Lost Drive

Geena raised her left arm and signalled for another drink, whilst simultaneously inserting a roll-up cigarette between her lips and lighting it with her novelty Elvis lighter; when she flicked the wheel to spark the flint, his hips would sway impossibly from within its clear plastic casing.

"Another bottle!" she shouted to the waitress who had only had enough time to grab her tray from the bar and turn on her heel to face us.

"Geena, I'm not sure…."

"Who runs your company?" she growled. "Certainly not that fop of a boss of yours. Christ, while he's off skiing in Aspen or wherever the Hell he is, you should definitely take a little time to yourself. You've had, what, two weeks off in three years?"


I sighed and found myself eagerly fingering my glass, impatiently waiting for the refill.

"Good," she announced, tossing Elvis to the table and taking a long draw on her cigarette. "Where was I?"

"John," I replied. "You were talking about…"


"Oh yes," she said pointing with one of her impossibly thin, bony index fingers.

I had always wondered how she managed to perfect that Cruella De Ville physique, and had long since realised that cigarettes, booze and so much fast food that she hadn't passed a solid stool in five years had had a helping hand in her transformation from honours student to hate-spouting, emaciated, part-time standup, full-time journalist.

"He has turned into such a boring asshole!" she announced.


"You said that," I sighed.

"But I didn't say why."


"No," I agreed and sat back in my chair, waiting for the onslaught.

"A long time ago, he was the most sexually adventurous man I had ever met," she began. "I swear, he was into everything you could imagine, and I was along for the ride."

She stopped and squinted at me.


"You know this shit! Why am I even expounding…? Anyway, yeah, but not now."

"Oh?"

"Ever since that witch of a wife gave him a kid he won't spill any of his precious seed because, and I fucking quote, "It wouldn't be right. That life giving liquid could be meant to prodice something as wonderful as Tawnee.""

I laughed inwardly.

"Wow, that's... uh."

"Seriously, he used to want to bathe me in jism, but now he won't let a drop go to waste."

She signalled frantically to the waiter for her wine.

"So, why are you still with him?" I ask, trying to hold the laughter in.

"To annoy that bitch of a wife of his. Cow."

Technology Enablers

"So, uh… a Blackberry?" I commented, fumbling with the top button of my shirt for a few seconds, before giving up the ghost and leaving it be. "Cool."

"Well, a girl needs to keep in touch with technology," she breathed, rifling through her handbag which sat, almost surreally upright atop the bedside table. "Can't let the competition use anything to their advantage or my detriment."

"I see."

She knew what I was thinking before I could even debate internally about asking the question.

"Your call goes through to the service who check my calendar and then update it with the appointment details. Its pushed out every few seconds and I get it instantly in the form of both an email message and an entry in my calendar."

"Really," I say, somehow calmed by this explanation of how my desperate plea got to the stunningly beautiful woman who was now buried back in her handbag, continuing her search. "Fascinating."

And it was.

"They sometimes use voting buttons as well, especially if there's anything kinky that I may not want to do," she continued.

"I see."

Which was accompanied by the realisation that the nervousness was back.

"I can get you some tech if you want," she said. "I have contacts from my days back as a CIO of this startup. Good times, good times. But the bubble burst, y'know. I'll fire over my business card when we're done here. "

She emerged from her bag with a different coloured condom in each hand.

"Red or black?" she asked excitedly. "Sorry, no ribbed today. Supplier emailed earlier saying there's a delay in shipping."

"Oh."

Toon Time

Saturday mornings were the best. No school and no real need to get up early, but that was why we did. Thousands of us, leaping out of bed at the first sign of sunlight and even before it emerged from its dark slumber during those winter months; ready to start the day the right way by filling up unfeasibly large bowls of sugary cereal and flavoured milk – taking time only to search in the cardboard box for the free toy or sticker that invariably was inside the food and not down "between the bag and the box" that our parents so desperately hoped might be true – before turning and heading for the sitting room to catch the morning cartoons.

Oh, what a plethora of great kids fodder there used to be. All dated now of course, but there was such an eclectic mixture, depending on which channel you watched of course. Popeye sandwiched between Transformers and Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles; Real Ghostbusters followed quickly by Chip 'N' Dale: Rescue Rangers who then made way for She-Ra: Princess of Power. Oh, the days, the days.

For me, it was "Spiderman and his Amazing Friends". What a cartoon! Not only did you get Spidey swinging about and wisecracking, but he had a couple of friends there too. Firestar and Ice-Man. They might as well have called them Chalk and Cheese or Ying and Yang. I mean, what villain could ever survive a little hot and old treatment? Why they didn't just freeze Moleman, Dr Droom and the like and then immediately hit them with a blast of blistering, nova-like temperature heat to cook their respective gooses I'll never know.

Maybe some superhero moral code.

Radio Analysis

And welcome back. Don't you just love those paid advertisement spots? I certainly do, but then again I get paid from them so its an unconditional love I suppose.
Anyyyyyyyyyway, we're looking at song lyrics today and there have been a mountain of calls since the lines were opened and there are some very interesting suggestions. Some crapfests as well, but what're you gonna do? Paul from Des Moines, I think you need some therapy, I seriously do.

I have to say right off the bat that while I do dearly love "Bohemian Rhapsody", and at least 47 of you who took the time to pick up the phone and call probably feel the same, its been done to death. Seriously, even before the Internet there have been more discussions on the lyrics of that particular classic than theories about Kennedy's assassination. Perhaps the clue is the word classic there? Its been around for a while and is globally celebrated people, so lets look beyond that.

Some good suggestions from many others though, and while I would love us to talk about each and every one of them, we are sort of limited to songs which have been released commercially and on this planet. Paul, its you again buddy. Sorry my friend, but radio signals received from Martians on your little home made satellite dish and SETI hack job really don't have room for much analysis, even if they were released to the buying public. Hello? There do need to be some lyrics for us to analyse!

But I digress. You still have the time it takes me to spin this next tune – and by spin, you know I mean click on the song with my handy mouse and press play – to get your nomination in, so get dialling.

Paul, if you can call us back, we'll put you in touch with someone who can help.

Back

She turned up at 4:30 this morning, a bolt from the blue, cutting through 14 years of questions, doubt and pain as if she had never left. We didn't speak for a long time, but from the looks of things she was just as shocked to be facing me as I was to be looking into her dark blue eyes for the first time in so long. One third of my life she had been missing, and at that exact moment I fully believed that part of me had wondered where she was every single day, whether it be in my dreams forgotten in the early light of a new day or deep in my subconscious; a thought battling away to be recognised but suppressed by mechanisms built up over the years to make me forget her.

It was all back now though.

The blocks my mind had constructed meticulously, burying memories and locking away urges and feelings had been shattered as soon as I opened the door, and now that the dam was broken everything I had worked so hard to suppress was now flooding my consciousness, screaming at me and filling me with memories of kisses, walks, lovemaking. As I staggered back under the onslaught I found it difficult to breathe, and while it was symptomatic of a panic attack, I knew that I was drowning.

She looked at me and smiled, before handing me the pack of cigarettes she had gone out for all those years ago.

Carpet Lovers

Ted sat in his cubicle waiting as the seconds ticked down to the end of his work day. It had been particularly busy, but that was a good thing as his day had seemed to move more swiftly than usual. Of course he had achieved absolutely nothing of any worth, with his own task list more than doubling during the course of the morning alone but by the end of the day he had pared those extra jobs back and put out one or two fires before they had been given any space to grow.

Four minutes to go and his hands were getting itchy, in the excited way that they always did when he knew that it was almost time to go home. His stomach had already been doing preparatory flips for the past half hour, and it was all he could do to suppress the full level of excitement which would inevitably produce the beginnings of what would eventually become a torrent of sweat that would immediately darken the shade of the light blue oxford shirt he wore and cause suspect stains on his trousers.

The train ride back would be infuriating, he was sure of that. It was Wednesday, and the oddest day of the week for mass transit. Every method of travel was heavily oversubscribed on a Wednesday as if everyone decided to go to work that particular day of the week, over all the others. Mondays were quiet, and Fridays seemed to only cater for a handful of people not taking vacation, snow or sick days. Tonight, he would no doubt get stuck sandwiched between some fat smelly man and two women who would talk incessantly about the latest episode of whatever daily soap opera they had Tivo'd and were rushing home to watch. Why they needed to speculate on something they were just half an hour away from actually seeing was beyond him.

It would all wash away when he reached his front door, removed his shoes and socks and then slipped the key into the lock. One simple twist of his wrist would follow, together with a quick shove of the door and then he could step inside. His feet would immediately sink into the plush shag carpet and, as his eyes remained closed, he would be able to savour the moment and let the feeling of ecstasy climb slowly up through his toes; through his legs where the hairs would stand on end; past his thighs which would twitch in time to his rapidly increased heartbeat and then… and then… finally to his groin.

Wind

James awoke to the sound of the rain clattering the window as if someone was throwing endless handfuls of marbles against the glass. The wind had died down the evening before and he had eventually got to sleep, although it had taken him quite some time; thunder and lightning were a breeze and had never phased him, but the wind and rain that was another matter.

Of course he knew that it couldn't harm him - not really - but the creeking noises in the walls and the rattling of the windows which accompanied the wind propelled rain onslaught would make him jump every time he heard them. How could he be sure that the next gust, the final blustering, roaring blow wouldn't bring the entire house down around him.

And so he would lie, looking up and around frantically at every sound, waiting for the innevitable to happen and silently praying for the first light of day.