Faithful readers may remember so many weeks ago when I mentioned that the last time I had a run in with Vincent Conroy there was an angry mob fully willing to tear him to shreds, despite being made up of the living and not the dead.
It was years ago, exactly how many I can’t rightly recall. Vincent was the leader of a small trading outpost, call the whole thing a blueprint for what he would later do in New Bunker. He would tax the traders unfairly for the right of his protection and in exchange offer a supposedly safe place for them to do their business.
Honest (if you can consider trading life’s necessities for a profit honest) men and women worked their trade and Vincent sat back and reaped the rewards. He himself always trading in the most lucrative medicine and drugs, all pre-Collapse, all very pure. The likes of which nobody had ever seen in years. It all made no sense.
Where did he get his supply? I found out. And it wasn’t pretty. The truth of the matter was enough to turn every single person in that outpost against him. In fact, up until that fateful phone call on my way to this forsaken city, I had presumed they had killed him. I still have no idea how he had gotten out.
But the Truth of it all was too compelling. I had the story, but I needed the proof. Even with Conroy dead (or so I thought), the story needed uncovering. And so I did. Peeling back layers of mis-information contaminated by decades of decay. Unfolding the crumpled, discarded secrets of yesteryear and ultimately coming across celluloid proof of Conroy’s reeking, fetid bullshit. ↓ Read the rest of this entry…
So as you may (or may not, I don’t know who you are) have noticed, the progression over at Zombies and Loathing has been rolling on. It’s done. I have written all of it. It measures in at around 50 pages which I’m actually pretty happy with, I think much longer and it would overstay its welcome. I mean, it’s a zombie story that will be finishing about 4 years after the zombie crazy, so it has probably already overstayed its welcome.
But it was still nice to finish a thing.
I had the ending mapped out in my mind nearly 2 years ago, and I can tell you here and now (you’ll see in a few weeks) that it is not the best ending ever.
What happened?
I am not really sure.
I planted all the little seeds for the climax to come together in a way that felt out of nowhere but was actually tying in a bunch of little, seemingly insignificant little details that the narrator had dropped over the course of the story, but I’ve re-read what I wrote a bunch of times and it just doesn’t click the way I want it to.
Should I flesh it out more? Should I add more suspense? More observations from the St-Brigid?
I wander through the streets of New Bunker in a haze. I can’t remember the last time I slept. I’m trying to wean myself off of the stims. The state of things I can’t imagine having access to them for much longer.
Mission accomplished?
The fuck if I know.
I pass through the market square, once a bustling hotbed of the needy and greedy in a death match for a bargain. Wheeling and dealing away their lives for the basic necessities and whatever shreds of luxury they could afford. Clean water for a book. A doll for a needle. Your body for a drug.
It is abandoned now. Nobody is willing to pay for what they know Conroy had in surplus. Instead the denizens of this corrupt little town, a so called island of “civilization” in a world gone mad where the dead walk and press up against the very gates of the city, spend their energies on open revolt.
The so called “law” of New Bunker had vanished. From what I’ve managed to gather, it seems that anyone worth a damn is in hiding. The wealthy are picking sides. Some are holding steadfastly to the idea that Conroy is still in charge, vowing to throw in with him as soon as he reveals his plans. Others are siding with The Banker, recognizing the pudgy little man as the heir apparent to the status quo of maintaining their strangle-hold on the meat grinder that is this city. Others still see opportunity for themselves, trying to rally their resources to make some kind of a power grab.
I’m painfully blind to the inner workings of the 1% of New Bunker. Who is benefiting? Who’s alive and who is dead?
My contact with my Benefactor has ceased entirely. All back channels of communication with them has gone silent. I never even had the chance to explain myself. I would have told them what happened, we could have made this work to our advantage. ↓ Read the rest of this entry…
Welcome to Drink to Think,
the show about alcohol, cocktails and how a drink might be able to make us better people. The basic format of the podcast will revolve around one cocktail per episode. We will go into the history of the cocktail or liquors involved, followed by a story of how some form of meaning can be given to the cocktail and finish with a tasting. You are encouraged to make the cocktail with us and if possible have a tasting with some friends just as we do in the show.
Many of the story portions of this show will be excerpts from the manga Bartender written by Araki Joh and illustrated by Kenji Nagatomo. The overarching theme of the podcast is on alcohol and its trappings but the underlying theme is about human hardship and creativity. Hardship because when you need a drink it is often because you have had a rough day and creativity because it is very impressive that humans can apply a great deal of meaning to anything in their lives. For example, this show will explain how a simple story can make a world of difference around something as simple as a glass of liquor.
Hope you enjoy and here’s to you my friends.
Today’s Cocktail: Red Eye
A very simple cocktail. Basically a pint of beer and a shot of tomato juice and give it a little stir. We are going to try it with 4 different types of beer -Pilsner, IPA, Red beer and a Stout. The results may surprise you. The great thing about this podcast is I get to talk about beer which has played a pretty important role in humanity over the millennia.
I will be joined by my old friend Travis for the tasting.
He actually has been under the weather for a few weeks, but today, Marisa had time to take him to the clinic. Aside from a head cold, Arch has an ear infection.
So she took him to the mall, first to get the prescription filled, and then I would meet up with them and we’d have some supper at the food court.
Ris got some Thai soup. I got some ramen and some chicken teriyaki, as I was hedging my bets as to what Arch would like to eat.
He does not want to eat. His tummy hurts and he is not hungry. We try to coax him into a few bites, but he’s adamant. In the end, we figure he’s had a tough day and we let him have some OJ, figuring that we can get him a snack once we get home.
After a few sips, he scoots over to Ris and wants to cuddle her.
Then he projectile-vomits. All. Over. Ris.
Movie special effect style. It was spectacular.
Two ladies from housekeeping happen to be walking by as he hurls, and hurls, and hurls again. Archer and Marisa are both soaked with Archer-puke.
What do you do? What do you do when your wife and son are soaked to the bone in vomit in the middle of the food court? There is no parenting book that has a cute little mnemonic to deal with a situation like this. What to expect when your family is puke-juicy in the food court is not a book I’ve ever seen.
I, of course, offer up my napkin. Marisa is stunned by the gesture and its lack of any use.
We take a minute to just try and parse what has happened. We have no experience to draw on here. The two housekeeping ladies are super chill. They go get the mop guy and are reassuring. I take Archer to the men’s room. He was wearing splash pants, so his joggers underneath are unscathed. His tee is a mess.
He says “I’m sorry I throwed up everywhere. Please wash my t-shirt.”
I’m staying very zen somehow, I think because if I freak out, he’ll freak out.
I wash him up and dry him off under the high-powered hand dryer. I have his sweater in my bag, so he puts that on with no shirt underneath, but it itches him. I rinse off his boots and dry them too. Yay for men’s rooms with changing stations, but boo for no paper towels. Archer is very concerned for his t-shirt and makes sure I rinse it out and take it with us.
We go back to the table, and somehow, Marisa has cleaned up. Wonder Woman, I swear. She had a spare sweater too. The mop guy is there and the table is all tidy too. What dark magic just happened?
I leave the kiddo with the wifey, as I MUST go get Archer a t-shirt to wear under his sweater or deal with 45 minutes of unending whine until we get home. Winners. 10$. Size 5 “DC Shoes” tee, and it looks cool. We cut the tags off and put it on the kiddo. As our appetites our gone, I toss the food in the nearest bin.
Archer says he’s hungry.
Yes. After all that, he wants something to eat.
We take the metro home, and he’s generally non-plussed by the whole affair. We walk in the house and Archer gets a bath. Ris spends 30 minutes in the shower. He gets cartoons and grilled cheese, and he’s up 2 hours past his bed-time. (Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Pokemon, if you’re wondering.)
My mind raced through my movements since I got to New Bunker. Every person I had spoken to. Every accent I had affected, every disguise I had adorned. Had it all been for nothing?
A terrible lump works its way into my throat and for once, I am speechless.
The fat disgusting little man in front of me grins and licks his lips. The way his beady little eyes narrow on me disturbingly makes me think of how he must look at whatever vile creation he thinks of as food.
“You’re speechless. Good. I was hoping we could move forward without dealing with your patented quips and commentary.”
Even as the lump subsides I decide it’s most prudent to keep my smart mouth shut. It’s all about getting a read on your opponent. The smarm and defiance that worked against my benefactor wouldn’t be nearly as effective here against the Banker. Although, I must admit, I am getting quite fed up of people identifying me by name. I suppose there’s some solace in the fact that my mother never called me ‘St-Brigid’ but still, it’s not like there’s any active government registry these days. Our pseudonyms are as good as our identities.
My first reason for staying quiet, Pruitt, jabs me from behind. Right in the kidneys.
“Motherfucker!”
“Boss is talking to you.”
I grip my back in pain. Right. The stims. Fucking with my sense of timing. How long had I zoned out? Pure, military grade my fucking ass.
“As I was saying, I control Conroy’s stockpiles. As you saw coming in earlier today, we have amassed quite the substantial little horde. And it’s all a great, big, secret. Even from some of Vincent’s closest allies. Vincent’s gotten greedy, very greedy. He’s been squeezing every little bit of surplus from all his different “businesses”. The pit bosses, the gatekeepers, the managers of the bars and the casinos all of them paying steeper and steeper tithes to King Vincent. I’m willing to bet that if we leaked some choice footage to just the right people, nobody would be able to keep those people from taking out their bloody wrath on poor Mr. Conroy.” ↓ Read the rest of this entry…
Don’t worry, there’s going to be a Zombies and Loathing going up this afternoon if you’re one of the two people who are paying attention to the progress over there.
That reminds me, I need to update the Table of Contents with the new parts. Grumble-grumble.
So what’s going on?
As you may have noticed, we’ve updated our menu bar! It makes more sense and is a little more logically laid out if you come to the site and don’t know who Jon, Scott, Keith and Sophie are. We still need to tighten up a few things up there, but I think it’s a lot cleaner.
Also, Sophie and then Scott have been sick over the last few weeks, which is why there hasn’t been a lot of movement over on 9to5 (illustrated). The snowstorm that triggered the storyline has passed and now the entire city is in the middle of one of those “February thaws” that happen all the time and are totally not unusual. I’m guessing the ending will pop up next week.
So I mean, stuff is happening. Slowly. Just not this week. Or at least, not up until today.
I have the ambitious plan of writing out the final chapter today, but we’ll see how that goes. ↓ Read the rest of this entry…
Scott: So, I just want to say that “The Incredible Hulk” from 1982 has possibly the greatest theme song of all time. You can have your Spider-Man ’67 and your Batman: TAS, but they don’t come close to the epic thundering march of this song. It’s glorious.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YoirUZQzYIw
That said, the rest of the show is a real mixed bag. The Hulk in this show is a great version of the character. The simple rampaging monster that is almost at war with Bruce Banner is a lot of fun, and the new cartoons rarely touch on that side. The real problem is the rest of the cast; Rick Jones is all over the place, swinging wildly from sidekick to annoying hindrance. Major Talbot is a serviceable toady, but they lean too heavily on him. Betty Ross is an awful character incapable of staying out of trouble. The villains are straight up strange choices for Hulk to fight. I mean, one episode has Hulk up against Doctor Octopus, and that’s just weird.
Jason: I can’t agree more about the title theme song. Either as pump music for the gym or getting you to work in the morning, this is one of those that truly hits the tuning fork in the primal areas of your brain. If ever I go on a rampage then this song will be on loop under my luchador mask.
So this one was back to back with Spider-man and his Amazing friends, so this whole hour of TV was pure awesome for me. Animation quality was fine for the time, and they weren’t doing anything new. I think there was even a crossover with Spider-man and his Amazing friends, and just like that show Stan Lee’s iconic voice introduced each show. This is one of the few Hulk’s I’ve seen out of print that really plays up that the hulk and Banner are separate personalities in the Dr.s head, and the Hulk really hates banner. That is an aspect of the true inspiration for Hulk Jeckle and Hyde. All in all a great baseline for the complex Green Giant and this one has a special place in my heart.
Scott: Hulk and the Agents of SMASH, man. I watched a bit of it when it first hit Netflix and bit last night, and this cartoon commits that cardinal sin of entertainment television; it is boring.
Following on the heels of Ultimate Spider-Man and Avengers Assemble, (both of which are great, snappy shows), SMASH tries really hard to follow the game plan. But it fails pretty badly. The team has almost no chemistry, and it fails to both challenge the Hulks in any dramatic way and to showcase their strength with any sense of awe.
I know you like this one Jay, so gimmie something here.
Jason: OK so I’m a big fan of Agents of S.H.E.I.L.D, and I know this caught my eye for that reason originally. Right away the problem we’re having I believe is Hulk himself. The Hulk is Mr. Hyde, the dark side of all folks who just wanna smash shit. So right away we’re dealing with a late version Hulk who:
1. Doesn’t transform, and
2. Acts like a calm Leonardo type instead “Hulk SMASH!”
What makes this work though for this particular format is the rest of the team. When Captain America is around we don’t need smart or controlled Hulk to remind us of Dr. Jekyll inside the Hulk. This show has big Mr. Green basically being Captain A to a team of Hulks. Red Hulk is great, he totally is Rafael. Voiced perfectly by Clancy Brown, or as I like to think of him: Mr Krabs with [Seth Green as] A-Bomb filming the whole thing for web series. I think that adds an innovative twist to the format of the show more than just monster of the week. Skaar is the mindless violence we all love about Hulk. The animation is a lot like all the modern cartoons.
The second problem (I know you’ve got with this one Scott) is it’s very light-hearted, family friendly and almost hokey slapstick. It’s a fun departure from the dark gothic roots of Jekyll and Hyde, but it’s very fun and lots of fourth wall breaks and cameos from the Marvel Universe keep it fun for me.
So I call this one Fun Hulk, not Dark Hulk, which we have yet to see out of print.
So here is my issue; according to my scoring system, we got a tie. What do I do? Well, it’s a coin flip and really the New Hulk and Agents of SMASH is a better cartoon only by standing on the shoulders of Hulk 82′. It’s a Tale of Two Hulks, and I call this a win for the younger one. That was a tough choice, though.
Scott: I dunno, opening sequence alone puts ’82 up there for me, but I will concede that Hulk and the Agents if SMASH is more complex and refined.
Jason: Yep, and trust me that opening sequence nearly trumps more than 30 years of cartoon and story development. Hulk 82′ vs Hulk and agents of smash 2013. To anyone reading our articles I encourage you to watch both and decided for yourself. It will make you feel better, but of course as always were right.
The winner, by a green hair, Hulk and the Agents of S.M.A.S.H.!
The manifestations of my nightmares claw at the very edges of my peripheral vision. Threatening to become reality if I so much as glance towards them. Every tortured face of every wasteland denizen I’ve left behind in the wake of my ceaseless, ill-advised pursuit of some God-forsaken notion of Truth. The lives I’ve ruined. The cries of the dead and the damned.
But I am alert. I have my senses. The ghosts of the past have no hold on me even as they advance towards me with venomous intent.
I know what is real and I know what I must do.
I imagine myself like the soldiers of a bygone era. These chemicals coursing through my veins. On a forced march for days on end. Long breaks between the hot flashes of killing. Miles underfoot towards the next grizzly explosion of violence. No sleep, never sleep. The stims in their system keeping them alert, singularly focused on the task at hand to the detriment of all other thoughts and impulses.
How long is it before they forget their friends and families? Do they even know what they used to do for fun? Is it only a matter of time before they forget their own names in this artificially enhanced state.
I may not be a military man, but life and death is at stake. I don’t know who I am, but I know what I am fighting for.
After my release from The Banker, I took up the task of seeking my Benefactor. I knew better than to think I would truly get an audience in person with him, the paranoia following the clumsy attempt on my life goes both ways.
It was hour 6.
Only 6 hours removed from my encounter with Pruitt and that fat little son of a bitch called the Banker. The rapping of bony fingers against the steel door of my hidey-hole pulled me from the stim induced trance that had me going over the minutiae of the ever evolving plan unfolding in my brain.
It was the Skeleton Man. Wordlessly he placed a briefcase in the entrance of my abode. The bogeyman come to life didn’t seem to need words. I knew precisely what he was saying:
So, a couple of months ago, Jon watched Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes back, and as we tend to do on 9ES, we ranked the movie. Jon laid it all on the line and vaulted the arguably best Star Wars movie straight to the top of “The List“.
Scott is currently texting me right now about how Fury Road is all style no-substance. What I don’t think he’s remembering correctly is that Empire Strikes back is very little style, very little substance. It’s not the best movie ever made. It’s not better than Brick and it’s not better than Fury Road. It might be as good as John Wick, but even then I’d be skeptical. The only reason Empire even deserves to be as high as that is pure nostalgia, which I’ll admit is definitely a weighted factor on The List (looking at you “Hackers”).
Full disclosure: Even though I’m about to tear into Empire Strikes Back, it remains one of my favorite movies and is still my favorite of the Star Wars franchise.
(See Table of Contents for previous installments)
