Bonds Have More Fun

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July 15, 2018, by Patrick Starks

BONDS HAVE MORE FUN MAIN

There I stood over my Hollywood mansion, over the balcony, sipping on what I would call one of the strongest Martinis to ever be made. The weather was perfect, the morning even, yet the world was not enough, not for me at least. Although, the anonymous beauty that lied on my cloud filled bed would make me feel otherwise—like a pile of leaves she was, like mother nature herself.

I had been called on many assignments in my youthful years, however, it seemed my time in my prime had run out. There isn’t many in this life that can say that they’ve had a license to kill, but for a man like myself that was nothing challenging at all, not in the slightest.

There, of course, were many years before my time when such men achieved this. And first of those men would Sean, the original of us all, the OG, the very one who taught us to fight for what we believe, no matter how much our doctors said no.

Sean was quite the character you see, especially with the ladies, that of which I had heard he was somewhere in Russia chasing love, and none have seen him since. However, ask enough women of this man and you will surely find him soon enough. One would have never thought that an old geezer like he would be into the Simpsons, but he was. And trust when I say if one was ever to put a butter finger in front of this man, it would, in fact, your finger. And the list would go on, undoubtedly.

Second, was George, and not George of the mighty jungle if that’s what you’re thinking. Nevertheless, George could swing on any bullwhip better than Indiana Jones himself, if one asked him to. But I won’t say much about George, for the queen was never fond of him. Although, I can’t really talk, seeing how I was told to never step foot in England again. But that is another story to tell.

Carrying on.

Third, was… wait for it, wait for it… Roger. And again, do not be silly, this is not Mr. Roger from yours or my neighborhood. I’m talking about the “Roger,” the one man that made Sean choke on his martini for the first time ever, however, it was his own fault for ordering it wrong in the first place. It’s supposed to be shaken, not stirred if your reading this Sean.

Roger, like Sean, was also quite the ladies’ man, but of course, we all wielded such extravagant charm. Let’s just say we all had a way of making a woman’s you know what go OCTO for cocoa puffs if that even goes together. But don’t judge me, it’s the only metaphor I could think of.

And out of us all, Roger was always Q’s favorite. I mean, come on! He got a bloody golden gun for Pete sake, and his Christmas list would get even more ridiculous over time. Still, to this day Q says that Roger found the gun on a mission, but I know that that’s a bunch of rubbish. But martini revenge was sweet—Q’s burning eyes would show this.

On top of it all, Roger was the highest paid, he had all the money, while the rest of us only got so much as a penny to spare. And just the thought of it breaks my heart, I just never got the chance to tell her how much I really felt, how much she was, no, is my heart. However, I am a Bond, and that will be no one’s concern but hers and I. Live and let die, you gotta live and let die, Roger always says’s. But who was he trying to be? The next Tony Robbins. Heavenly, that would be the day.

But let us move onto the main star of us all, the fifth element, not Bruce Willis, but my older brother and not from another mother, Pierce—the man with the golden eye, although, they were contacts, to be honest. Pierce, in my opinion, was the best of us all, however, he never really got the credit he deserved. Roger would always come in second place next to Sean, but come on, he was never as good as my brother, and if you disagree, then tell your own bloody story then.

A knock on my door.

“Hello, anyone there?” asked a man.

I couldn’t tell for my vision was blurred. The man was in a nicely tailored suit, hair slicked back but not too much, teeth as white as salt, hair dark as pepper, wielding a watch so fancy it could’ve changed the weather. He was tall, six foot I believe, and by the looks of him, I knew exactly what was about to go down. Although, he did look familiar but I didn’t have my glasses at the time to verify. The only good thing was that he knew not of my whereabouts, my advantage.

I then put down my martini by the balcony bar. And behind it grabbed a gun that probably wasn’t really necessary for one man, but exceptional to make all think otherwise of entry into my castle. The woman in my bed, of course, was still asleep, still naked, about as naked as a peeled banana to be frank. There was no time. I took the blankets and wrapped it around her like a burrito, a picked her up and then laid her down in the walk-in closet. She was beautiful the way she slept, however, a future for her and I? That would be another story. I cannot see it but have always felt it. Nevertheless, I had my reasons to turn the other way.

Hard knocks hit the door, and the door handle twisted and turned. I fired a shot of my long-barreled .44 Magnum, the Smith and Wesson model, 29 revolver, just like Eastwood’s. The gun nearly blew off half the door. And within seconds a British flag would be waived from behind it.

I then dropped my guard but just a little. I got a better look at the man.

“Pierce,” I said. “What the bloody hell are you doing?”

“Me? You mean what the hell are you doing, you nearly blew my head off. And you wonder why the queen kicked you out of England. Jesus.”

I then gave Pierce a look that of which he knew to shut his mouth. And without any further delay, we went over to the balcony bar for there was much to be discussed.

We played our usual game of Texas Hold-em Poker. Unfortunately for me, Pierce was one of the best I’d encounter in my life.

“So did you hear?” asked Pierce.

“Here what?” I asked.

Pierce then took his Macanudo Cigar and put it out on a glass filled with rocks. And what a waste of a perfectly good Martini, I thought.

“Daniel’s got a new movie coming out,” said Pierce. “The talk around town is that its gonna break the charts, possibly make all we have created look like garbage, literally.”

Ah, yes, again, Daniel. The one man, no, the second man next to Roger, Pierce just couldn’t stand. I couldn’t blame him, he literally took his job and made more money off of it then all his films combined. It was a dagger to the chest, something I knew that he very well would not let rest.

“I’m going to call Sean and Roger. We all need to have a meeting about this,” said Pierce as he dialed them from his watch.

“Wait. Hold on, what about the rest?” I asked.

And Pierce gave a grin that of a Pomeranian. It was hysterical. Before I could even conclude what Pierce was planning there sat Sean and Roger at the table, along with the random women they’d bring.

“Nice of you to bring more company fellas,” I said. “How are you?”

And immediately I was shut up. I had forgotten about the sleeping beauty that lied in my closet. There she was, milky skin like Ben and Jerrys, and yes she was just as sweet as such. She was still fully naked as we all watched her glide to the refrigerator like Tinkerbelle herself, to grab what appeared to be an apple juice. I was surprised. I didn’t even know I had any but when you’re a man as wealthy as I, whose ever got time for grocery shopping.

“Nice of you to bring company,” smiled Roger.

I blushed and said nothing else afterward.

“So, let’s get started shall we,” said Pierce. “Who in here know’s where Daniel is shooting his big movie? This is now the time to speak up. It’s vital that we all know.”

We all looked at each other clueless as Alicia Silverstone. Yet, the woman on Sean’s shoulder would say otherwise. She got up and ran to the bathroom. I looked at the beauty with the apple juice in hand, and yes ladies you got me, I don’t remember her name. Give me a break.

The woman in the bathroom knew something, I felt. I then gave the woman whom I do not remember a wink and she would know exactly what to do next. As for us men, we continued to play.

“Goldfish!” yelled Sean.

Everyone in the room looked distraught. We had all forgotten how old Sean was now. Alltimers maybe? Who knows.

“Anyways…” said Roger. “Why exactly are we doing this again, I mean, I have done a pretty damn good job. I have no regrets. Just because…”

“Stop right there Roger,” said Pierce.

The room was silent, and for Sean, no one had a bloody Ace. It wasn’t that kind of game but an old man was an old man, and so, we let him dream.

Glass shattered in the background, scratching and clawing, and heavens only knew what else. I thought it was Blofeld’s cat, but he was supposed to be dead—that cat was old as dirt. Unless Sean had something he wanted to tell the room.

I then ran to the bathroom. The beauty was down for the count, yet still looked as gorgeous as she did before. It kinda turned me on. But no, down boy.

“Christ! What the hell happened?” yelled Pierce.

“That woman, that whore of Seans knew something,” I said.

Sean smiled and pulled out his phone.

“Children I swear. Let the old man show you how its done lads,” said Sean.

He spoke into his phone and said, Russian Love. His phone started to ping and the rest was history. Not long after we all sat in the back of his Rolls Royce.

“If I may ask, Sean. But, how exactly where you able to track her,” asked Pierce, and then Roger.

“Yeah, I was wondering the same.”

“Well, she and I were fooling around the other night and you know,” said Sean.

“No. I don’t think we do,” I said.

“Relax gentleman. Bonds are meant to have fun, are we not?” said Sean

No further questions your honor.

We followed the woman around a corner and through an alley. She was slowing down. Her breast, I mean, her breath was heavy all of which again turned me on like a vampire in the night, for I could see every pump of blood from her neck to her chest being used for restoration.

A gunshot went off. And the woman was down just like the sleeping beauty from… wait I remember now, her name was Lavender, Barretta Lavender. Suck it, ladies! Moving on.

The shot came out of the blue, we looked everywhere until Roger had finally spotted him with his smoldering looks.

“Hey! That’s my bloody golden gun!” yelled Roger.

“Son of a…” paused Pierce.

Sean, on the other hand, was too busy pulling an object out of the woman’s butt. Comes to find out that’s where he’d put the tracker the whole time—dirty old bastard he was indeed.

At the top of the fire escape of a six-story building was the man of the hour or the day I should say, Daniel.

His eyes were as blues Alaskan waters, chin brawled enough to break any man’s hand if hit the wrong way. His suit was the best of them all, never ever getting so much as a speck of dirt on it and if it did, it was easy to get rid of by just a fell swoop.

“Tag,” said Daniel. “You’re it.”

And from then on we all knew it was game on. We all needed to stop him, but there lied a woman no longer with a tracker up her butt, our only witness.

TO BE CONTINUED

 

 

Game, Set, Match

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June 10th, 2018 by Patrick Starks

GAME SET MATCH MAIN

To: Athena and Maxilla

Some days we can agree are like no others, some days can be quite perfect in fact. However, what is one to do on those days that aren’t so. Do they mop around like sadden dogs or do they bury all thoughts of depression, like a hog—with a hint of hedge.

I was never that, that being the last part at least. I was always the one who moped, the one who complained about life being so hard. And for the times that I needed an explanation for it, my government would always be the culprit for the reasons life was what it was.

It was November 5th, 1992. This was the day such negative thoughts would sway. I wasn’t really a man of talent, but weeks later I would inherit one. It had been years since I saw my father, yet there we stood running back and forward around the court. Our socks were now drenched, and the very thing that made them so would also bring fire to our eyes, literally.

Dad was much older from the time he discovered my talent within. However, he did not lose a step as the years went on—I’d lose to him every time. He trained me all the way until the end, the end of when I would meet my greatest foe, Veronica.

Women were never known to compete with men in sport, but it would seem Veronica would be the first. She wasn’t at all tall but needed not be for what she competed in. Her hair remained tied as always, as it became apparent to me and the other men that it resembled a honeycomb of some sort. And there would be no secret about it that she would be the Queen B of it.

“Be careful with that one son. She looks like bad news,” said Dad.

“Oh,” said mom. “And why is that?”

Dad didn’t say another word after that. For a man that was stuck in his ways of believing a woman could never compete with a man in physical sport, he sure chose the right one to marry. Mom was one of the most prominent advocates for the woman’s movement.  But that is another story to tell—one where I can explain more about the great strengths woman hold.

Over time I had climbed my way all the way up the leaderboard. Dad was proud, and so was I. I had never in my life felt so accomplished, so successful. But then she and I would have our match.

Sweat again brought fire to my eyes for they burned even worst on that day. It was forty-love. Veronica couldn’t have looked any more beautiful than what she was now. Her eyes glistened, and yes, even for a moment thou could not even listen. With her strength and beauty alone, she had frozen me like the mythological Medusa.

“Game, set, match!” yelled the judge.

Before I knew it, I was shaking hands with someone that made me feel that losing wasn’t at all that bad, at least sometimes. Dad’s head was now buried to the ground, and mom rejoiced—she love it. And what better lesson to prove my dad wrong by his own pupil being defeated by that of which he felt was never in a million years possible.

And now it is November 5th, 2012, and still to this day Veronica makes my heart sang. And yes, at times she can be a wild thing. She in the midst of her Tennis career gave me not only love but two beautiful daughters. I had no more talent left from within, except the fact that I would become the worlds greatest dad. Although dad could never understand why I would allow my toenails to be painted, that too is another story to tell, one of which we will discuss through a tea party, along with my daughters of course. 

She didn’t want to but after 2 years of giving birth to Athena and Maxilla, Veronica would have to call it the quits for tennis. For weeks she moped around like a saddened dog. The only thing that made her smile were old videos of the matches she’d won, giggling to the matches she beat me in.

And seeing a part of your heart saddened was something the manliest of man could not even bare, not even dad for that matter. I decided that Veronica and I should have a talk, as I could see that she wasn’t herself anymore. Mom and Dad would, of course, watch the little ones, and soon after our conversation would begin.

Tears flowed down her eyes like rain to windows, as the air from her mouth shivered. Her hair was no longer in that honeycomb bun I adored so much. It concealed her chocolate eyes, but for every moment I got I would pull them back just to get a chance to see them again. 

“What do I do now,” said Veronica. “I had it all, but now it’s all gone.”

I told her I used to feel the same way until I met her. And she smiled, just as she had done the day we had our first match. But I had to give it to her. She pointed no fingers—not at the government, not at any other. She knew what she wanted and how she felt. She just needed to find a way to fill the void that lingered. Lucky for her she had two little princesses waiting for her when we came back home. She squeezed them tighter than I had ever seen her do—it was a Kodak moment, more so a Nikonic moment if you catch what I’m saying.

But I won’t tell you that we all lived happily ever after. In life thing sadly don’t come to that. Half of my heart had now left me— it was November 5th, 2016. The girls were grown up now, Maxilla was even in High school. Although, Veronica…

Well, let’s just say I brought her roses every Friday until the day I would lie next to her. And dad as well lied in the same yard. It was just me and mom now, and the princess. Life was hard again, but a saddened dog I was not. I buried it all like a hog, without the hint of hedge though.

All my life I had tried to find ways of making life better for myself, making it safe and secure. But none of it mattered. What mattered the most was what spoke to me from within. A wise woman told me once that sometimes the simple things in life are all that matters. I never understood that for my head was always wrapped in success, and hopes that the money from it would make me happy, and free. But now I see what she meant. Thank you, love, we will one day again be two turtles doves.

My only purpose in life now was to be happy, to be one. To show my little girls that life can be whatever you want it to be, regardless of the money or the fame you have for these my friends are only materialistic—it is only skin from a tree at the end.

But it would not be long before mom passed and I not long after. Mom was old of course, but I had been diagnosed with a broken heart that could no longer go on. My only regret was that my little girls would go on the rest of their lives without their mom or dad. And I hoped I taught them well.

To my princess stay strong and keep your racquet back always, and yes, before the ball hits the ground. Mom and I love you both. Go to the basement, there is a safe. The code is 5-4-3-2-1. Trust me, no one could guess something so predictable. Life has been beautiful because we had you two. Remember the simple things for I never learned this until now. Life can be a game sometimes, but you can set it however you want, and through this, I promise you will find would you seek, you will find your match. 

Here I come love.

Sincerely,

Dad

Ring around the Rosie

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June 3rd, 2018 by Patrick Starks 

RING AROUND MAIN

It had been only a couple of years since I left home. Yet, here I stand in a room of which use to be my boy cave. It feels like I never left. And mom and dad without a doubt were probably what I would define as the best parents on the planet, but let’s be honest, most of us say that about our parents, know.

And what more could a little boy, or girl, ask for—loving parents that is. It had been years since then, but still, I remember it clear as sun-filled oceans, and the tide would never be too high for me to see beyond its golden horizons. Yes, the smell of the sea—the smell of which always brings back beautiful memories—to us all.

Flight Thirty-one B it was.  Ready to onboard the passengers, as we were ready to onboard it—and a couple of shots of Jim Bean would make it just that easy to do so. Liquid courage burned down our fragile throats, along with the dizziness of forgetfulness. However, it was that very courage where many of us would have many regrets. But I am not one to assume. I’ll let you all tell your own story through the comments if you wish.

“All aboard!” yelled the woman with the fedora. No, sorry, it was a pirate hat. But can we all agree that pirate hats don’t obtain feathers, and if so, poor Parrot. But that too is another story to tell.

Nevertheless, I could tell that the woman was, in fact, a pirate groupie, but not because of the hat, or whatever it was—only the name of Johnny Debb was enough to give off the idea of this. Someone should have informed her that we weren’t onboarding a ship, but a plane, if she even understood the difference. But I would assume whatever job one applies for, that they would know all about it if not more. Yet, I am saddened to admit common sense is now a forgotten art in the wisp of this shameful era we live.

But let me rewind a bit so that you all don’t have a fit…

At that moment, arms would wrap around me like spaghetti to a fork. And it was always mom that would have her ways of making me look like such a dork—especially, in front of pretty girls, or women for that matter. And more than mom, Dad, of course, had his phobia of airplanes as he refused to ever get on one. His favorite quote as I am sure many of you have heard from those afraid of heights:

“If God wanted us to fly, then he would have given us wings.”

Yeah, I know, right. Sounds like something out of a Redbull commercial, or something Rockstar or Full Throttle would say to knock them off the leaderboard at least.  But neither of the three are good for our bodies. Yet, here I sit writing this letter to you all downing a shot of Bacardi—it would not be false to call me a hypocrite—no shame here.

Sooner or later I would finally be on my way to Hawaii. And I’ll just let your imagination determine where in Hawaii I landed, agreed? This is your adventure too, is it not?

And being so young, and in my prime, love was never really on my mind as many who go to Hawaii think of this. Although, after a few heartbreaks anyone would feel that way—emotionless, and pale as a vampire. Or do vampires sparkle now? Never mind.

But only adventure rattled in my heart, and it was an adventure that I hoped to find as many of us seek until the day we die. I wanted to be known for something, I wanted to be one of the greats, like Michael Jackson or something—to be legendary. And word around town was that there was someone known as the “Rose,” who could get me there. I had no talents at all. But many had said that they had gone to this Rose and found their talents from within. Even Oprah herself had spoken of this, and what the Rose had done—how could anyone refuse to look for such. The only thing I worried was that I knew that it wouldn’t be cheap if celebrities had gone to this mysterious person. But I had my ways of persuasion.

Rosie, was actually her name when we met. And her cheeks were just that if your wondering. But for whatever reason, she preferred to go as the Rose. I had only been in Hawaii for just a few days. And for at least three days straight I searched for this so-called “Rose.” And out of it all, I would find the little mermaid.

She was at least four-foot-ten, but her boots made up for it. And don’t get me started on why anyone would wear boots in Hawaii, but this is what she wore. Her eyes sparkled just as the Pacific, and her skin was as caramel as the sand I walked. Many men would have melt in the presence of such, but not me, adventure was still at hand you see. And no matter how much the bulge in my pants said otherwise, I was not that kind of man… I, was not that kind of man—I only thought with my heart and soul.

“So… Are you just going to stare at me all day like some pervert?” she asked. “Or are you going to tell me your name?”

She looked frustrated, but her gorgeousness hid it well. I froze. And became as most men do in front of such a siren—speechless.

“Ok… Then at least tell me why you are here,” she asked.

And just before I could answer, soft hands gifted me comfort as they pulled me like any mother would do their child. And within just a few seconds, Rosie had pulled me to her breast. I mean, her chest… It all felt like a dream, nothing but her lips that is, and my nose would become hypnotized by the scent of them.

Without hesitation, she pulled away from me and looked around as if she’d seen a ghost. Was it my breath? No, I promise I had at least two sticks of Trident plus the one still in my mouth. Bad breathe was impossible.

“Sorry about that. But y-you shouldn’t be here. This place is dangerous,” said Rosie. “Lots of bad men come here to find treasures.”

Beady eyes lingered from the shadows. She wasn’t kidding, bad men were all around. But none were as bad as this Blue belt in Taekwondo. It’s not a black belt, but hey, should be enough to take down any average man right? Hopefully, they say go, before we start.

“Look I don’t do that anymore,” Said Rosie. “I’m retired.”

I pleaded with her. She didn’t look a day over twenty-five after all. Surely, she could squeeze in just one more adventure. Her eyes drew into the floor, and her breathing became still. I could tell that it had been lingering within her beautiful forehead for quite some time—she needed just one more—one more adventure. It was apparent that she still was searching for something as well. But what?

Before I knew it, we were on our way to the promise land. And little did I know, there would be no promises.

“There!” yelled Rosie. “There is where we start.”

And it was there we eventually stood. One of the largest mountains I’d ever seen.  Yet, it was no secret at all that I had guessed it right—it was a volcano.

One would think me crazy or a liar to say I had explored the ring of fire. But my friends, this I conquered as Rosie and I had traveled even further than Hawaii. It was glorious. I had become more of a man than I had ever been known to become. I now had a full beard, which Rosie always hinted I should cut off or clean. She rescheduled appointments on numerous occasions, expecting me to someday go to her beautician, but still to this day I have not. On my skin were tattooed battle scars to show the mates when I returned home, just how much of a man I had become. And of course, I would get laughed out of the room—they just didn’t believe it.

And still, no talent did I find on my adventure. I’m not even sure if that was the point of it from the get-go. Yet, I had found love. I had found my ring, I had found Rosie.

 

 

 

Theft Collector

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May 20th, 2018 by Patrick Starks 

Theft Collector COVER

To whom finds this,

Theft collectors. Let’s see, what kind of story could we possibly tell about a theft collector. And what does it even mean? Well, the truth is my friends, we cannot for that story of the theft collectors are real. And it was such that existed long before your parents time, or their parents for that matter. I cannot really tell you how valuable books are today, but back then or whatever time you have wrapped around your imaginary minds, books were as good as gold you see, and it was this that a theft collector cherished more than life itself.

Saba, whom you all do not know of at the moment, was what many would call pure beauty—something just as remarkable as the statues in Rome—like the David, created by the great Michelangelo. And if, if it were even possible to sculpt an actual human being in the ways of such, Saba would be depicted as the first. But, let’s be honest my circle of friends, this would be nothing but plastic surgery at its finest—by the finest doctor of course.

But with such wielding beauty came strong knowledge. That of which she had gained from the many books that she collected. The force was strong in this one. Sadly, most of the men that were in her vicinity did not care for such value in a woman, nor the books; they only cared about the exterior at the end of the day. Let did they know you should never judge a book by the cover for it is possible it can become a true lover.

Indeed, my friends Saba was something else, and I guess you have already assumed by now that her love was in books. But let us slow down shall we, and not jump into conclusion, we do not know if she is the theft collector just yet.

Family right. Let me explain this in short—her father was an author and her mother a singer, it was not a shock that she would develop an appetite for the arts. But only when she had read her first book, did she come to this path of becoming a theft collector. Her first book was called the Seven Seas, that of which gave her life meaning, it opened her eyes it had helped her see.

But chuckle all you want. Saba was no sailor, no, no, no, yet never in the worst of storms would she ever catch a cold. Saba’s ship was the biggest of them all, and the mirror, mirror on the wall wouldn’t dare deny such that would be questioned or called. Maid Marian, they called it, and can you guess my friends what book Saba might have gotten the name from. No, I’m sure you’ll figure it out, sooner or later.

And knighted by her crewmates on the ship, Saba would be titled the little mermaid. Saba was short, standing only five-foot tall. However, calling her a mermaid would be an overstatement as she wasn’t the best of swimmers. But my friends that is another story to tell, as many things for this swimming beauty were not always swell.

Now grab your luggage or coffee if you will, and let us onboard the ship shall we. But be wary friends for this will be no tropical vacation.

On the Maid Marian there lied a safe. All the crewmates believed that it was their rent money, but sadly for them in that very safe bestowed only books. Saba had no money but to her books were as good as gold, and this I have told. Books are life cant you see.

It was a stormy night. Wet as October. the men on the ship chortled, and Saba would do the same same as she was unaware that they spoke only of the woman waiting back at home in cry for names.

They partied the whole night, until their heart’s content.  Things couldn’t have been as glorious as they were now. Yet, Saba had her eye on only one thing—Codex Leicester. Yes, the book of books, the scientific book of the great Leonardo Di Vinci. Saba was no scientist or inventor, but to have the book of books was something she felt she was more deserving of than many.

To make a long story short, the book was collected by many greats before our time. However, Saba was known to be the last. It is said today that the Bill Gates the founder of Microsoft now wields the book in his creative hands. Little does he know, the book he holds is not what he thinks. Don’t believe me, then let me tell you friends, but hold tightly for we or on brinks of crashing—hopefully, there will be survivors.

Before Gates, the book was home, in Italy. A place Saba had not been. I do not know how but Saba somehow had the map to it all. Most importantly, to the many places where Leonardo had hidden many of his inventions. She had collected many of them, some underwater even, but this particular book was one that she found herself in a maze to grasp. But the main thing she seemed to overlook was Divinici’s birthplace—Anchiano, Italy.

Saba had always joked about clues of the book being hidden in the book of Pinnochio, however, most of the men aboard the Maid Marian believed it to all be true. Silly they were for that it was not Leonardo who wrote this.

“Have any of you even read that book before?” Questioned a crewmate. “I mean, how would the writer know, and why would he hide in a story.”

All the men on the board then aye yay’. They all felt the same, but what captain believes, is captains truth, many would say through their intoxicated lips.

“There!” yelled Saba. “We are here. Everyone grab your things we are going.”

The men looked at each awkwardly and then began doing so. “What captain want, we do,” said the illiterate one of the bunch. Or was it the alcohol speaking? Who knows, who cares. Continuing.

Now for the grand finale. And we did not crash friends, or we have.

There everyone stood in a deserted home. Something similar to a lighthouse, yet no lights in the slight. Saba took the map that rolled within her olive hands and then began to burn it.

“C-Captain, what are you doing?” said the non-illiterate.

Everyone’s heart dropped, except for hers. “I think mermaid gone mad,” said yes, the illiterate one. It is confirmed.

The fire grew taller as the map burned. Smoked filled the air, but all would flow like rivers to a crack in the floor—it was an unusual draft. Without hesitation, Saba took a shovel from one of the mates and burrowed. Light spouted from the crack as each and every chip of wood on the floor would become no more. And it was this that Saba adored. The exterior of Saba’s eyes became wet not like October but like water from a water jug that had sat long enough in a refrigerator to become cold. And now Saba would hold, the Codex Leicester.

The men did not know of the many books Saba held in her safe but they would forever know about the Codex Leicester. It would not be long before they would all plot to take the book from her, as they all knew such would bring them all the booze, all the virgin woman in the world that they could dream of. And oh, would it be a shame to see such power get used in ways, as we all still witness somewhat of this today.

Many nights Saba slept with one eye open, becoming alone as there was no longer anyone that she could trust. Only Dino, her dog did she trust—and now you all know where The Flintstones got the name of there pet from. And no my friends, it would not be because of the obvious, that of which I know you argue with me. But that is another story to tell, a story that of your own.

But let me say this final goodbye.

Saba lived on to be one of the greatest book collectors of all time, and was labeled the theft collector as she had stolen most of them. Her life was fulfilled and along with it, she bared to baby girls—Bell and Ariel. And I shouldn’t have to tell you where she got those names from.

And just before her death, she would forge the pages of the Codex Leicester for it was only seventy-two pages long. This is the book that Mr. Gates now holds. And can you guess where the book is now my friends? Look around then.

Sincerely,

Dino Jr. Saba

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tea and Coffee

Featured

April 22nd, 2018, by Patrick Starks

TEA AND COFFEE

Dear friend,

I feel you would agree that there’s nothing like a hot cup of coffee to get you up in the morning. A teaspoon or two of half and half along with a dash of sugar, all to compliment the coffee you now brew, making you feel sharp as a cougar. And just when it hits the back of your throat, it flows warmth up and down your spine like a winter coat. It is just the feeling you need to get moving again, the feeling you needed, the feeling you wanted.

It wake’s you up, it starts your day but later leaves you in dismay. You feel tired again, and ponder on another cup, but to the cabinet on your right you see a green box. Only until now have you had the chance to see it again or remember that you even had such.

It is tea, that of which you have been avoiding for at least a year now. You gaze back at the coffee that once made you happy but hesitate to fall for its tricks, for that it has now made you feel crappy, possibly sick.

Your head spins with the decision of which to choose, as both an angel and a demon hovers your shoulders like a wound. One making you feel warmth and the other colder. You then smolder on the thoughts on which one is best.

Water begins to boil with a small bag within it. It is clear as day you have made your decision. And instantly it is that decision that puts you in the mode of apprehension.

One sip and you have now burned your tongue. The demon on your shoulder laughs.

“You should have drank the coffee,” said she sarcastically, with a sarcastic grin.

The angel now meditates with you in sympathy as she knows that you are in agony. She then pulls from the feathers of her wing a random object and, throws it up and over your head. And now it is the demon who aches. The sounds of a chipmunk chuckles in your right ear, as from your left only flows anger and tears.

And through it all the coffee has become loop warm, basically cold if any. You think to re-warm, but from the way it is, you ponder to just throw two ice cubes in it and call it an iced coffee instead—call it a day. However, the day is too cold for that, this I know you would say.

You decide to drink it as is, and it satisfies the burns in your throat. Unfortunately, it as well leaves a burning taste in your mouth. It is easy to say that loop warm coffee and mint green tea do not go well together. The taste you try to tether somehow brings to you the exotic taste of leather.

Out of frustration, the coffee then goes down the garbage disposal and the demon on your shoulder fades. But just before it says it’s goodbye, clogs your garbage disposal as you knew not of the coffee grounds that rested at the bottom.

You take a few sips of the tea. And the thought of doing the same comes to mind.

“You shouldn’t,” said the angel with radiant wings. “Here, let me help.”

The angel rushes over to grab some honey, but mistaken’s pancake syrup for it. One last sip and you spit the tea out onto the floor. The angel tries to clean it up, but you refuse, no more.

You pour the tea down the drain. Now the angel becomes a mist, not ever knowing her beautiful name or the risk. Tisk, tisk.

“Why!” yelled the angel as it faded away. “Why! You shouldn’t have…”

Out of all that has happened, you feel exhausted. Your mouth is dry from the burns of taste and now seek a peaceful place.

The only thing left now is water in which you should of chose, it was the greatest fuel for your body, that you should’ve known.

And now as the water flows down your chest, you have no reason to attest, in your heart you know it’s whats best.  You will make your vow to not drink tea or coffee anymore, but in your heart the two you still adore.

It is wise for you to evaluate your addictions. It is wise for you to notice, as for my reason I wrote this, was in fact for you to note this.

Sincerely,

Note’

 

Salsa Contest

Featured

March 30, 2018, by Patrick Starks

SALSA CONTEST

Intro

News Anchor #1: Hello everyone, my name is Sebastian Cole, and you are watching Komo 5 news.

News Anchor #2: Hello, hello. And my name is Isabella Valenzuela. Say, do you love my new shoes?

News Anchor #1: Um… Um… Isabella… That’s not part of the script…

News Anchor #2: Oh hush Sebastian, live a little, get a grip.

News Anchor #1: Um… Okay… Well let’s get started, shall we! Tell me people at home watching. Do you love salsa? Well, then you’ve come to the right place.

News Anchor #2: Yes! Come on down and show us that you have what it takes.

News Anchor #1: The contest will be held at Westlake Center. And…

News Anchor #2: And don’t forget to enter.

News Anchor #1: Um…

News Anchor #2: The contest will begin tomorrow at 2pm Pacific time. And…

News Anchor #1: And don’t be late to show off your shine.

News Anchor #2: Um…

News Anchor #1 & 2: See you all there!

SCENE 1: Home A

Ms. Lopez: Oh my heavenly! Romeo look! Their talking about a big salsa contest.

Mr. Lopez: My love ignore that contest, you are blessed, come back to bed and get some rest.

Ms. Lopez: I’m going to give people a taste better than their own mothers cooking! Oh, my heavenly! Romeo, w-what should I wear?

Mr.Lopez: Whatever you want my dear, I don’t care.

Ms. Lopez: Even if I went out bare?

Mr.Lopez: Yeah sure, whoa! Wait, what…

SCENE 2: Home B

Brother: There’s a freaking salsa contest! Sis, I’m telling you, I’m going to be the best. Everyone knows that with my salsa there is no need for a test.

Sister: I don’t know bro, last time I had some of your salsa I could barely feel my chest, and even thew up making a complete fool of myself, a mess.

Brother: That’s because you ate all that queso beforehand.

Sister: No, big brother. I’m for sure it was your salsa, it was bland.

Brother: Out of my way. I’m headed to the kitchen to get started; I have no time for this.

Sister: Psh!

SCENE 3: Home C

Salsa: You see, I told you I was popular. Everyone wants a piece of the salsa. And the ladies love me.

Salsa Dancer: What the heck are you talking about now Salsa. The ladies don’t love you, I’m the dancer. And the ladies love when I sha…

Salsa: Stop right there! Don’t say another word, we’re going to settle this once and for all, and see who has the biggest cojones, who’s got balls.

Salsa Dancer: Ha! Your just a jar of Salsa, you don’t have balls; your no bigger than then my little girl’s doll.

Salsa: So, are you rejecting my challenge?

Salsa Dancer: No, not at all. You’re on.

SCENE 4: Competition Scene

News Anchor #1: Okay… So this isn’t what we exactly expected.

News Anchor #2: You all do know that this is a Salsa contest, meaning to dance right.

Ms.Lopez: Oh my heavenly! Then why didn’t you just say that then, I can do that too? I was the lead salsa dancer of my high school dance crew.

Mr.Lopez: Oh here we go…

Ms.Lopez: Shut it, Romeo! Get your stuff ready!

Mr. Lopez: No way. Honeybun, you cant be serious. Do you really expect me to put on…

Ms.Lopez: Yes!

Brother: Looks like I’m going to need a partner then.

Sister: Ugh…. No way! You’re my brother. You really want to grab on your sisters…

Brother: Ugh! Na, na, na, na, don’t want to hear it; enough said. I’ll find someone else.

Sister: Nope! To late. You drug me out here, and now I’m going to make you vomit up the very salsa you made. Then maybe you’ll know what it feels to be me. Come, come.

Salsa: Wow that’s going to be a really awkward dance. But his sister is kind of cute.

Salsa Dancer: Step aside you expired sauce.

Salsa: Expired! What did…

Salsa Dancer: My love, my dear, please have no fear for that it is you and I who are destined to take this dance floor. Will you do a poor soul like I the honor, senorita?

News Anchor #2: Oh my… Your such a gentleman, and handsome one.

News Anchor #1: Um… You can’t be in the competition Isabella, we are the judges?

News Anchor #2: Can it Sebastian! You had your chance; no need for you to hold grudges.

News Anchor #1: Fine then. For my partner, I choose the Salsa!

Ms.Lopez: Oh my heavenly!

TO BE CONTINUED