Grab your shovels,  things are coming in 2012..........  

He noticed how at home she seemed to be as she walked through the park, occasionally stopping to touch a flower or watch the other children who were playing ball or swinging on the swing sets, but mostly she just kept walking, oblivious to anything that was going on around her. The bangs of her straight brown hair were long, and hung low enough to keep him from actually seeing her face, but he knew that it was her. She was always there and he always came to watch over her while she played. He hadn't been asked to do it. But since no one else ever did, he'd arbitrarily appointed himself to the job. It was all a little strange and even knowing that it was for her own good didn't help to alleviate the nagging feeling that he was nothing more than your ordinary voyeuristic pervert.


Everything felt strange. He could hear all the sounds one would expect to hear in a crowded park: the kids laughing, joggers trotting by, radios playing, car horns honking, even the incessant ringing of the ice cream trucks bell - but they were all muffled and distant; all except for the music, and he couldn't tell where it was coming from. He could hear Michael Mc Donald lamenting, "I keep forgetting we're not in love anymore", but no matter which way he turned he couldn't find the radio that was playing it.


The smell of freshly cut grass rode the wind under his nose, but he couldn't find the tracks that the mower would have surely left, just like when they used to mow the ball field early Saturday mornings before his little league games. The radio, every now and then sounding muffled like someone had their hands cupped over the speaker, clamored on; but no matter where he looked, he couldn't find it. He looked from one rolling hill to the other and from his feet to the front gate, no one had a radio with them. Finally, he gave up.



When he looked back her way, she was skipping about in circles causing her curly blond hair to bounce up off her shoulders and dance about her face. It looked alive, like a very close friend playing along with her. Suddenly, she stopped, the hair falling lifelessly over her shoulders, and started walking toward the woods at the other end of the park. The woods were forbidden. He had to stop her.


The music wasn't loud but it drowned out his cries for her to stop. He was screaming "get back here", but all he could hear was Phil Collins voice singing, "It's against all odds. But it�s the chance I'll have to take."


He had given up screaming and was just about to run down and get her, when she suddenly stopped and turned back toward the center of the park. He wiped his head perfunctorily and sat back down, noticing how the sweat glittered like hot oil on the back of his hand.


"It's too late baby, now it's too late": the voice was soothing and he began wondering who sang the song. "Something inside has died, and I can't hide and I just can't take it.�


He looked around again, trying to find the radio. He couldn't. The smell of fresh cut grass was gone now, just like the fresh cut tracks that'd never been there. He looked around for both, and a cab caught his wandering eye as it pulled in on the other side of the park. It was his ride: just like clock work.


He looked back at her. She'd knelt down in the grass and was plucking dandelions from a bright green clover patch. He looked back at the cab: it'd barely moved. He looked back at her again. She had a hand full of the dandelions and was raising them to her mouth. With one hard breath, thousands of tiny white specks were floating around her head and nothing was left of the dandelions but their stems. The tiny white seeds looked like snow on a dark untraveled road as they began falling to rest in her jet black hair. He thought that today, maybe, he would tell his ride to go on and he would just sit and watch.


The honk of the horn startled him and he was surprised when he turned and saw the cab sitting by the curb directly behind him - waiting, impatiently. Without thinking he got up, walked over to it and got in. The wheels had just begun to spin when he remembered the girl. With a jerk, he turned to look out the side window, his nose and palms pressed flat against the glass as his eyes searched the park. He couldn't find her at first and immediately knew that he must look the one place that he didn't want to look. The one place where he knew he would find her - the woods.


That's where she was; standing not more than two feet from the tree line; peering in. Her head was cocked to the side, apparently out of curiosity, and she appeared to be shyly avoiding someone, or thing, that was standing behind the trees, just out of sight. The cab pulled away from the curb and quickly picked up speed as it headed out of the park. He was going to scream at her, but there was no way to get the windows down - the handles weren't missing, they'd never been installed. The glass fogged quickly from his heavy breathing and within seconds became a gray curtain that prevented him from seeing anything. Using his elbow, he began rubbing the glass furiously to clear a spot so he could look through.


He could only watch as a stranger, dressed entirely in black, walked up beside her and started to lead her into the woods. She walked with him at first, but stopped and started to try to get away when her foot broke the plane between grass and woods. The cabby ignored his pleas to stop. Trapped in the cab, he felt helpless and started beating on the back window as he watched the stranger pick her up and throw her over his shoulder.


There was no pain when his knuckles, and then the glass, began to shatter from his punches. The skin around his knuckles split, allowing the blood to flow freely from his fist. It accented the spider webbed patterns of splintering glass with an erratic outline of crimson smudges. The window wouldn't give, no matter how hard he hit it.


The girl, the park, the stranger and the cab disappeared as Mathew struggled to open his eyes. Sitting up, he realized that he had been dreaming, and the incessant music sound tracking his dreams was being performed by his alarm clock. With what looked to be to be his last breath of life, he slapped its snooze button and, without removing his hand, dropped back to his pillow and went right back to sleep.


Time for work.

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"The question isn't who is going to let me; it's who is going to stop me."

Today is the 100th birthday of President Ronald Wilson Reagan. The liberal media labeled him a "cowboy", a moniker they thought, and for some bizarre reason believed the rest of America would agree, was an embarrassingly stinging, salient insult. Pea brains. As usual, they were wrong. America embraced its cowboy in a landslide - an embrace that, to their dismay, their twisted agenda has not been able to break to this day.

We need a cowboy today. A MAN who sees America's greatness and believes that it is a beacon of freedom and liberty to humanity around the globe. Unfortunately we have a set of ears in a suit who sees nothing but faults in our country and wanders the globe apologizing for every breath our country has ever taken.

Reagan was the quintessential president and DC should be humbled that he graced its wretched halls. Happy Birth Day, Gipper!

 A woman who suffers from an extreme form of narcolepsy has told how her condition caused her to fall asleep 100 times a day just by laughing.

Cambridge scientist Claire Allen, 35, suffers from cataplexy, a symptom of narcolepsy, triggered by strong emotions such as fear, surprise or laughter.

An attack causes her to lose control of her body and she collapses into a deep sleep and paralysed, although she remains conscious.

Attacks can last between 30 seconds and five minutes, and at its worst Claire endured up to 100 a day.

A “surprise” as simple as a chair in a room having moved to a different place or giggling at a shared joke could spark an attack and leave her helpless on the floor.

But Claire has found a new lease of life and now only suffers several attacks every month thanks to Xyrem, a new drug developed to help narcoleptics.

Forget wasting money on drugs. She could just DVR a season of Saturday Night Live, a couple of weeks worth of Jay Leno's opening monologues and anything that Bill Maher does, then put it on and endless loop on her TV.

She'd never laugh again. She might become hopelessly suicidal, but laughter would no longer be a problem.

http://www.cambridge-news.co.uk/Home/I-fell-asleep-100-times-a-day-and-whenever-I-laughed.htm

Despite a Republican takeover of the House, 239 to 183, Nancy Pelosi has pledged to keep a smile on her face. Probably because it is now physically/surgically IMPOSSIBLE for her to make any other facial expression.

Part-time Democrat scrote polisher, John Mc Cain, held his seat, thus insuring that there will be another 6 years of narcissistic lip service and reach arounds. He says this will be his last term. Right! I'll by tickets to that. I think I see a listening tour in his future.

Somehow, Harry Reid held his seat. Actually, that is not so hard to believe coming from a state that is saturated with rigged machines. During the debates Harry said, “I invested my money well, lived on a fixed income out there...”

Hmmmm.... he invested his money well. Kickbacks are always a good investment, but more to the point he says HE invested his money well. This from the guy who railed against letting Americans take their Social Security and invest it themselves. Essentially, he is saying,”You are to damn stupid to be intrusted with your financial future. Only we pseudo wizard masters of all that is your time here on earth can aptly make those decisions. Now give us your money and shut up, minion.”

Oh well, I guess this election was a first step. I just hope the Republicans realize that this was not a vote FOR them! Shovel on!

A Chicago voter is being treated for serious injuries suffered when a hit-and-run driver slammed into him outside a polling place on the city's South Side.

Maybe it is just me, but I don't think that is how the Motor Voter Bill is supposed to work.

Authorities aren't identifying the man who was hit as he entered the polling place on South Archer Avenue. Chicago Board of Elections spokesman Jim Allen says the victim flew into the air and landed on the car before the driver sped off.

An emergency room worker at Mount Sinai Hospital says the victim is in guarded condition.

Then added that there was no need to worry because, even if the victim dies, his vote will still be counted. At least TWICE!

An elections investigator chased the driver and took down his license plate number as he sped through red lights. Allen says two men are in police custody.

http://www.suntimes.com/news/24-7/2857038,voter-hit-and-run-chicago-110210.article