
pen_name
polyamorousaj
rad1101
retrospect
rorrim
Sacrilicious
satchel
Shlongy
sicosemen
SPECIALk
Spooner
St_Jimmy
Stagger_Lee
strwbryfanatic
sublime
The_taste_of_Monkeys
TheUniter
WookieSuave
yhywstudios
Zebra
44 eligible votes (50 total) *
Entry 2:
Adamdidit2u
Amontillado
Axolotl
Badlands
bart
Blinkish
BLITZKREIG_BOB
bob
Bob_Dole
Bubba2341
CandieJo
Circe
cocaine
Confuzitron
congo
Cracked_out_cali
Crystle
DCWoody
Dervel
DesolateMisanthrope
DirtyHarry
DrogoRoch
DudeThatsBOSH
EAZEDZT
Fartman
firefly
Genko
ghola
GMCrayon
goferforhire
gravitas
Hiredugan
horse87
hot_pocket
indoninja
Jack_McCallum
joedaddy
JoeyG
justagirl27
lechuza
Life101
littledan
madddonkey255
madsam31
nitty34
NotVoltron
nrduncan
orph
phuzzygish
PMN
Progr3ss
redskieslookfake
rob_berg
Sack_of_Antlers
scourge
shandythedog
Shryke
Sinistral
Siren
Slighty_Obnoxious
Snare
Spam
sparkle_pink
supadupapupa
TempermentalTypist
TheJessicar
TimetoDance
UberSavedMyLife
Unabonger
vexx
whocares229
William_Q_Percy
53 eligible votes (72 total) *
* Eligible votes are those made by users who had either (A) posted 3+ messages OR (B) written 100+ [lowered from 750+] reviews as of the beginning of the UberMadness! competition.
User Reviews
Submitted by BLITZKREIG_BOB (user info) at 2007-03-03 00:31:58 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2007-03-01 11:46:09 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Caulaincourt (user info) at 2007-02-27 13:45:28 (#)
Ranking: 0
beef has a canadian accent?
wtf is a canadian accent anyway?
there is no difference between Joe Squarehead in Vancouver, BC and Joe Yankee in Tampa Bay, FL
--
Are you FUCKING kidding?
No wonder Quebeckers quack at each other. They are all 'culture deaf' and can't hear how ridiculous they sound.
Submitted by BLITZKREIG_BOB (user info) at 2007-03-01 11:02:50 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
Submitted by Caulaincourt (user info) at 2007-02-27 13:45:28 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
beef has a canadian accent?
wtf is a canadian accent anyway?
there is no difference between Joe Squarehead in Vancouver, BC and Joe Yankee in Tampa Bay, FL
Submitted by Caulaincourt (user info) at 2007-02-27 13:42:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by rad1101 (user info) at 2007-02-27 02:42:44 (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Razor (user info) at 2007-02-24 14:38:58 (#)
Ranking: 2
Congratulations everyone... especially the committee.
==================
fuck that, congratulations everyone who had to sit through this crap.
===
lol
Submitted by rad1101 (user info) at 2007-02-27 02:42:44 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Razor (user info) at 2007-02-24 14:38:58 (#)
Ranking: 2
Congratulations everyone... especially the committee.
==================
fuck that, congratulations everyone who had to sit through this crap.
Submitted by Coleslaw_Murphy (user info) at 2007-02-26 17:16:42 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Now... GIMME BACK MY POSTS!
Submitted by Razor (user info) at 2007-02-24 14:38:58 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Congratulations everyone... especially the committee.
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2007-02-24 14:03:42 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
JACK CHEATED
PASS IT ON
Submitted by Circe (user info) at 2007-02-23 20:58:20 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Circe (user info) at 2007-02-21 08:56:40 (#)
Ranking: 0
Fuck.
Wrong one.
Author 1, I hope like hell you don't lose by one vote.
__________
So relieved.
I wish you'd won, but I'm glad my vote wasn't the one that lost it for you.
Submitted by Crystle (user info) at 2007-02-23 19:07:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
WHO 'WROTE' WHAT??
WHO WON??!
I MUST KNOW!!
Submitted by august_sobriquet (user info) at 2007-02-23 18:31:50 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
holy shit
2 points for that number one entry. i've been so busy at work that i never listened to it. I'm sorry i didn't now. i would have voted that one.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2007-02-23 13:38:08 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Consider this.
I came THIS close to doing a very short story as an mp3, and trashed the idea because I was concerned that the file size would piss people off. Now I wish I had done it. Two mp3s in the last round would have been awesome.
I did a voicewhore post just a few days before the final round started.
Also, people MUST have noticed beef's Canadian accent. Did that add to people's confusion?
And I agree, my story was not the greatest. I had big plans and little time. That was the best I could do.
Submitted by gank (user info) at 2007-02-23 13:15:14 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Congrats, Jack. There's no doubt you deserve the title.
But I liked #1 insanely more than yours *this round*, hence my jumping on the anti-Jack bandwagon.
Chalk it up to me lobbying for the other guy, like you were lobbying for yourself?
GOOD DEAL.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2007-02-23 12:48:43 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Hopefully we can go head to head again in a cleaner game sometime, cb (no offense intended to Snark). Thanks for two great nailbiter rounds.
Submitted by joedaddy (user info) at 2007-02-23 12:45:57 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
it's finally dead and stinky
thank...you...gee-suz
Submitted by Snark (user info) at 2007-02-23 12:33:45 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by charminglybeef (user info) at 2007-02-23 12:18:22 (#)
Ranking: 2
Congrats, Jack.
And thanks to all who made this fun--
and a big kiss for Snark for putting up with all the bullshit.
I'm back in Van, maybe we should grab a beer sometime.
Kisses!
=============================
or 20!
Submitted by charminglybeef (user info) at 2007-02-23 12:18:22 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Congrats, Jack.
And thanks to all who made this fun--
and a big kiss for Snark for putting up with all the bullshit.
I'm back in Van, maybe we should grab a beer sometime.
Kisses!
Submitted by ParlorTrick (user info) at 2007-02-23 11:45:33 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Damn. This is hard. I didn't think I would appreciate the delivery of Entry 1, but I did. The tone and the 'writing' were moody and descriptive.
I was into the story of Entry #2, although not convinced of the timeline and reality of it. Good good stuff though.
Excellent, excellent work - both worthy of a Uberlord.
Submitted by nrduncan (user info) at 2007-02-23 11:00:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2007-02-23 10:32:13 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2007-02-22 17:27:40 (#)
Ranking: 2
One computer with IE 7 could run three or four accounts simultaneously. And at the same time...
no it can't.
ask jack.
Submitted by Siren (user info) at 2007-02-23 09:06:49 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
I dunno... I kinda wanna change my vote. Acutally, I want to vote for both. I'm not worthy of either.
Submitted by Siren (user info) at 2007-02-23 09:01:58 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Is it over yet?
Submitted by Dervel (user info) at 2007-02-23 06:17:16 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by bart (user info) at 2007-02-23 04:04:33 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by NotVoltron (user info) at 2007-02-23 03:47:53 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Excellent work.
Submitted by sparkle_pink (user info) at 2007-02-23 02:51:29 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by DeathJester (user info) at 2007-02-23 02:38:25 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
-2 I had to vote to read reviews.
I understand that this is to prevent miscreants posting names or opinion which may cloud judgement, but it also means that entry 1 got a vote it may or may not deserve. I'm not listening / reading to them to find out.
Hope you accounted for dicks like me ruining the competition in your margin of error.
Submitted by DeathJester (user info) at 2007-02-23 02:33:29 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
.
Submitted by maiorano84 (user info) at 2007-02-22 20:08:12 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by experima (user info) at 2007-02-22 18:19:01 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I've listened to #1 three times already and I love it
Submitted by iMoh69 (user info) at 2007-02-22 18:15:50 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Dexter-Brown (user info) at 2007-02-22 18:01:45 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2007-02-22 17:27:40 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
One computer with IE 7 could run three or four accounts simultaneously. And at the same time...
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2007-02-22 17:24:13 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No one asked you, Method. A method is a drill and rote way of doing something, so the name
fits. May you be drilled in the rote...
Submitted by DirtyHarry (user info) at 2007-02-22 17:08:32 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Effing Brilliant. I think I actually got chills
Submitted by congo (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:48:29 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Zebra (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:45:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
OOPS
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:44:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Method (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:40:36 (#)
Ranking: 0
yes, because he made both reviews within 3 seconds of each other, you fucking tard
--
1) they call it WINDOWS for a reason.
2) Apollo wasn't IN this conversation. Zebra aws trying to make a point, when suddenly we see...
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:27:15 (#)
Ranking: 0
'Cheers' to you too Bubba.
The point I am trying to make is why waste your time here - Jack needs to choose his priorities.
Submitted by Method (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:44:39 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Yeah, but only if you were purposely trying to out yourself as a faggot
Submitted by Zebra (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:42:55 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
actually, it's quite easy mate what with the desk and lappy fired up.
Submitted by Method (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:40:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
yes, because he made both reviews within 3 seconds of each other, you fucking tard
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:38:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Somebody done fucked up.
====================================
Submitted by Zebra (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:28:36 (#)
Ranking: 0
ahahaha
Nice try, Apollo.
I think we were too close together, mate!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:27:44 (#)
Ranking: 0
bollocks
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:27:15 (#)
Ranking: 0
'Cheers' to you too Bubba.
The point I am trying to make is why waste your time here - Jack needs to choose his priorities.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Submitted by Zebra (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:27:12 (#)
Ranking: 0
ahahaha
Jolly good show, Bubba!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:19:29 (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Zebra (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:01:56 (#)
Ranking: 0
Bubba, I didn't realise my endeavour to trick you would work so swimmingly.
***********
Yeah, you really tricked me. I'm so stupid.
Oh, BTW: "cheers"
=======================================================
Submitted by joedaddy (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:35:39 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
food chain...in no particular order below
Submitted by Method (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:33:43 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Don't pay Bubba any mind, he's all fur coat and no knickers, that one is. A right anorak, if you ask me, getting a straight answer from that one is as rare as rocking horse shit
Submitted by Charlton_H (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:32:32 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
What's all this, then?
Submitted by Method (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:30:31 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
OH BOTHER!
Submitted by Method (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:30:19 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
PIP PIP CHEERIO! FANCY A SHAG, LOVE?
Submitted by Zebra (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:28:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
ahahaha
Nice try, Apollo.
I think we were too close together, mate!
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:27:44 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
bollocks
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:27:15 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
'Cheers' to you too Bubba.
The point I am trying to make is why waste your time here - Jack needs to choose his priorities.
Submitted by Zebra (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:27:12 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
ahahaha
Jolly good show, Bubba!
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:19:29 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Zebra (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:01:56 (#)
Ranking: 0
Bubba, I didn't realise my endeavour to trick you would work so swimmingly.
***********
Yeah, you really tricked me. I'm so stupid.
Oh, BTW: "cheers"
Submitted by Zebra (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:19:18 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Jack - I didn't say I only wrote scripts. Only that I would not post anything here. I would have to write something strictly for uber that I didn't plan to use anywhere else. I just have no desire to do that. And I would certainly not post something I wrote elsewhere for obvious reasons.
If anyone discounts my opinion because I don't post, that is probably wise. I would discount anyone's opinion here, actually. I know when I write well, and I know when I produce shit. That's the most important skill I have.
But if Sci-Fi is your thing, you may be interested to know CBS is producing a couple of interesting pilots right now. One is called Demons, I think, about an exorcist, and the other is Babylon Fields, about a town on Long Island filled with zombies. From what I've heard, it's almost like a zombie soap opera.
How fucking cool is that? Doesn't mean it will get picked up, but still.
That's what I mean when I say you should be adapting your stuff to script form. An excellent script that wins a contest (a good one) will at least get you a meeting with an agent or a request for the script from a production company.
Scripts are a whole different animal, of course, but good writing is good writing.
Maybe you already write script, I don't know. But you should if you don't.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:08:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Method (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:03:01 (#)
Ranking: 0
I'D LIKE TO KNOW WHAT USER NAME JAYPIG IS USING
--
Well KindaNews took Zebra, so scratch that off the list...
Submitted by Method (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:03:01 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
I'D LIKE TO KNOW WHAT USER NAME JAYPIG IS USING
Submitted by Zebra (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:01:56 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Bubba, I didn't realise my endeavour to trick you would work so swimmingly.
What I mean is first publication rights are getting more and more fucked up because of the internet, that's all.
Post all you want wherever you want. I know someone who actually sold a short story last year that got pulled because of this issue, that's all.
I mean, with how fucking terrible the short story market is, and the sonofabitch actually sells one, and then gets yanked cause he put it on a website for 'feedback.'
Fucking unbelievable.
Good news is someone optioned it a couple of months later, which will probably lead nowhere but one never knows.
FAC - you're funny, and a good example of someone who probably has to learn everything the hard way.
cheers
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2007-02-22 16:00:46 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Freudian slip? That should be "I agree my entry WASN'T the greatest."
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2007-02-22 15:54:03 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Zebra, I've dabbled with online stuff, but playing the logline lottery isn't my bag. If I could get a script to someone I would, believe me, but it's the agent/publisher catch 22 all over again. I'd love to know someone at the sci-fi channel for instance. I could bury them alive in paper.
And I'm sorry, but to say you are a writer who ONLY does scripts and has nothing to post or will not post anything here is a bullshit excuse that clearly shows you are full of crap in that regard. You may be a decent guy, but cut the bullshit.
If you have writing credits, brag about them.
If you haven't done short stories before, give it a shot and ask for honest feedback. You'd get it from me.
Before I came here I didn't really do short stories. Now I do them all the time. Most are shit, but some worked out damn fine. And I agree that my entry aws the greatest. The last UM I was in was 6-7 rounds. This is round 10. I'm not so much burned out as bored with it. Shorter, tighter contests are better.
Here are examples of quickies that came out of the blue. These were all written in a few hours, and then I posted them, typos and all. I think they turned out quite nice, considering I didn't agonize over every word for weeks on end. I save that for the books I don't sell.
http://www.ubersite.com/m/55222
http://www.ubersite.com/m/66053
http://www.ubersite.com/m/71787
http://www.ubersite.com/m/79743
http://www.ubersite.com/m/80760
http://www.ubersite.com/m/85195
http://www.ubersite.com/m/86430
http://www.ubersite.com/m/86752
http://www.ubersite.com/m/91950
http://www.ubersite.com/m/96072
These aren't literature or high art, but they are not intended to be. They are just practice for me (either creating characters or pulling off astory twists or just fucking around with the flow of the language) and hopefully a few minutes of elsewhere for the reader.
Submitted by experima (user info) at 2007-02-22 15:45:46 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Reminds me of old Sonic Youth...fantastic
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2007-02-22 15:37:55 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Zebra, don't fall off that high horse. It's a long way down. :)
I was fucking with you about your advice. I think Jack, Stagger,
Kaos, and others have done the research. Hell, even I know the
requirements.
You act as though dumping one small story on Uber could besmirch
your reputation to the rest of the world. I don't believe that is
true.
Be careful with words that only have a u in them in certain parts of the
world. You may give hints to your identity...
Submitted by Method (user info) at 2007-02-22 15:35:06 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Why yes, yes you would. Admit it!
DO IT!!!!!!
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2007-02-22 15:30:13 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Method (user info) at 2007-02-22 15:24:02 (#)
Ranking: 0
Bubba, you're just jealous that I'm young, handsome and brilliant (as well as arrogant) and 2/3 of your life is already over, and the first 2/3's weren't anything to brag about. I understand the jealousy, but what I don't understand is why i would ever be caught dead in the same room as that obese pathological liar Jaypig
That hurts more than anything = (
*****************
You may be wrong, son. You could step in front of a bus tomorrow (NYC, 5th & 45th. 9:00AM. Be there).
The Jay thing is one of many things you don't understand, most of them important.
Would I really be jealous of a Greek geek who hawks imitation jewelry that was stolen from
nursing homes? Gimme a break...
Submitted by Zebra (user info) at 2007-02-22 15:26:16 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Stagger - I didn't mean to sound as if you didn't know these things, but knowing is one thing and IMPLEMENTING is another. You have to act. For example, there is a contest in progress right now that is for short stories, and the final round is for the best short story written in 24 hours. It is global and affiliated with a group in New York that also runs a 24 hour short film competition.
The winner WILL get read by those who could help a beginning (in terms of career) writer.
Win THAT contest and you will get a little attention that could help get a rep.
Nothing guaranteed, of course, but a worthwhile endeavour.
Anyone who writes short stories and is serious about it should have known about it and entered.
Jack - I wouldn't be so quick to discount that series of stories you wrote before. Lots of shit gets made these days. You should be adapting all of your stuff to scripts, or at least have it in treatment form.
There is a producer in LA, for example, that actually takes unsolicited logline submissions via e-mail, and he likes the kind of stuff you write, as long as the hook itself is original. You don't even have to write a script. He's probably the only legitimate guy that does that.
I'm not ragging on you, I just thought your story this round was lacking, and I think you know that, too.
Bubba - So sorry to give out advice that could actually be useful to an aspiring writer. I'm sure your grammatical advisories are much more helpful.
Stagger asked nicely, and I told him what I had to say. Maybe he is already doing every goddamn thing I suggested, or maybe he's not. I'm sure if someone had advice for me, I might find something useful.
Just not here.
Submitted by FunnyAsCancer (user info) at 2007-02-22 15:25:52 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Zebra (user info) at 2007-02-21 23:42:02 (#)
Ranking: 0
Bubba, I don't post my work on uber, and any writer serious about his craft who knows his ass from a hole in the ground wouldn't, either.
~~~
Wow, what a colossal douche.
I would think posting your work here would be an excellent idea, because like it or not, *this* is your audience most of the time. As retarded as Uber may come off, it seems to represent a fair slice of demographics.
Why you would deny yourself the opportunity to get FREE feedback, from a bunch of quote-unquote "normies," is beyond me, unless you're a stuck-up elitist.
Submitted by Method (user info) at 2007-02-22 15:24:02 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Bubba, you're just jealous that I'm young, handsome and brilliant (as well as arrogant) and 2/3 of your life is already over, and the first 2/3's weren't anything to brag about. I understand the jealousy, but what I don't understand is why i would ever be caught dead in the same room as that obese pathological liar Jaypig
That hurts more than anything = (
Submitted by cocaine (user info) at 2007-02-22 15:19:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2007-02-22 15:11:19 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I figure at least an eight on the Richter scale.
Submitted by Method (user info) at 2007-02-22 15:03:45 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
haha
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2007-02-22 14:57:10 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2007-02-22 14:51:42 (#)
Ranking: 2
Method, isn't it time to wax your chest for your meeting with Greening next week?
--
Can you imagine the ear-shattering SMACK! as their naked torsos collide?
Jesus.
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2007-02-22 14:51:42 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Method, isn't it time to wax your chest for your meeting with Greening next week?
Submitted by DudeThatsBOSH (user info) at 2007-02-22 14:19:15 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2007-02-22 14:18:50 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
If a DQ situation existed it would have been called already, you dickheads.
You think they want to wait for this to play out, wait to see who wins, THEN call a DQ?
Besides, there is no reason for a DQ.
When Method is really bored, he stands in front of a mirror, pokes himself with a sharp stick, and snaps his teeth.
Submitted by Method (user info) at 2007-02-22 14:06:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
STFU Bubba, go brush your tooth
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2007-02-22 13:58:23 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2007-02-22 13:39:15 (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by gank (user info) at 2007-02-22 13:21:59 (#)
Ranking: -2
And BUBBA, please kindly fuck off if you're going to try and correct my usage of better and best. BEST can be a group of entities, it doesn't have to be just one. If I don't want to distinguish who of a group is TEH BESTEST, then I can just say that W, X, Y & Z are the BEST writers on Uber.
it's sad the way Bubba tries to correct people and thinks his localised, limited grasp of English is the one standard.
He's the kind of cunt who would say 'fishes'.
*********
Speak to me of limited English, ya fuckin British import. Your buddy Gank knows nothing about
superlatives. You just decide whether you want to be a Texan or a Canadian.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2007-02-22 13:48:06 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2006-11-27 14:24:21 (#)
Ranking: 0
isn't horse87 jack's alter?
--
Yes folks, I've had Apollo up my ass for three months straight.
Submitted by Method (user info) at 2007-02-22 13:47:52 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Jack won't be DQed because he and Snark are best internet friends, otherwise Jack wouldn't blatantly break the rules this far into the competition. He knows he can get away with anything.
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2007-02-22 13:39:15 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by gank (user info) at 2007-02-22 13:21:59 (#)
Ranking: -2
And BUBBA, please kindly fuck off if you're going to try and correct my usage of better and best. BEST can be a group of entities, it doesn't have to be just one. If I don't want to distinguish who of a group is TEH BESTEST, then I can just say that W, X, Y & Z are the BEST writers on Uber.
it's sad the way Bubba tries to correct people and thinks his localised, limited grasp of English is the one standard.
He's the kind of cunt who would say 'fishes'.
Has Jack been DQ'd yet?
Submitted by gank (user info) at 2007-02-22 13:23:54 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by kaos-king (user info) at 2007-02-22 09:35:37 (#)
Ranking: 2
1 - Zebra is my new hero.
_____
And I concur.
Submitted by gank (user info) at 2007-02-22 13:23:12 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Mostly, I'm tired of arguing with crotchety old people.
Submitted by gank (user info) at 2007-02-22 13:21:59 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
And BUBBA, please kindly fuck off if you're going to try and correct my usage of better and best. BEST can be a group of entities, it doesn't have to be just one. If I don't want to distinguish who of a group is TEH BESTEST, then I can just say that W, X, Y & Z are the BEST writers on Uber.
Submitted by gank (user info) at 2007-02-22 13:21:37 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
God, I hate when people parse my reviews, and respond to every sentence as if it stands alone. As if it doesn't depend on the sentences that follow it.
Like HORSE87, who missed my overall point. It's NOT difficult or time-consuming to read all the entries. It's NOT difficult to recognize somebody's style. IT IS, however, suspicious that you didn't vote on hardly any other matchups except for Jack's (no wonder why people kept accusing him). At least now you're admitting a bias.
It's almost irrelevant, at this point, that this mess has been cleared up. Now people are just TRYING to piss off Jack, because it's so easy. I am not one of those. Like I said before, my problem was that "I was actually surprised to see him wallowing in the mud with the alters, being suspiciously defensive and carefully wording his reviews to avoid the honest question of whether he was also cheating."
So call me "boy", act like I'm the one that's missing something, and accuse me of researching 'out of the wazoo' (as if it took more than 5-10 minutes), when you're the one that made it very easy for people to let accusations fly.
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2007-02-22 12:49:33 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Zebra (user info) at 2007-02-21 23:42:02 (#)
Ranking: 0
Bubba, I don't post my work on uber, and any writer serious about his craft who knows his ass from a hole in the ground wouldn't, either.
------
what a loser.
Submitted by William_Q_Percy (user info) at 2007-02-22 12:21:25 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by retrospect (user info) at 2007-02-22 11:13:53 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by UberSavedMyLife (user info) at 2007-02-22 11:00:31 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
that made me reeeeaaally thirsty
Submitted by phuzzygish (user info) at 2007-02-22 10:05:06 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by kaos-king (user info) at 2007-02-22 09:35:37 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
1 - Zebra is my new hero.
2 - Did Jack win this yet?
Submitted by JoeyG (user info) at 2007-02-22 09:31:14 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I actually hung up on my boss and pretended it was a phone fault so I could finish reading entry 2.
Submitted by phuzzygish (user info) at 2007-02-22 09:22:20 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
random pick.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2007-02-22 08:13:30 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Well, that was a good take on your perspective, Zebra, but you missed one important point, one I have repeated again and again over the years I have been here,
I write because I like to write. I've been doing it since grade school.
I write because it is FUN.
Your point about discipline in correct. I lack that, but very few of us have the financial freedom to be able to write eight hours a day, and personally, I suspect that would take some of the joy out of writing, which could lead to the bitterness so many feel.
If I eventually make money from what I do for fun, that will only be a bonus, and I have no intention of ever trying to sell any of the short stories done here. Do you seriously think I would ever try marketing such over the top purple crap as my Pandemic stories? Of course not. But God damn, they were fun to write, and a lot of other uberusers enjoyed that world as well.
In the meantime, I'm practicing my skill, or art, or hackery. I'll always have my trademark typos and literary fingerprints in stories, that doesn't concern me. What is important is keeping the juices flowing, keeping the creativity engine running. A timed contest with an assigned title is the perfect spark for finding that kind of magic. I would say that 80% of all my UM submissions have been sub par, with a good 30% being pure undiluted shit that somehow squeaked through, but those few winners that really worked, were magic to write.
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2007-02-22 07:41:49 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Zebra, thanks for belching out the redundant drivel found on many a writing site composed by and for agents. Your Uber mouth flaps in the same breeze as KindaNews', but the resultant hot air, rather than warm our hearts, gives rise to a stench that sickens the soul.
In short: Shut up, asshole. You are a nobody.
Submitted by Spooner (user info) at 2007-02-22 07:23:52 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by DrogoRoch (user info) at 2007-02-22 06:53:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Both good. Congratulations who ever wins.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2007-02-22 05:11:06 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Man I know all that, I was expecting a critique of myself.
But thanks for taking the time.
Submitted by Zebra (user info) at 2007-02-22 01:42:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2007-02-22 00:35:26 (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Zebra (user info) at 2007-02-22 00:06:58 (#)
Ranking: 0
Ask me nicely for writerly advice and I'll change your life with a paragraph.
==========
Advice, please.
==========
ahahahaha
We have a winner.
As I told you before, Stagger, there is no market for short fiction. NONE.
There are magazines and journals that pay for short fiction but the amounts are unbelievably low.
And even if you send in a story and they want to publish it, they expect first publication rights.
Because of the internet explosion, this is starting to even include sites like this.
The web gives, and it takes away. The very ease by which you can find the venues for your work also helps those editors discover that same work has been 'previously published.' THEY DO NOT WANT IT IF IT'S BEEN PUBLISHED, EVEN ON UBER. If you need feedback, for Christ's sake get it somewhere else.
Playboy pays the most for short stories but publishes only 'name' authors, with exceptions extremely rare.
Harper's and other well known mags take submissions but they publish short stories by Pulitzer winning novelists, so what chance do you have? There are hundreds of other, much smaller magazines and literary journals that are, of course, easier. Those are the ones to send your stuff to. The Sun, for example, is decent.
The place to submit your fiction is not to ubersite but to lit mags like these and contests (there are an amazing number of university presses and other such entities that sponsor these) so that you can become a 'published author.' Believe it or not, literary agents actually do respect someone who has been published in a literary journal. They do NOT respect a self published novelist. Sorry.
Which is the real key. You must have a literary agent. Period.
But, it is impossible to get literary representation unless you are referred.
So, you get published or accepted into a magazine or journal or win one of the hundreds of contests and you work those people who judged your work (most of whom are published writers and enter the same type of contests) and you get a referral any way you can.
Because NO ONE will get published or make money from their writing without an agent. EVER.
The best way to get published is to get an agent, and you can't get an agent without having been published.
But you just get off your ass and get serious and do it. Ubersite is not a place for serious writers who know anything. It is a place to fuck around while you steal paperclips. Nothing wrong with that. Those who think they will use it for whatever they want are kidding themselves.
Getting an agent is like beating your head against a fucking wall nowadays, as I'm sure jack knows, because in spite of my dislike for his last story, I do think he really wants to do something with his writing.
But he sounds bitter and probably spent years trying and failing, which is what most do.
My real advice would be to quit, because it is fucking hard and next to impossible, and 99% fail.
Save yourself the heartache. But if you must write, get an agent any which way you can.
Keep in mind screenplays pay much better and if you have a good one that gets read by the right people (which is easier than you might think) you will get an agent more quickly regardless of whether the thing gets made. (most don't) Succeeding there is even harder, but a great script will get attention a fuck of a lot more quickly than a great short story. If prose is your thing, you really need to write a novel and it has to be fucking great and how many people actually have a great novel in them? 99% FAILURE RATE ALL THE WAY AROUND
There are websites that list every contest known to man and you should be entering all of them, not posting for uber.
Discipline is key.
I write eight hours a day, five days a week. Even if I sit looking at the computer for seven of those hours, I still sit there.
If you have a regular job, then writing must be your second job and you have to sit there after the job that pays your bills and write. You have to write every day. You have to be brutal on yourself and re-write like hell.
Kaos is right to publish his own short stories because no one publishes short stories. But if he was really smart he would buy Final Draft and write a horror script, because horror is selling like there's no tomorrow.
Put something you write on Youtube, in one form or another. Some of the bigger agencies will actually accept unsolicited material if it's internet based. They actually have people whose job is to scour Youtube and find material. But they are probably not going to find your shit on ubersite.
Well,
This was a LOT longer than a paragraph, and I don't suppose it will change anyone's life, but I was having a little fun with jack/horse.
Screenplays, baby. That's where it's at, and there are a lot of contests for those, too.
But whatever your preference, you should quit. If