Chapter excerpt from Part two of "Blindman blue" Kale Hoffman

   I pull my .40 cal out of its shoulder harness and slowly stalk towards her open front door. The thrashing sounds continue but the screams have ceased. I inch my way across the grass and up onto my land lady’s porch.  I extend my left foot into the partially open door and slowly push it all the way open with my gun drawn back close to my face and at the ready.

   She is on the floor, lying amidst the jagged edges of broke dishes and cups. She’s been hamstringed, her arm is broken nearly in two, and her neck, all the way to the shoulder has been ripped out. “Hmm…”  I say. “That’s unlucky.” At the sound of my voice, I hear movement from down the hall. I take one step back into the open doorway and point my gun with both hands into the hallway.

   It’s Maul, my eighty pound Pit bull. He is staring at me from the end of the hall with strange blue eyes. ‘blue eyes…like they said on the news.’  I think to myself. Maul has a tattered dark blue low top shoe in his mouth. I glance over to the floor and see that the land lady is indeed missing one. I hold up my left hand palm out. “Easy Maul.” I say. My dog tilts his head a fraction to the side (how dogs do when they are considering something) and emits a low growl.

   Maul bolts down the hall towards me with the shoe still in his mouth. With sadness I pull the trigger in rapid succession three times. Maul slides to a bloody stop on his side five feet in front of me with one leg and paw tucked beneath his body. I creep up to investigate my dog. Two of the bullets hit him in his broad chest, and the third in his big gator face.

   As I’m inspecting my dog, the land lady starts to moan and move her head a little. “No way you can still be alive.” I say. I cautiously move toward her to check to see if maybe I had overestimated the extent of her injuries.  As I get close she grips the leg of the kitchen table to pull herself up. She sits up right and looks into me with a pair of pale blue eyes that used to be hazel. I sight my gun down the barrel and put a round dead into her forehead.

   I go down the hallway and systematically clear all the rooms in the house. I don’t want someone or something left behind to sneak up on me. Finished with checking the rest of my land lord’s house, I run back to my own. I already hear ruckus starting on the neighboring properties. My gun shots must have alerted others to my presence.

   I slide my keys in my pocket and hurry back over to my night stand. I toss my Mag-light into my bag and grab the pair of walki-Talkies that James uses for security at the night club. They have an ear piece and a button mic that you can clip to your collar for discreet communication. These could come in real handy, especially while driving.

   I check my watch as I strap on my bag. The time is 12:55 pm. As I head for the door, the lights flicker twice, and then go out. I leave my house without even bothering to shut the door.



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Off topic of The Zombie blog....but....On ignorance...

Over the last couple days I have been harassed by an individual over the fact that I Spearfish. All of my responses to said individual have been with complete understanding and with the utmost of respect. Now however, I am losing my patience.  If you are going to make an environmental and legal argument against me, know the facts before you open your close minded ignorant mouth.

Here are the facts:

1-    1-  Spearfishing is NOT illegal in Costa Rica. If you have your basic one year fishing license that costs 24$ you can spear fish in any ocean water that is not prohibited by the Silvestre conservation law, (I have a Silvestre conservation map of CR and know exactly where I can legally fish). For all information on protected areas and regulations on fish and wildlife, you can check at www.minaet.go.cr

2-    2-  Spearfishing is very difficult. If you have never spearfished, (freediving) and believe that we have an unfair advantage with a spear gun, I highly suggest you hop in the water and try it for yourself, because, you are wrong. You are submersing yourself into the fish’s environment and hunting outside of your own element with nothing more than the amount of air that you can contain in your own lungs. We are physically meant for land hunting, and therefore, are loud, sloppy, and awkward in the water in comparison to our targets. Fish are basically solid muscle built for swimming; a fifteen pound fish while in the water is stronger than you. They are also easily spooked and skittish. While hunting larger fish, there are many things that can go fatally wrong for the human in the water. Here are a few.

-A large fish can easily pull you down so quickly that you black out and drown.

-A large fish can dart high and circle, wrapping your line around your neck or limbs, leaving a high possibility of drowning.

-A large fish can push you to a point of depth and/or a critical physical point where shallow water black out becomes a huge concern.

-You are not at the top of the food chain while in the water. Sharks, Whales, Dolphins, etc.

- A speared fish will bite you if it can. Some have very strong or sharp teeth.

-Strong currents can take you away, or bash you into rocks if you are not completely 100% aware.

        

3-     3- From an environmental standpoint, a person taking only what they can hunt and eat is much better for the ecosystem than supporting the fisheries that use long lines and giant nets. This is where most of the fish meat you find in your local grocery stores comes from. Massive damage is done “accidentally” by these fishing enterprises who are meeting the consumer demand. –When a couple friends and I go out and get a couple 10-15 pound fish each, we have pounds of meat that WE WORKED FOR, and we don’t have to support the ecologically damaging fishing companies. Nor do we have to support the equally, “morally wrong” beef and pork slaughter house industries.

4-    4-  Even with catch and release sportfishing, more fish die of sheer exhaustion,(or are too exhausted to escape a predator that they normally could), and many times they die anyhow from internal injuries due to a long fight with a swallowed hook each year than me and all of my friends combined could hunt in all of our combined life spans.

5-    5-  A traditional fisherman with a rod and reel can easily catch much more fish than I with a spear gun. ( You can pass the whole day sitting on a boat. You cannot swim and chase fish underwater all day. A couple of hours is exhausting.)

6-    6-  Spearfishing is the most humane. The fish dies much faster than in other forms of fishing. (this is partly why we immediately put our dive knife to the fish’s head.)

This harassing person, who is a local here to Hermosa CR, made many racist remarks against me. One in fact was that I must be “half Gringo half Japanese “, because Gringos do not respect life, and I am “sowing death everywhere I go, murdering the ocean, an enemy of the ocean, and an enemy of Costa Rica.” He told me he will stop my “massacre of the fish”.  Write letters to PADI and that he knows people in MINAET. Well guess what?? I don’t scuba dive so… what has PADI anything to do with me? I have a fishing license and fish in legal water, (most of the central coast has unrestricted fishing) so MINAET will pay no mind.

Before someone decides to attack someone, it is wise to actually KNOW WHAT THE FUCK YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT. I’ll bet you are a Vegan who has leather shoes, a leather wallet and a leather belt. If you want to actually make a difference in this world, Lobby against the giant fishing empires. I eat everything I kill, and try very hard to only kill edible fish. I DO NOT just randomly shoot fish for fun/sport.

So who is the more environmentally minded person?? Go on buying your fish from the store buddy. Support all that you hate. Then, attack me for hunting my own food.

Time to pipe it down and get off of your ignorant high horse you chump.



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Random un-edited book excerpt

   I can’t help it. The first thing I think of as she is doing the pimp limp ankle drag up to the stone stepping path at the front of my house with her tit out and her dress ripped to shit, revealing the entirety of her leg, hip, panties and mid-section is, “Damn she has a perfect body, such long limbs.”

   And I wonder what it would have been like to fuck her. To have her climb on top of me with those oh so long legs. How big her butterscotch nipples might grow when enticed. Heaving with ecstasy, would she sound something similar to the current cave woman noises she’s making now?

    I wondered about the shape of her vagina, the depth of it. Would it be a perfect fit, suctioning down onto me? I mean, not all vaginas are created equally. Some are beautiful. Some are not. Some are innies. Some are outies.  Some glisten like they were just shined up with strawberry pink lip gloss. Other unfortunate vaginas get dubbed “Meat flaps”, or “Jerky curtains”.  So I wonder, I wonder what it would have been like to rail her before her eyes changed to that blind man blue color.

   What brings me out of my brief, distinctly man style reverie, is the sight of the three other sound makers that must have been attracted to the noises Marcela has been making. They’re coming on much too fast to have been there for long.

   They are three of my Nicaraguan neighbors from a half block down. Very dark skinned. Not quite black, but, Moreno. All three built short and squat, with the pot bellies that accompany 40 year old beer schwillers.

   Marcela is now only fifteen feet from me, but, they will still arrive first. They are running and its’ only fifty or so yard in distance.  So I decide to act first. I take three or four long bounds towards Marcela, un-sheathing the machete at the same time, which puts me within striking distance. Being so close to her I see the distinctive oval shape of a bite mark on the outside of her right shoulder. Also, being so close seems to set off a new kind of fury in her that I had yet to see. Her whole body convulses, arms extended with hands bent into claws.

   The way she surges at me is like a rag doll being whipped while held at the feet. Her legs and hips basically stay in the same position. But, her whole upper body sways at a steep angle backward, then, slings forward with her teeth bared and claws swiping. The force of it reminds me of the end of a whip when it curls and then lashes.

   The machete goes cleanly through the forearm of her closest arm, severing it as she lunges. It was a side armed upward swing that followed through to land in the middle of her mouth, knocking out all of her front teeth and slicing through her cheek.

  The force of the blow topples her over, and she lands flat on her back. Incredibly she flips herself over onto her belly and starts to push herself up with her remaining arm, attempting to gain her feet again.

   Awe struck at the speed in which she had just moved, I drive the point of the machete through her back without hesitation, drilling her back down to the ground. This time she doesn’t move again. I look up and wade on towards the others.

Spear fishing The 26

Wed. July 27^th:  

   I’ve worked all night and finally go to bed around 4:15am. My alarm vibrates to wake me up at 5am and I send Nick a text to let him know that I am up. Shortly after, Nick pulls up to my house and we stop for some coffee and breakfast on the way to the marina. 10 minutes later we’re on the beach and in a boat taxi to take us out to our boat.

   On our way out to “The 26”, which is a deep underwater rock formation 26 miles out to sea, we pass a pair of Humback whales who are breaching the surface repetitively.  It is a thing of beauty to witness. We watch them jump and play for about 10 minutes before moving on to trek the rest of the distance to our open water oasis.

   Upon reaching The 26, we select our spear tips and attach our float line buoys to our guns. Eager to get wet, and get some fish, we throw on our masks and fins, and plummet into the water. After only a few minutes and a few dives down, the fish start to appear at reachable depths. Huge shoals of Big eyed Jacks, Rainbow runners, another rainbow sided mystery fish, and Amber Jacks, Snapper, Mahi, and Black finned tuna a little deeper. All you can see is blue in all directions. The summit of the rock formation is a full 80 feet down. This is open, deep water free diving and it is a little spooky. Also, it is easy to lose you bearings while rapidly drifting in the currents. A one minute 40 foot dive can easily take you 30 to yards from your previous position.  3 or 4 dives while focused on the fish and bam.. you’re 100 yards away from where you thought you were.

   I see a shoal of Big Eyed at about 30 feet of depth and dive down. There are so many targets I just select the fish that is most directly in front of me and presenting his profile. I take my shot, hitting the fish directly under its spine in the center of its length, perfectly locking the barbs around the opposite side of its spinal column.

   The fish immediately dives and fights like a madman, starting to pull me down. I kick out hard to try and surface the fish, but lose my right fin while I am still around 30 feet down. Now it is much harder to fight the fish, being one finned and awkward. I get momentarily confused as to what to do. Do I go for my rapidly sinking fin while the fish is still jerking me down, and I’m running out of breath? Or, do I forget the fin and surface by dropping the gun and let the buoy do some of the work, (I can’t swim the fish up with one fin, he is too strong).

   I drop the gun but keep a hold of the buoy line, making sure that it stays taught while I surface for air. Once on the surface, I signal the boat that I need them to come over and start to hand line the fish up. I make some headway bringing the fish up, but he is still fighting like the devil and making it difficult to stay afloat.  A moment later I see Nick swim up under me and attempt to grab the Jack by the tail. After a couple of attempts, he succeeds and swims the jack up to me. I snatch the fish by the tail to take control of its fighting power, and wait for the boat.

   At one point, I am swimming along under water and get a strange 6^th sense warning. I react by turning slow flips and circles to check for sharks in a spherical 360 degree manner. I don’t see anything threat, so I tell myself that I’m just spooking myself and surface for air. The second that I hit surface, I hear the guys on the boat. They are all screaming at me to get back to the boat and that there is a good sized shark in the area. Meanwhile, I’m a couple hundred yards from their position. So, I just go back underwater to not splash around on the surface, and calmly make my way back towards the boat, occasionally circling and flipping to check my surroundings.

   We each shot a couple of fish, Nick and I. And had a great day on the water.

We will now be running sportfishing, spearfishing, surfing and snorkel tours. Check out our site, www.jacosportfishing.com


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These people kill me.

   So, I haven't written in a while. Sorry about that, I have been working almost non-stop. It is hard to be motivated to do anything other than just veg out on my one day off. I end up laying on the couch for a while and drinking some coffee, then, go surf a bit, and come back and veg out again on the couch!
   I can't believe the people around here. I won't even elaborate on it, I know that does you readers know good, but I'll just say that I am sick of the idiocracy.<<new hybrid word of mine. I'm totally over it, I feel like a porn slut taking it from all sides.

Quick up-date:
   You might remember the story about my friend getting stabbed in the neck. Well, they cought the guy. But what? you might ask..  Costa Rica's finest lost the fucking report, and had to let him go.(good job dip shits!) Later on, they find the files and go looking for him again,but, low and behold...he is no where to be found. perfect time to use my new word...IDIOCRACY!

   A good friend of mine down here found some contact information for me regarding my book! I am super excited about that. Thanks Mike! Also, I wrote a couple thousand more words to my book. I have been kind of slacking lately, just been too worn out from work, coupled with a fucked up sleeping schedule. But, I'll throw in a random un-edited piece of a chapter below.

   I flick a switch with my thumb, changing my firing rate to bursts of three. I squeeze the trigger twice in succession and two fall temporally dead. A third stumbles, and is slowed by a leg shot. Kale has switched over to Hell Fire as well. Following two quick series of chink, chink, chink, two more fall to the pavement. They seem to wizen up and spread out in all directions, even zigging and zagging in an occasional evasive maneuver. “Fuck!” I yell. “Baily, get back behind us and flick the safety off on that pea shooter of yours incase anything comes at our backs. This is going to get messy.” I yell to Baily.

   I see Baily switch her .22 caliber assault rifle to hot as she runs back behind us. Her pretty face is set stern; she looks calm and collected. I was worried that she might wither under pressure and be a liability due to her timid demeanor. I pull up even with Kale. “This—is—not—good.” He says in an elongated staccato between bursts. Neither of us has ever been in a shooting situation like this before. An open field of fire with multiple fast moving targets is extremely confusing. The brain and instincts start to work against each-other, arguing over which are the most valuable targets within your field of vision.

   We side step over the curb to put the nearest building’s wall against our right side. Kale against the wall, and me, a few feet out into the sidewalk to have a firing angle around Kale. I finally hit a target, cutting her legs out from under her as she tries to arc the width of the street to flank us. Kale drops one that coms at us directly along the wall. We had each fired three or four volleys, and hit nothing but air in the initial confusion of all of our targets scattering, and now we’re in trouble, they’re too far spread out. I focus on our sides, trying to keep them from getting past our latitude in the street. I hit one in the neck and see two coming at different angles for kale. He runs a full burst up the body of the one that is closest to the wall, but the other slips past to his left, and is on me before I can wheel my rifle around. I drop the assault rifle to let it hang on its sling, and swim my right arm and head underneath a claw handed punch from the charging dark man in farmer’s clothes. With my forearm pressed into his back, and the majority of my weight and balance behind him as well, I pivot my hips and thrust him front first into the wall. I kick out high and hard, planting my foot in the center of his back, leaving it there, and lean in with my weight, pinning the thrashing demon against the concrete. Before I know it, one of my nine millimeters is out of its thigh holster and in a two a solid two handed grip. I keep him pressed against the wall with my one of my brand new boots pushed into the center of his upper back, and fire two shots over the top of my foot into the back of his head.  

   His whole face splatters across the wall. And something rebounds off to land by my now replanted right foot. It’s the majority of his nose. There is no point of going back to my rifle. We are now in close quarters battle. Kale hammers a tall and long limbed, would be beautiful girl in the face with the butt of his Mini-14. As she is knocked backwards, he drops his rifle and draws the Glock of his hip. A quick double tap leaves her falling backwards lifeless in a Jesus Christ pose, and misting Kale’s face with blood.

   The second that I turn from the wall to reface the battle at my back, I wade forwards firing well placed single shots at the closest targets to me with my gun pulled in defensively tight to my right shoulder and chin. Two come at me at once. The one on my right takes a bullet between the eyes, and then I drop low, shoulder checking a sprinting teenaged eater. He flips over my back and collides with my teammate. They go to the ground with the boy landing on top of Kale. I lash hand down towards the two man heap and snatch the kid by the hair, peeling his head backwards away from Kale and slam the muzzle of my hand gun into the back of his head at the same time that I pull the trigger.




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Stressed...

   So.. I'm totally over it. All of the bull shit, I mean. Remember the story about a friend getting stabbed in the throat? Well, because he had the audacity to call the police, and issue a restraining order against the guy who stabbed him with a beer bottle; all of his Columbian friends tried to attack him again today.
   First, the same little shit that stabbed Gavelo rolled up un me while I was outside, screeching to a stop on his busted bike not more than a foot in front of me. I was in the middle of putting up a FaceBook post from my iPhone, and suddenly I have this little fucker parked in front of me and shamelessly leaning over to see what I was doing on the phone, (messeging Gavelo, or calling the cops.) is probably what he was checking for. I just look him in the eye without saying a word to him, and give him the, what the fuck do you think you are doing rolling up on my shit kind of look.
   So after a second or two more of having a five foot four inch dip shit try to intimidate me, he fucks off. However, he continues to loiter, I assume waiting for Gavelo who is inside. So Gavelo has to call the police to enforce the restraining order. When the police get there he goes outside to talk with them. After a moment of talking, the police just drive away leaving him alone with a large group of pissed off Columbians between himself and safty. As he come back over, they rush him. One guy gets a punch in,  another shoves him into a garbage can as well before he can get inside where he now calls the police again.
   THIS TIME, the police excort him home after talking with him for a while, but do absolutely nothng to the group of fuck wads gathered in the street not even question them, or tell them to hit the bricks. Let me just say one thing... WHAT THE FUCK! Worthless fucking legal system and law enforcement. And now I am stessed and nervous all night, because there is a huge group of retarded fuckers pacing back and forth, jacked up on adrenalin and with the taste of blood in their mouths.
    I don't know what else to say, other than, autonomic capital punishment has never sounded more appealing to me than right now.  Sorry if this post is a little colorful, but just one more thing....

FUCK YOU. YOU MOTHER FUCKERS.



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Sunday funday with beer bottles at Jaco Taco

   I have decided to boycott Jaco Taco.  It is just getting way too scary in there. In the couple months that it has become the late night spot, it has already neared the danger level of our late Pancho Villa’s. This last Sunday night, (thank god I wasn’t there) a friend of mine was stabbed in the neck with a broken beer bottle. I am not quite sure as to the events that lead up to this, but, the lead up is kind of moot.

   My friend lucked out due to the form in which the bottle broke. The edges punctured his neck, missing his jugular vein on either side. He is now at home recovering. 
   Two or three Sundays ago, a hooker from the states was brutally stabbed by another hooker inside of Jaco Taco as well. She was stabbed with the broken end of a beer bottle five or six times in the chest after an argument with the other woman. Last I heard after stabilizing her, they were planning on sending her to the states for better reconstructive surgeons.

   Blood was everywhere, as the wounds were very deep. She stumbled around for a second before dropping to the ground leaking out her life fluids.
   What a terrible mess the late night scene has become. It really makes you believe the adage, “Nothing good ever happens after midnight.”





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Saturday surf

   Nick calls me at 8am to see if I am up and ready. I am not, but I say that I am. After only three hours of sleep I drag myself out of bed and pour myself a cup of coffee, wax my board, and throw on my board shorts. Shortly later Nick rolls up and we’re of f to the beach.

   The morning throws us the ‘ole switcheroo. Normally the wind is calm in the early morning, then, the wind gets on it towards the afternoon.  We meet our photographer and walk up Hermosa Beach checking the breaks as we go. The waves are only mediocre, but we paddle out anyhow.

    It’s a little soupy and choppy out there and I Haven’t surfed in almost a month, (have been working way too much) so I end up falling on my first wave. I watch Nick get a wave with the other Justin,(our camera man) snapping shots. It’s a decent little nugget of a wave and he gets a nice drop in.

   Another set comes, so I paddle adjacent to the waves to get a better position on the prime peak. The second wave of the set swells up and builds a decently steep wall. I arc into the wave and paddle for it. It’s another decent little nugget with the lip of the wave pitching over slightly not quite barreling.

   The good waves a far between so we only catch a few that are photo worthy. Towards the end of our allotted time of photography, the wind drops off and the sun comes out. Almost instantly the break glasses off into actual nice head high beauties that break in clean line with a pitching hollow spot at the peak.

   My lack of exercise over the last month results in two cramped calf muscles, so I get out of the water a little bit bitter, watching the semi perfect waves peel along the sand bar.









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Fucking retarded

   So the other night at closing time while in the office, the cocktail waiter comes in saying that one our friends and his girlfriend have been in a car accident out front. I run out side and see an ambulance, a crowd of spectators, and a mob of police officers. As I get closer, I see that Alicia, (my friend’s girlfriend) is in the ambulance with a neck brace on. My friend is blind with rage. All he wants is to kill the guy that hit them.

   Get this, they were not even driving. This jackass threw his truck in reverse and floored it backwards, running my friends over while they were walking to go get a cab. Everybody is trying to calm my friend down and restrain him from pummeling the retarded pedestrian smashing driver. We are all trying to talk sense into him, but to no avail. I’m telling him to get into the ambulance to ride to the hospital with his girl, but he is fixed in his vengeance.

   It gets to a point where a jackass acquaintance of ours only makes things worse in his attempt to mitigate the situation. The cops end up tackling my friend and taking him to jail, mean while, they haven’t done anything about the drunk driver who just backed over to pedestrians at high speed.

   Earlier that night, a bunch of traffic police were camped out in front of the bar for three and a half hours, (9:30 to 1am) and now there are none to be found anywhere, (the traffic police handle all thing auto related, the other police have nothing to do with traffic incidents. They just take bull shit reports and handle crowd control). I go home, but some other friends who were actual witnesses to the collision, stay behind and wait for the traffic police to give their reports. An hour later at 4am, Billey calls me to find out where I am, and if I have any other news about our two friends. He tells me that he is still waiting there with a couple other witnesses and the suspect as well, for the traffic cops to show up and do a sobriety test and investigate the scene. This, mind you, is one and a half hours after the accident occurred.  How the fuck are you supposed to get a valid breathalyzer or build a case at an alcohol related incident hours later??

   So if the traffic police ever showed up, everyone by that time was gone. I’m sure the police let the idiot drive back to his hotel or wherever he was staying because, My friend, (after getting out of jail) went to the traffic division to check up on everything and look for some of his personal effects. There was never a report filed. No report of an accident at all the night before. Nor was there a report of a dispatched ambulance.

   This is a prime example of why it is better to handle everything yourself down here. If you have a problem with someone, deal with it yourself. If you catch someone stealing your car, or breaking into your house, punish them yourself. If someone runs you and your girlfriend over and you can still walk afterwards, then beat the wholly ever living shit out them, or run them over in return, (especially if it is a completely nonchalant, not giving a fuck motherfucker like the one from Friday night).The only thing the police are good for is to prevent you from taking any steps to get something accomplished. If, on the other hand, everything is over with, they don’t give a fuck. Just like they don’t give a fuck about the case you would have brought to them, they’re not going to give a fuck about the case of you beating the hell out of someone.

   Bottom line is, I fucking hate the legal justice system down here. A masturbating monkey could do a better fucking job than these dip shits. Oh wait… I forgot. It would make too much sense to replace the heads of the police with the more qualified masturbating monkey. And anything that makes sense is absolutely NOT DONE, especially anything involving a bureaucracy. It’s a cultural thing.

And yes. It pisses me off.



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Lots of writing

   I wrote somewhere in the neighborhood of 3500 more words on my manuscript Blind man blue last night and this morning. I think some writers can just pound out the meat of the story and then go back and change it to be aesthetically pleasing. I am not one of these kinds of writers. My creative process just doesn’t work that way. I mean I can go back and re-write to spiff it up, but my initial process is to stare at the screen and formulate the flow of the words in my head before I put anything down. So, 3500 words took me roughly eight hours! Eight hours is a long fucking time to stare at a screen!!

   I also started a new Face Book page today. The Blind man blue literary project is what you can find the page under. I will be posting chapters and excerpts of my un-edited manuscripts on this page, as well as, lots, and lots of things related to zombies!

   Well, my brain is exhausted from the marathon writing session, so I’ll leave it at that J

Until later, Peace!

Loving the poo in San Juan Del Sur Nicaragua

   Story time!

   San Juan Del Sur Nicaragua, Semana Santa 2008:

   So, it is a Friday night during the week of the saints, and it seems like the entire city of Managua has pounced upon our little beach town. I am tending bar and the place is packed. When I say packed, I mean absolutely full to the brim.

   While working I notice a god awful smell rise through the air. Being extremely sensitive to foul smells, I gag a little and my eyes start to water. A minute later one of the cocktail waiters comes over to the bar gagging as well and pointing to the bathroom,(which only lies ten feet away from the bar) telling me that I have to check this out.

   The bar is swamped and the smell continues. So, I keep my head down and keep pounding out drinks. After about ten minutes we hit a short lull at the bar because just about everyone has a drink in hand. I walk out of the center island bar and over to the bathroom. The smell increases exponentially as I near the door.

   There are patrons and employees alike nearby the entrance both laughing and gagging. One employee, (another bartender) bends over and throws up, then begins to laugh again. I push the women’s bathroom door open with my foot, (mind you I said women’s).

   The reek that spills out is gut-wrenching. The entirety of the toilet is covered in soft served shit, as well as, the walls behind and next to the toilet. The toilet paper roll is covered in shit. The floor is covered in shit. Even the sink which is a couple of feet away, has some shit spattered on it.

   It looks as if someone filled a large balloon with diarrhea, then plugged an air compressor into the open end, and inflated the shit filled globe to the point of high powered eruption. I immediately call for a bucket of concentrated aromatic disinfectant and a bucket of bleach water.

   Unconcerned about mixing chemical, (I have already thrown up in my mouth twice) we step back and throw the bucket of bleach solution hard against the adjoining walls and toilet. Then, we follow it up with a heavily concentrated bucket of disinfectant water. We close the door and put the “Out of order” sign up. The smell wafting from the women’s room is almost immediately toned down to a tolerable level.

   I hurry back over to the bar and begin working again, but the smell in the bar persists. About forty minutes later the smell still has not abated and it is not now coming from the bathroom. So, I leave from behind the bar again to go investigate. The nose burning reek is the strongest on the south side of the room so I start my search there. It only takes me about thirty seconds to notice a girl sitting at the bar drinking a beer. The whole back side of her white shorts are muddy brown.  Upon noticing this I point her out to our security staff. A majority of our clients notice this as well, and start to point and laugh, saying things like, “What the fuck, she’s just sitting in her own shit!!” The bar sits stilted on the beach, so the water is literally less than one hundred feet away.

   I throw up in my mouth a little more while telling her, “Why not go wade out into the ocean to clean of a bit?  I mean, you’re covered in hot putrid shit.” She doesn’t really respond, just continues drinking with a glazed over look to her eyes. The security guards help her up to escort her outside. The sight is fucking gnarly. Her ass is soaked through with wet shit and the insides of her bare legs are covered in feces as well.

   Security takes her outside and we don’t see her again. It was absolutely mind boggling. A well dressed, pretty girl sitting in her own shit for an hour or more in a packed out bar! Slowly, with the poop factor removed, the open air aspect of the bar takes care of the smell.

  Yes, her bowel movement was so fetid that in an upstairs bar, completely open to the outside on three sides, including the ocean side with a strong breeze, that it damn near gassed us out.

 This really happened.

 I wrote about 1000 more words on my manuscript Blind man blue last night. The book is coming together now where the first three main characters stories intersect. My friend Gretchen found a web company that will do small print publishing for amateur authors and sent me the link.  She is very, very good at analyzing and sifting through all of the trash on the net to find completely viable tools!

   This could be my first option after I finish the manuscript and have it professionally edited. Maybe start with E-Books and do a small amount of printing as well.

Until later!

The wee hours:

   Super chill! Shiny shiny shiny!

The Zombie Blog : Ladies night and more research

   Shiny dresses that are way too short with exposed cleavage and sometimes nipples. Yes, it’s ladies night folks! This title can easily be misconstrued seeing how there are not very many ladies in this town.  Let me slightly retract that statement. Some can definitely be your lady for the right price. Others however, do not hold an ounce of etiquette within the sparkling vessels in which their tactless characters are forever imprisoned.

   They come in by the droves, to consume the free gasoline that is offered with a lime and straw. Most won’t buy anything; they just lie in wait for the hour when the free drinks commence. After the hours of courtesy are over, if they haven’t found a patron, they either leave or slip back into the corners where they won’t be as pressured to spend four dollars on a cocktail or leave altogether.

   I must say however, that it is always entertaining and usually not so rough on the eyes, not counting the few that are a definite HARD 22, still trying, and trying, and trying. If you are a single guy looking to party, they can surely show you a good time or the occasional drama fests that can surpass the good time by much farther on the amusement scale.

   I’ll update this later this evening and let you know how everything goes!

   So, I found a new website www.kickstart.com. It’s a creative projects funding platform and it is an absolutely marvelous idea; however, qualifications to post your project are limited to United States residents only. I could probably get around this, but I would have to go back to the U.S. to re-activate all of my banking information et cetera et cetera.

   I have been out of the country for so long that everything is on hold. I once tried over the phone to re-activate, and retrieve my account information, but they told me it was something that I have to do in person. Anyone have any ideas??

  Here is an excerpt from my manuscript for you all to read and I will update you in the wee hours:

   Nobody really knows what happened. Nor did anyone step up and take responsibility.  Some suppose it was just the course of nature, like the earth fighting back or something like that. The religious vary between the wrath of god, or some revised version of the tribulation. The governmentally dubious claim it was biological weapons testing gone awry. However, all of the conjecture about conspiracies or who’s to blame is really, at this point, irrelevant. As it was irrelevant from day one.

   The only thing really worth thought is, how to move forward. How to persevere with what we have left.  And let me tell you. It’s not much.

   How to survive. That is simply the one thing of value to ponder. Why? Because it’s a useful meditation. All of my (and most people’s ) prior preoccupations now seem utterly petty. A shiny new car, a giant flat screen plasma television, the newest, fastest portable computer. Is my shirt pressed and which tie will I wear to work today? Will I have a half caff double caramel macchiado or a vente latte? Hell, even the important stuff seems petty. Like the rent, or the electric and water bills.

  I no longer dwell on superfluous subjects. I don’t have to go into the office. Or, pay the bills. I don’t worry if I’m going to make it home in time for a reservation with my girlfriend at the latest highly reviewed restaurant.

   My job every minute of every day now, is to survive, and to help others survive. I know this might sound kind of fucked up, but there is a certain freedom in that. Also, this will probably sound even more fucked up. I absolutely love my new job, and I am exceedingly good at it.              

 Now that the power is out, there is pretty much just one kind of coffee. Black.

Don't forget to check out my zombie laden facebook site. www.facebook.come/blindmanblue
for other great chapter excerpts of my zombie book, (zombie novel) Blindman blue and a great community of zombies, oops I mean people who love zombies and like genres.

The Zombie Blog

   So I have decided to start a blog, based on the wonderful advise of my loving sister-in-law. I will take you through a sort of day in the life of what I have seen and what see daily here in Costa Rica. I work in night clubs  in Central America, so believe me, there is plenty to write about. I might sometimes put shocking things in here, but hey, it's reality. So, if you are adverse to writing that can be graphic and explicit in nature, then you probably don't want to read me.
   The second reason I will be blogging, is to document the process of writing my book. As well as, all the steps I take to find an agent, editor, and publish it (hopefully). Maybe there are other writers out there who will follow my blog and can learn from my mistakes throughout this process. With any luck, there will be some one following that can share advise with me as well!
   I will try to write daily although; I know that this will be an impossibility due to the fact that I am working six days a week and also writing a novel. So, I will at least write every two days!

   Last night was a Sunday evening, and it was dead. I don't have too much to say about it, other than the two drunk Ticos from San Jose that backed their giant Lincoln Navigator into a parked car across the street from the bar. They paused for a second, as if to deliberate on what they should do. After this short pause, they fled the scene. While the throngs of people outside were screaming to get the license plate number, I looked over my shoulder and saw a police car watching the whole thing unfold. They didn't move an inch. Side note, in the last twelve times that I have called the police, they have not once showed up. Six of the twelve time in which I have called, no one has answered the phone. This is the Wild West. 
   I spent some of my down time at work last night investigating tips and tricks to publishing a manuscript. I must say it was daunting and discouraging. Basically I learned that, If you are not accredited, no one will even look at your work, no matter how good it is. It said that the days of old are gone. The small number of print days to get your great piece of work a little bit of recognition,(to get a larger printing later) are gone.
   I have been writing basically my whole life. Mostly songs and poetry, this is my first attempt at a long works. There fore, I have not been printed in any newspapers or magazines. I have not worked on any major websites as a content writer. I had never thought of going in this direction until about a month ago when I started my manuscript,(I already have 100+ pages mind you). To be blunt, I have absolutely no credentials. it is going to be extremely difficult to even get one single literary agent to read my manuscript.
 
   Tomorrow perhaps I'll share with you one of my crazy wild west stories.

   Until then, peace!


Don't forget to check out my zombie laden facebook site. www.facebook.come/blindmanblue
for other great chapter excerpts of my zombie book, (zombie novel) Blindman blue and a great community of zombies, oops I mean people who love zombies and like genres.