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| Marj |
 Posted: Sat Dec 08, 2007 2:44 pm |
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Joined: 21 May 2004
Posts: 10497
Location: Manhattan
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marantzo wrote: [Yes Jeremy, you are correct. Things have changed since I learned the meaning of the word when I was probably in grade 3 or 4. Who knew it would expand its meaning so quickly?  I just looked it up in my dictionary, (not an American one of course) and there it was with all those usages. Sorry Marj, you are far more modern that I]
[Gary, I doubt I even knew the word in grades 3 or 4. So we're even!  Well, I probably heard it a lot but did I really know all of its meanings? I doubt it.
Now, can anyone continue our story?] |
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| bart |
| Posted: Mon Dec 24, 2007 1:11 pm |
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Joined: 05 Dec 2005
Posts: 2381
Location: Lincoln NE
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Gordon and Pequeno made their way to an abandoned farmhouse. As Pequeno rummaged through the dusty place, he noticed that old stockings had been hung from the chimney with care. Peering inside one of them, he found a mummified tangerine, an airline bottle of Tanqueray, and a small plastic bag full of white powder.
"Looks like they left in a hurry," he said to Gordon.
"No kidding," said Gordon, who had lifted up a moldy couch cushion and found the tv remote, $3.42 in change, and... |
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| marantzo |
| Posted: Mon Dec 24, 2007 2:01 pm |
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...an odd looking pair of handcuffs with mink trim. "What the fuck are these," George muttered.
"They look like mink lined handcuffs," Pequeno offerred.
"I know that, but what the hell are they doing with all this other garbage? I think we stumbled on an abandoned, dumpy, kinky, Christian, family hideaway. I can't wait till that damn boat comes and takes away from this God forsaken dung heap."
Pequeno was trying to peel the petrified tangerine, but with no success. He then opened the little plastic bag and took a snort.
"Whoa, amigo, this is good shit!"
"Lemme have some, greaseball."
Gordon took a couple of good hits and that's when insanity began to creep into his brain. He noticed an axe leaning against the wall on the other side of the room and decided it was only logical to.... |
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| marantzo |
| Posted: Wed Dec 26, 2007 4:20 pm |
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[Back to a little book I started months ago}
BAD GUYS FINISH LAST
Monday Morning
I'd just settled into my office chair behind my office desk in my new office on the first day of my new occupation, private eye, when the phone rang.
"Cornell Mann, private eye."
"Mr. Mann, I just saw your ad in the Daily Mirror and I need your services," a sing song voice said from the other end of the line.
"Who am I talking to?'
"My name is Samantha Cabot and my husband is missing."
"Well, Samantha, when did he turn up missing?"
"He didn't turn up, he's missing."
"Yeah, I know. When did you noticed he was gone?"
"When he wasn't here anymore."
"When was that?"
"About a week ago."
"A week ago? How come you didn't report this until now?"
"Well he does go away quite often. He's a traveling business man."
"What kind of business, and why wouldn't he have told you about going away?"
"He's in the collection business and he always leaves me a note when he goes away, but I cleaned up the house the morning that he left for work and I figured I must have thrown out the note. He always leaves it on the kitchen table and I thought I must have thrown it out with the morning paper. I never read the paper except the movie schedules. Anyway, I started to worry this morning because it's been a week and he hasn't called or anything, so I looked in the classified in this morning's paper and found your agency under Personal Services right under the massage ads. Please Mr. Mann, you have to help me."
"Do you have money to pay for my services?"
"Sure, I think so."
"What do you mean, you think so?"
"How much do you charge. I have lots of money in the bank. Fred always put the money in my account and everything in my name. He loves me very much. How much do you charge?"
"Two hundred a day plus expenses."
I really didn't know what to charge. I never thought of that.
"That sounds OK. Do you take Visa?"
"No I only take cash and I'll need a weeks pay in advance. I'll refund any money if the case is solved before then."
I was starting to like the way I was handling this financial business. My first case.
"Mrs. Cabot,, you have to come down so we can discuss all the details face to face. Bring fourteen hundred bucks so if I take the case I can start right away."
"You have to take the case, Mr. Mann. You just have to. I'm worried sick."
"Call me Cornell, Samantha. You bring the fourteen hundred and I'll put all the other cases aside.
Can you be here in an hour or so?"
"Sure I can. Sure. I'll be there in an hour, and thank you so much."
"See you then Samantha, goodbye."
"Goodbye, Cornell."
I didn't know what to make of this woman. She sounded a little off-kilter. The phone rang. Wow, business was booming.
"Mr....Cornell I don't know your address, it wasn't in the paper."
"1400 Broadway. On the corner of Broadway and Kennedy. Office number 901."
"Thanks, see you around ten."
Around ten to ten the phone rang again. Another case? No, it was Samantha.
"Cornell, I'm going to be a teensy weensy bit late. I'm at my bank just down the street and I forgot that it doesn't open till ten."
"That's OK. I'm just finishing some paper work."
"Good. I'll be there as soon as I can and thank you for seeing me so promptly. I just know that you are going to do a good job."
"I'll do my best, baby."
I figured that a little PI lingo like 'baby' was called for.
Twenty minutes later there was a quiet knock at my door. I called out "come in" and she did. I couldn't believe what I saw. She had just walked out of a 40's 'B' movie. A haystack of platinum blonde hair cascading to her size 38 D's, bare shoulders and poured into a tight white summer dress with red flowers. White patent shoes with 4" spike heels and topped off with a large white straw sun hat sheltering a doll-like face with doll-like makeup, lightly rouged apple cheeks and bright red full lips. Big blue eyes with long lashes that looked real. Seeing her, triggered Helen Kane singing "I Want to Be Loved By You" in my brain. “Boop boopie doo...”
I stood up and greeted her, shaking her hand and asking her to sit down in the chair in front of my desk.
"Mr. Mann, Cornell...can I call you Corny?"
"I'd rather you didn't."
"OK, but you can call me Sam. Can I call you Manny?"
"Sam, call me anything you want, but not Corny."
"OK, Manny," she said with her little sing song voice.
"Have you got the money, Sam?"
"Yeah, right here. You know you can call me Sammy too, if you want. I can never decide if I like Sam better than Sammy or Sammy better than Sam. Some times it's one and then the other. I guess I should make up my mind and stick to it, but I don't want to have a nickname that I'm going to get tired of. What people call you is very important. Don't you think so?"
"Yes, Mrs. Cabot, I think so, now can we get down to finding your husband?"
She went through all the details of her husbands job that he had told her about. That he worked a very wealthy man whose financed business ventures, mostly south of the border in places like Detroit and Cleveland and St. Louis. Sometimes the people he was financing stopped making the payments and her husband was sent down to the States to collect what was owed. Between these assignments her husband was the rich man’s gofer doing errands and arranging meetings. The rich man insisted on anonymity and Fred had to sign an oath of secrecy when he applied for the job and couldn’t even tell his wife who he worked for.
Listening to this story, it seemed clear to me that this sweet innocent had been handed a load of bull by her hubby.
“Sam, I have to ask you some personal questions. Don’t be offended, I need all the information I can get to be able to solve this thing.”
“That’s OK, Cornell...Manny...Corn....What did I decide to call you?”
“I think it was Manny.”
“Oh yeah, Manny. I do like that name best. What did you ask me again?”
I started to get the feeling that I was interviewing a Playboy Bunny.
“If personal questions would bother you, remember?”
“Oh yeah. They won’t bother me I’m open minded. I will be forced coming with my answers.”
“I believe that you mean forthcoming.”
“Yeah, that’s it. That’s what I’ll be with my answers, forthcoming!”
“Sam have you ever been a Playboy Bunny?”
“Oh, Manny, you are a good detective. No, I wasn’t a Playboy Bunny but in 1989 I was Miss October in Jail Bait Magazine.”
“Jail Bait? How old were you?”
“I was nineteen but I could pass for a very sexy younger girl. They wouldn’t use anyone under eighteen. That’s against the law!”
“Yes, I know. Now let’s get back to the case. Have you every suspected that Fred was cheating on you or lying to you about what his job was?”
“No, I don’t think that Fred ever cheated on me. He seems to enjoy fooling around with me too much to want anyone else. I never have. He’s a very good lover. Once we....”
“Hold it. I don’t need those details.”
“OK I guess I was being too......forthright! What was your other question?”
“Did you ever think that Fred might be lying to you about his job?”
“Well, he was sworn to secrecy so maybe he had to lie sometimes, but he always came home and he never hit me and he always let me have lots of money even though I never asked. And I’m sure he never cheated when he was on those trips either, because as soon as he would come home he wanted to make love to me. When he went away I dressed in very sexy clothes every day so whenever he came home I would look good for him. We have a wonderful life together. We make each other flurry.”
“Do you mean, flourish?”
“Yeah, flourish. We make each other that.”
“You are up to the eff’s in the dictionary, aren’t you?”
“Wow, you are a good detective!” |
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| jeremy |
| Posted: Fri Jan 04, 2008 5:36 pm |
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Joined: 21 May 2004
Posts: 6794
Location: Derby, England and Hamilton, New Zealand (yes they are about 12,000 miles apart)
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_________________
I am angry, I am ill, and I'm as ugly as sin.
My irritability keeps me alive and kicking.
I know the meaning of life, it doesn't help me a bit.
I know beauty and I know a good thing when I see it. |
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| bart |
| Posted: Sat Jan 05, 2008 1:54 pm |
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Joined: 05 Dec 2005
Posts: 2381
Location: Lincoln NE
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| Still no sure what the triple dots mean... |
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| marantzo |
| Posted: Sat Jan 05, 2008 5:11 pm |
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bart wrote: Still no sure what the triple dots mean...
It means that my writing left him speechless. |
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| Lori |
| Posted: Wed Feb 27, 2008 10:48 am |
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Joined: 28 Nov 2006
Posts: 37
Location: Beautiful downtown Burbank
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Boy do I have some reading to do to catch up. Hopeless task. Sorry to have been gone so long and missed so much. Finally got three thick notebooks of writing (wannabe poetry) into the computer and downloaded onto discs that are now secure in the safe in case the house burns down and I lose all my originals. It took forever because I never seem to use just one word when 178 will do.
For example:
DOWNWARD SPIRAL
When the world turns to shit
It spins around three times first,
Stubs its toe and gets a hangnail
That bleeds all over the brand new tablecloth.
It tries to say ‘excuse me’ and
Make a snot bubble that drips down.
When life becomes a piece of crap
It dents a fender on the guard rail
And snags a nylon getting out to check.
It slams an angry finger in the car door
And ruins a forty dollar manicure
As well as the remainder of the day and week.
When day-to-day existence manages to stink
It drains all joy as well as bank accounts
And leaves behind a bitter taste and bill collectors
Calling at the dinner hour to guarantee
Hot tempers and scorched gravy,
Not to mention breaking Gramma’s teapot.
When the future learns to disappear.
It takes the smoke and mirrors
That make living possible away with it,
Leaving only what is real and hard-as-hate behind
To build anew the stumbling blocks of now.
ljm
Alone and crippled in body and mind
What have I done to me and her
And the us that once was solid
Transportation for our lives.
I left my Lincoln for a Ford
And I’m getting to nowhere faster
But I’m the one to change the tire
Every time it wobbles and goes flat.
The Lincoln had a warranty
That sent a service man to do it.
The Lincoln rides in comfort still
But the Ford is wearing out.
It rattles and squeaks
And the lights are dim
The upholstery is stained
And the tags have expired.
I have to keep it running
I’ve become too lame to walk
But I can’t find the owner’s manual
And it’s time to change the oil.
ljm
ETHEREE
1. Can
2. I write
3. Etheree,
4. A style unknown
5. Until this moment.
6. Can I break down the walls
7. That lock me in iambic
8. And stride across their rubble piles
9. With banners of adventure flying
10. To find a place where counting is allowed.
ljm
ETHEREE #2
1. Who
2. Is this
3. Pretty Girl
4. Who calls me mom
5. But gives me nothing
6. When I hold out my hand,
7. With supplication quaking,
8. For all the things a mother needs
9. To show herself that she’s succeeded
10. At the hardest job the world can offer:
10. To create a person worthy of praise
9. Who reflects the spotlight back to mom
8. For all the love and effort spent
7. In making her who she is-
6. A daughter of the heart-
5. Bonus to a world
4. Which stands in line
3. To love her
2. Like her
1. Mom.
ljm
I
TOO
HAVE
HEARD
HOW IT’S
IMPOSSIBLE
TO COMPOSE A
SONNET THAT IS
SHAPED JUST LIKE
AN EVERGREEN TREE.
THIS IS OBVIOUSLY NOT
A SONNET, BUT IT SURELY
DOES LOOK LIKE A STATELY
CHRISTMAS TREE THAT WOULD
LOOK NICE IN ANYONES LIVING ROOM
TO HELP MAKE THE HOLIDAYS MERRIER.
AND LEND A SWEET AROMA TO THE ROOM
WHILE PROVIDING A PLACE TO STACK ALL THE
GAILY WRAPPED GIFTS THAT SEEM TO NOW BE THE
PRIMARY REASON FOR THE HOLIDAY TO BE CELEBRATED.
BUT
I AM
NOT
THE
ONE
WHO
CUT
IT DOWN.
ljm
HAIKU EXERCISES
(1)
Autumn years
Systems failing
Water in the bowl turns red.
(2)
Poetic effort
Something new
Tumbles from the mind
(3)
Sleeping husband
Cuddled puppy
Wife no longer in the picture
(4)
Warm Vanilla scent
Drifts from Christmas kitchen
Bringing back my youth
(5)
Seven and two fives
Parsed and added carefully
Just makes seventeen
(6)
Rainy winter sky
Dripping down the windowpane
Paints a broken heart
(7)
Sleeping daffodils
Cozy in their buried bulbs
Wait for springtime sun
(8)
Ink across a parchment
Nothing said or shared
Why murder trees for this
ljm
Comments? Criticisms? Sock it to me. I can take it. I think!!
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| Lori |
| Posted: Wed Feb 27, 2008 11:03 am |
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Joined: 28 Nov 2006
Posts: 37
Location: Beautiful downtown Burbank
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marantz-Back to a little book I started months ago
BAD GUYS FINISH LAST
"Cornell Mann, private eye."
"My name is Samantha Cabot and my husband is missing."
"Well, Samantha, when did he turn up missing?"
"He didn't turn up, he's missing."
"Yeah, I know. When did you noticed he was gone?"
"When he wasn't here anymore."
...
This is fun. I hope you keep going on it. |
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| Lori |
| Posted: Wed Feb 27, 2008 12:05 pm |
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Joined: 28 Nov 2006
Posts: 37
Location: Beautiful downtown Burbank
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Eeeeek
This format leaves a bit to be desired. The above verse about the Christmas tree types out in the shape of a two sided tree. It looked like that when I cut and pasted it in this reply space. But when it was transferred to the site, everything was moved to the left and now there is only half a tree. Marrrrrj - is there any way to transfer it the way I typed it? Or must I plan for everything to be aligned to the left margin? |
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| Marj |
| Posted: Wed Feb 27, 2008 2:27 pm |
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Joined: 21 May 2004
Posts: 10497
Location: Manhattan
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She has returned. YES!!
Lori--We were just discussing a similar problem in Movie Trivia. Why there, you might ask. Check it out -- just the last page and you'll see.
That's the long answer. The short answer is: I doubt it. But I'll try to find out more conclusively when I can. But just so you know, as soon as I saw it, I immediately knew it was a Christmas tree.
I need to run but I do have some questions about Haiku. Later ... |
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| marantzo |
| Posted: Wed Feb 27, 2008 3:28 pm |
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| Lori, I was wondering where you went. I noticed the Christmas tree also (and I'm Jewish), but I am in Nassau now and don't spent much time on the computer so I didn't read your poems yet, but I definitely will. Thank you for your compliment on my detective comic soon to be novel. I will get back to it. |
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| marantzo |
| Posted: Thu Feb 28, 2008 9:38 am |
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Lori, I just read your latest poetry and my comment is simple. Delightful! I'm sure I have read the first one before.
They are clever, inventive and for me, a pleasure to read. Delightful. |
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| Befade |
| Posted: Tue Apr 01, 2008 12:45 pm |
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Joined: 20 May 2004
Posts: 3784
Location: AZ
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Quote: "Cornell Mann, private eye."
"My name is Samantha Cabot and my husband is missing."
"Well, Samantha, when did he turn up missing?"
"He didn't turn up, he's missing."
"Yeah, I know. When did you noticed he was gone?"
"When he wasn't here anymore."
Gary..........You are channeling Guy Noir. |
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| marantzo |
| Posted: Mon Sep 15, 2008 12:00 pm |
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Quote: Gary..........You are channeling Guy Noir.
Sorry I didn't read this earlier. Who's Guy Noir?
Back to my gumshoe:
My first case was so weirdly typical of a fictional private eye novel that I began to think that some of my friends were playing a practical joke on me. I phoned a few of my friends, the one’s who knew I was starting this business, but they seemed genuinely surprised by what just occurred. And they all wanted to meet this client of mine. Of course I told them, no.
I came from a wealthy family. My father had a large men’s outwear factor producing everything from parkas to leather motorcycle jackets. My mother was a housewife who was a secretary at my dad’s business for the first three years of their marriage, till they had me. I’m an only child. My parents were killed in a car crash on a road in Saskatchewan three years ago. I was a lawyer then. Handling civil cases. I was bored sick. I was left the factory and arranged a the sale of it to my dad’s floor manager. I was left with a lot of money. The accidental deaths doubled the insurance money which was substantial without the doubling.
When my parents were killed, my job as a lawyer was even harder to take. I was genuinely depressed. Sometimes I couldn’t even make it to my office. I let my cases slide until I finally had to let my clients go. I refunded most of their money and set them up with a friend of mine who was also a civil lawyer. Sent over all my files and closed up shop. I bummed around for about a year. Travelling, partying, ordering in and watching an awful lot of TV. I was very lonely. Sometimes I would sit on my sofa surrounded by silence and weep for the loss of my parents. I was thirty three and a lost soul, not knowing what to do except feel sorry for myself. Rather a pathetic figure.
Then the good Lord, whom I have no belief in, sent me a message in the form of a Humphrey Bogart marathon. I had to be a private detective. This revelation saved my sanity, though my friends thought it only proved my insanity.
So here I am. Sam Spade in the crime capitol of North America, Winnipeg.
..............................................A Shamas Is Born |
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