flargarglar

garblagblaglbgarglegarblestorytime.

February 14th, 2006

I decide to take a run for it, and its all like betchew betchew betchew, and there are bullets zinging around everywhere, kicking up dust and causing general chaos with the alarm blaring and the floodlights going back and forth, and me bouncing around like a kangaroo that just chugged five cans of Red Bull, going like whew whoop whoosh while I do, trying to find were my guns are... then having to go back into the prison compound, stealing a guard's gun and asking him where they are, and then, after all of that, he says that they're confiscated and aren't here. I ask him where they were, then he says the confiscation room at the local sheriff's office... I knock him down and sprint like hell to the prison gate, shoot the chain link in a little line and dive out the hole. I made it.

February 16th, 2006

It took a bunch of lies and me dressing up as a police officer to get my stuff back, but eventually, I did it. Now to find Mr. Secret-cult-guy. Well, I go and check out the San Diego Airport, but, unfortunately, no luck. Aahhh. what to do? How will I find them. I go to a coffee shop to think it out. Once I get there, I sit down on the way to big leather couch with a Fredochino (The manager's special version of a "Frapachino") and start to think. I get distracted by the TV and start watching it. It's all pretty dull, except the stuff about the troops in Iraq. Then the CNN lady starts talking about a shootout. I ask the guy behind the counter to turn the volume up. "A group of men have taken hold in an abandoned office building in a shootout with the police. They have been identified as the known and powerfulcult Wu´di´ Lύjῡn, Mandarin for Invincible Army. They are involved in criminal activities across the globe. We don't yet know why they're in San Diego, but more to come as the story comes." Dammit. I didn't even get to finish my Fredochino. Ah, well. Off we go!

Breakouts...

I've realized that this is the second prison breakout this blog has had so far... oh well. AnYwAy... whoa, that was cool. Anyway...

February 14th, 2006

I sit in my jail cell, just waiting. It's pretty bright, since we're so close to the city, and the noises of it gently whisper off in the distance. The air is humid down here, thicker then I'm used to... it's hard to breath. Birds have stopped chirping a while ago, so otherwise, it's dead quiet. But still, I lay on my cot, waiting. Because at 12:18, I'm breaking out. For some weird reason, I'm in a low security section of a prison, so It shouldn't be too hard, but still, I've gotta be careful. I take the ketchup packets I snuck out of the mess hall today and squeeze the thick liquid into my hair and a little onto the side of my head I look at myself in the mirror, mush the ketchup around a little bit, flip my cot sideways and get under it, then I scream for the guard. He comes and curses a little bit and then unlocks my cell. 'shit, what happened?' he asks me as he lifts the cot up and pulls me to my feet. Luckily he leaves the cell door open. I flip him, pin him onto the ground with my knee, and with one hand I cover his mouth and with the other I push his nerve as hard as I can against his neck, and after about three minutes I've cut off his blood stream. He's unconscious. I've always liked that trick. Anyway, I take the keys out of the door, lock him in, and then run. I'm not unlocking the other cells for three reasons. For one, they don't really like me. For two, that would take a lot of time and the guard would find out. And three, They've all done really bad crimes. I wouldn't want a hundred family abusers, murders, and arsonists running around the city. So I run, whisper quiet past the cells and into the prison yard. Then I hear sirens. The floodlights beam on and across the prison yard. The night guard must have seen the one I knocked out. The floodlight catches me. Only one thing I can do know. GERONIMOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

ahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa...

I'm not taking MY sneakers off... NEAH! Anyway, let's get back to the story...

January 29th, 2006

And now in the blink of an eye, I'm back in Kuwait... I'm running through that village like a madman, not having any control over my body, just doing things by instinct... kind of the opposite of battle fatigue, bloodlust, not thinking, trying to think, doing things I didn't know I could or would do... kicking down doors, blasting up anything that moved, even killing a few civilians... shit. Then I see Teddy take one in the side, and another in the chest... oh god, not Ted... not another dead friend... I see the Iraqi that shot him and I run up to him and crack him over the head with the butt of my rifle... I see the blood dripping down his forehead and only feel satisfaction... I drop my rifle and punch him in the face with my bare hands... again and again... and I don't stop... like I said, no control over my body... just whacking him and whacking him as hard as I can... he feebly tries to defend himself by holding up his hands in front of his face, but i just grab him by the shirt, pull him up and keep hitting him... his jacket is soaked with blood, and so is my fist, but I just keep hitting him... he tries to get away, but i go after him and slam him down onto the ground... as soon as I know it the other men from my platoon are there, at least five of them holding me back, five more running over to help that poor guy, and I just keep pulling at them and trying to break free, screaming, yelling, my eyes wild and bloodshot, struggling to break free, fighting my unit, hoping on my adrenaline rushing through me to give me strength to break loose and beat on him again... holy crap, what am I doing? Then, CRACK! I feel pain, except not really, and I come crashing to the ground... and then, right when I go unconscious in my weird coma world, I come conscious in the real world...

"Hell, this guy is a tough one!" I hear my doctor yell. He looks at me. "You've got some heart there, buddy. One second, your perfectly fine, and then your vitals flatline, just like that, then your heart starts beating like crazy! It keeps doing that over and over again!" he's young, I'm guessing about mid-twenties, and seems really excited. I try to get off the bed, but a screaming pain inside my chest tells me not to... I open my shirt, only to find my entire body wrapped in gauss. What happened? I look at my right fist. The knuckles are still gnarled and misshapen... that was one hell of a day. The heart monitor goes back to normal again, and one by one the doctors leave. Each one asks me a few questions about my health and crap like that, and then, eventually, they all leave... and the room is empty... including me... It feels like I'm not quite there, it feels like I'm somewhere else, whether its in the Middle East or my apartment in Toronto... I'm defiantly not in this hospital bed.

February 7th, 2006

I've been recovering in the hospital for a while, and the doctor says I'm 'all stitched up and better', so three officers eve so kindly escorted me to the nearest police station. Questioning time.

"And so, let me ask you, why are you doing this in the first place?" asks one of the cops. I dunno, I reply, but I know thats not true. It's just something about leaving a dead man's wishes untended seems immoral, even if you didn't even know the person. It's just... wrong. "So you have no motives at all?" the second cop asks. Nope, I say, and before I can say slinky I'm in a jail cell, and before I can say slink I'm thinking up an escape plan.