Texas Frightmare…..

The air in the bar was thick with cigarette smoke as some honky-tonk tune wafted through the air assaulting my ears.  I was definitely more of a Pink Floyd fan.  After a long day of working the Texas Frightmare convention I had stopped in here to wet my whistle and hang out with Dr. Pus and The Dunwoody.  What more companionship could you ask for?

“Dave, did you sell out of Empire 2 already?” I asked.

He gave me that sheepish grin that melts women’s hearts and Doc bounced around in his seat full of excitement.

“Clean out on the first day!”

I just shook my head.  My werewolf novel had sold decently but I think I secretly always wanted to have the appeal of The Dunwoody.  As we nursed our beers enjoying the ambience of the local watering hole I noticed the lack of female companionship in the bar.  This was truly out of the ordinary because no matter where The Dunwoody goes the women are sure to follow.  He is like a pied piper for the opposite sex.  Women just seem to melt when he was around.  On top of that the only thing I notice was that there were no windows but what appeared to be retractable skylights in the ceiling almost like a stadium roof.  I really didn’t pay much attention to them because I wasn’t there for an architectural tour.

Doc, wearing his famous blood coated scrubs, got up an sauntered over to the bar to retrieve another round of libations for us, but accidently bumped into a rather large hairy individual wearing shit-kickers, jeans (that were WAY to tight), and a wife beater.

The grizzly bear turned toward Doc taking a menacing stance and uttered those words that no one wants to hear, “What the Hell man?”

Doc began to profusely apologize to the wolf of a man offering to buy him and his friends another round to compensate for bumping into him.  Grizzly didn’t seem to really interested in this and continued to raise the tension level in the odd little establishment by taking a threatening posture and towering over little old Doc.  Now I’ve known Doc for a couple years and I had the feeling big boy wasn’t going to intimidate Doc.  Christ, he’s pulled his own teeth in the past.

Doc walked away from the unhappy crowd at the bartop to avoid anymore conflict because there was nothing more he could do.  He offered the drinks and apologized.  It’s not like he could turn the clock back and make sure he didn’t bump into the guy.  The whole thing was silly.

“Ralph!  Open the roof!”

With a mechanical grind the roof tiles began to pull back like an automated pool cover, each individual section folding onto the previous one exposing the beautiful starlit night sky.  There were no clouds moving around up there; it was perfectly clear.  My eyes saw the full moon in the sky and alarms began to sound in my head.  The last few conventions I had been to hadn’t turned out so well.  The zombies in San Francisco and the Vampires in Chicago.  Oh shit what had I gotten myself into this time!

I looked back over the bar and wooly mammoth and his ‘entourage’ had turned there hairy bodies towards us but had their heads upturned to the sky taking in the fully round yellow disk in the Texas night sky.  Great.  Werewolves.  I thought remembering past experiences.

A hazy yellow glow enveloped the group of hairy bastards as they began to change shape.  Now, I had never seen a shape shifter actually change before so this one would be new but as their faces elongated, stretching the skin in bone into snouts, I began to get nervous.

A dentist, an author and a programmer walk into a bar —

I looked back and the werewolves and had to do a double take.  They weren’t werewolves.  At least that I’d ever scene.  Their skin was leathery like an old sofa and they had wings.  As a matter of fact the only thing they had resembling a werewolf were huge fangs.  I paused long enough for that split second slap of reality to set in and —

Gargoyles.  Motherfuckin’ gargoyles.

I can’t win anymore.  Everywhere I go this happens.  I thought it was Dane and Bryce that caused this, but evidently it was me.  I settled back into the chair accepting that I was finally going to die at the hands of an evil monster in a situation that I didn’t create or deserve.

As I slouched even lower in the chair resigned to my fate, I felt the table bump into my shoulder and turned to look at what ugly monster was coming up behind us.  Instead I saw a pair of glossy black lace up boots; kind of like wrestler would wear, standing in front of my face.  My eyes tracked upward to see what was filling the boots and there was a man in black tights and top with a long black cape on hood flowing over his shoulders.  On his chest was the letter ‘D’ emblazoned in white phosphorescent lettering with one hand on his hip and the other holding a giant scythe.  He reminded me of what the Grim Reaper would look like as a superhero.  Upon his gorgeous face he wore a mask that looked like a cross between Night Vision Goggles and sunglasses.

‘Behold creatures of Doom!  Your fate is sealed as The Dunwoody has arrived!’

I didn’t know whether to put my head in my hands and laugh or cry.  Or should I be thankful The Dunwoody made an appearance?  I had heard comical stories about this, but seeing it in person was a completely different thing. 

The Dunwoody jumped from the tabletop to the sawdust covered floor sending up miniature mushroom clouds of dust.  I stood from my seat and took a step back trying to get my back against the wall to watch whatever was going to go down.  I looked for Doc but all that stood next to Dunwoody was a five and a half foot tall man in blue scrubs with red piping.  A short Mohawk adorned his head with a silver skull earring in his right lobe.  Across his eyes and face were a Lone Ranger style mask and held in his right hand were a set of silver plated extraction pliers for pulling teeth.

As I continued to back up I bumped into an empty chair and proceeded to plop down in it.  Resigning myself to my fate, I didn’t get up get up from my perch.  I could watch the festivities about to unfold in front of me.  Next to the chair was a table with a pitcher and glass on it.  A full pitcher.  Of beer.  Someone loved me.

Full glass in hand, and on the way to my mouth, I watched as the little man ran in front of the group of gargoyles his hand whipping back and forth.  He moved so quickly I could barely see what he was doing, what I did hear were yelps in pain and the tinkle of pulled fangs hitting bare patches in the covered floor.  As he turned back towards me I saw the large ‘CP’ on his chest and realized it was seeing the infamous Captain Pus in front of me.

The gargoyles continued to scream in pain and maintained their spots in front of the bar as The Dunwoody jumped from the table to the side of Captain Pus brandishing his scythe in front of him.  One of the leathery beasts finally developed enough gumption to come after the pair, but he ended up getting the raw end of the deal as his head ended up bouncing across the bar and smacking into the digital jukebox.  It didn’t stop there either as The Dunwoody continued swinging for the fences sending more and more heads across the bar to the jukebox.  With the flash of an eye the fight was over almost before it began.  Seven beheaded bodies lay on the in the sawdust with black ichor soaking into the woodchips.  Across the room, the matching heads lay at the base of the jukebox and half of my pitcher of beer was gone.

‘Ralph!  Close the damn roof!’

The panels unfolded in a reverse order across the hole in the roof blocking out the stars and moon darkening the room.  My eyes blinked and their opening they were greeted with darkness.  I tried not to move because I couldn’t see anything in the room including the hand holding my beer.  With in just a couple minutes the lights came back on and to my surprise Dave and Dr. Pus were sitting next to me at the table.  They shared a smile across the table and filled my beer mug with the wonderful amber liquid.

Doc looked over at me and grinned.

‘Welcome to the Library Ben!’

The First Convention…

As the plane approached the runway like a goose learning to fly I reveled in the fact that this would be the first Horror Writer’s Convention that the three of us would be attending.  Don’t get me wrong, we’ve gotten together many times in the past to do stuff together, like skiing in Utah at Bryce’s place.

As we filed off the plane, if one could call it that, I saw my buddies waiting for me at the end of the ramp.  Bryce Beattie and J Dane Tyler.  My amigos.  I remember when Bryce first published Oasis and it became a huge hit.  He was the keynote speaker at the first convention he went to and this year the honor fell to Dane.  ‘Ghost Hunters’ was a giant success when it hit the stands.  The following of people that latched on to his writing was amazing and quite evident as I witnessed Dane sign about ten copies as we were leaving the airport.

As usual, the jovial bickering began immediately between Bryce and I.

“I told you shattering his leg would get him to finish.”

“You don’t think it was too much?”

“Nah.  He finished the editing didn’t he?”

“True, but we could have just as easily held him hostage!”

During our ski trip to Utah, Dane had an unfortunate run in with a stubborn pine tree resulting in a broken leg and ankle.  During his recuperation time, he managed to finish the tedious task of editing his work and getting submitted.  The manuscript was snatched up by a major publisher, like a child taking Halloween candy from a bowl.  Four months later the shelves were graced with a New York Times Best Seller and the Tyler family’s life changed forever.

Me?  I was still writing shorts and poetry, but more and more of my work was being published in different anthologies.  I sold enough to not have to hold down a 9-5 job, but still was putting the finishing touches on ‘Civilization: End.’  I’d received a few offers on it and we’d have to see where it goes.

The three of us piled into the back of a cab and proceeded to the hotel that we were staying at.  Along the way Dane pointed out different landmarks that make Chicago unique like the Marina City Towers and the Sears Tower.  As my gaze shifted across Dane and Bryce to look out the window something caught my eye.

Let me digress and explain what happens when the three of us are together.  THE PARANORMAL.  I don’t mean creaking footsteps or weird noises.  I mean MONSTERS.  When Dane broke his leg and ankle you probably thought he ran into the tree.  Not quite.  Sasquatch threw him into the tree like a discus, would be more accurate.  Imagining Dane spinning through the air makes me laugh but remembering the sound of him hitting the tree doesn’t.

So what did I see in the cab?  Our cab driver had no reflection in the rearview mirror.  Great.  Here we go again.  I nudged Dane, who was perched on the hump, nodded at the mirror and his eyes got as big as the moon.  He proceeded to nudge Bryce, who just put a palm to his forehead making a resounding SMACK.  The driver never even flinched.  Didn’t turn his head, hit the brakes, or any of the things you would expect.  He just pulled up in front of our hotel and let us out.  Thinking on his feet, Dane asked the driver if he could pick us up at 6PM and take us to a good restaurant.  The driver nodded and mumbled that he would be here.  Dane slipped him an extra twenty and we walked into the hotel, shaking our heads in disbelief.  This of course led to more bickering.

“It’s your fault Bryce.  You always bring us this type of luck!”

“Ben, do I need to remind you that you are the one that peed on Sasquatch?”

I shut up pretty quick with that comment.

The first day of the convention went well with signings and lectures.  I was approached by a publishing house and accepted an offer I couldn’t refuse.  I felt like I was in the ‘Godfather’ but in the end everyone made out like a bandit.  Let’s just say my daughter won’t have to worry about college.

When we were done at four we met in Dane’s room to discuss how we would handle the cab driver.

Dane, as always, had his trusty crossbow but Bryce and I were left with nothing to use as a weapon.  What do you use on vampires?  Wood stakes, garlic, and beheading.  The whole Holy Water thing doesn’t work.  Anything that is based on faith, like a cross, will not defeat a vampire.  We broke off the legs off of some chairs, sharpened the ends to nice sharp points and then rubbed them in some garlic oil that Dane had for his crossbow bolts.  We wrapped our weapons in torn up shower curtain to try and hide the garlic smell and proceeded down the elevator looking very similar to the three stooges as we exited through the revolving doors. I never heard the story about how Dane explained the garlic oil and destroyed chairs in his room when he checked out, but I’m sure it was a whopper.

Our taxi sat there waiting for us like a chariot at the races.  We introduced ourselves to the driver whose name was Vlad.  I almost blew it because I started laughing and tried to hold it in so the only noise I made sounded like a bad fart through my nose.

He led us down the streets of Chicago to an older neighborhood that reminded me a lot of the older areas of Pittsburgh where you would find the stubba bubbas making pierogies and kielbasa.  He let us out in front of a restaurant called ‘Antones’ but looked like ‘Ant    s’ because there were lights burned out in the sign.  Bryce invited Vlad in with us as a reward for driving us around the town and showing us some of the sights that evening.

It was so funny because the door opened with the stereotypical loud groan as the protesting hinges permitted us access to the inner confines of ‘Antones’.  Antone himself sat us at a table in the middle of the room and what is the first thing I noticed?  No glass, mirrors, anything that could cause a reflection.  There it was.  The proof we were looking for.  A nest of vampires in downtown Chi-Town.

As Antone came through the kitchen doors with what appeared to be glasses of water, five others followed him out in an ambush trying to catch us off guard.  I had flashbacks to the B-grade movies from the seventies as I took out my stakes and proceeded to do damage.  Behind me I heard the twang of Dane’s crossbow and the umph of Bryce putting down the fangheads.  In the end it was only the three of us left standing.

We left ‘Antones’ to find dinner someplace else and as soon as the grumpy doors closed we heard what sounded like the air escaping from a balloon.  As one, we turned to look and see as the building simply collapsed into an empty lot, strewn with debris.  No one said a word.  Dane climbed into the driver’s seat, Bryce and I hopped in the back, and away we went to find dinner.

“Damn Bryce, this is the last time we get together.”

“It’s not my fault man.  I had nothing to do with it.”

“Dane this is your town.  What the hell?”

Looking in the rearview mirror, I couldn’t see Dane’s reflection.  My heart leapt into my throat as I watched in silence as Dane reached up and flipped the mirror around.

I could see that huge grin of his and best of all, I saw no fangs.

“I’m not coming next year guys.”

“Neither am I….”

A Bad Joke…

Bryce, Dane and I sat in a park one day during a break from a Horror Writer’s Convention in Los Angeles that we were attending.  The conversation for that particular break was rather childish.  Bryce and I argued about who was truly the King of the Zombies.

“Bryce, it’s gotta be me.  Five books published and I grew up in Pittsburgh!”

“Sorry Ben, but I’ve got twelve published, four of which are award winners, plus the ‘Oasis’ series.”

I had to play my trump card.

“I’ve met Mr. Romero.”

On a normal day, this just brings a conversation like this to a halt, but Bryce must have been feeling as ornery as a mule that day.

“I know that Ben.  You’re quick to remind us of …”

At this point Dane broke in.  This never happens in arguments between Bryce and I because we amuse him way too much when we bicker.

“Gentlemen, I think they are the Kings of Zombies”

Following Dane’s locked gaze into the park, Bryce and I turned our heads to see a hockey team coming our way.  Not a pee-wee team, not a minor league practice squad, but the LA Kings.  Twenty-two rotting zombie hockey players coming straight at us.  Most of their ankles were twisted at odd angles.  Ever try walking on hockey skates?  Some dragged their sticks behind them like they couldn’t drop the last link of normalcy before they became undead.  Full pads and sweaters covered in blood and tattered looking as if they went through a human sized chipper shredder.

People fled in fear as this gaggle of jocks came towards us in a mob formation, ready to feast on our brains.  It began to drizzle about like a yard sprinkler.  Not a lot of drops, but big cold ones.  On a normal day this would have made everyone run from the park, but damn it, we are horror writers and we came to this show prepared.

Bryce reached into his backpack and pulled out a pair of nickel plated 9mms with extended clips in them.  Glancing at him standing there, he reminded me of a male version of Angelina Jolie in ‘Tomb Raider.’  Dane whipped out a collapsible crossbow that he usually carries for the vampires we run into.  I can smell the garlic at the other end of the bench.  Me?  Well, I live by the motto ‘Go Big or Go Home.’  Twin Desert Eagle Fifty Caliber hand cannons.  I prefer the old fashion hollow-point rounds.  Basically a small entry wound with a HUGE exit point.  They work great for zombies.

It was an undead blood bath.  I honestly don’t think any of us missed a head shot that day.  The rain helped wash away some of the gore when we were done.  It looked like someone just blew up twenty two ketchup filled pumpkins.

After checking to make sure we got them all, the weapons went right back into our packs, and off we went to get cups of what passed for coffee in LA.

An observer would have overheard Bryce and I arguing over whose damn fault it was that we were at this convention again.

“Last year we went to New Orleans and what did we get?  Badly dressed vampires.  Whose idea was it?  Yours, Bryce.”

“Oh yeah? Two years ago it was Chicago and we all know how that turned out…..”

The whole time, Dane’s shoulders shook as he tried not to pee himself laughing.

Observing

It’s a Saturday and I’m at work. Sometimes this job just sucks. Today is a super sucky day.

Something happened last night and now the undead are strolling through town. Did I mention my office is on Ohio State campus? A bunch of undead college coeds. Great.

Huge windows adorn my first floor office looking out over the turn around driveway and parking lot which has now become an undead mixer. Since my office is locked on Saturdays and the zeds don’t have the coordination to use the key cards to get into the building, I believe I’m safe in here. The windows are heavily tinted like a ghetto-mobile making it even more difficult for them to see me. Two exits from the office provide me with escape routes if I need one should the unthinkable happen and they do get in.

They mill around with no purpose, like a crowd at the county fair. Bouncing off of a few parked vehicles, shambling after birds, and tripping over curbs, they move around the parking lot like slow moving tops that are about to fall.

The dog I found when I got the parking lot lies in the corner curled up in a ball asleep. She has that look on her face of contentment, happy with her little slice of the pie. I’d never seen a dog near the building in five years but evidently today was special. Of course I had no idea how special until I was already in here.

We have a kitchenette in the office with a full size fridge just full of frozen meals. That has been the lunch of choice around here since the economy tanked and we can’t really afford our eight dollar lunches anymore. My companion and I should be good for awhile as long as the power stays on.

**2 hrs Later**

Hildi, the dog, and I have continued watching them and there is still no rhyme or reason to their movements. Their numbers have increased somewhat but not to a great extent. I check the news on the Internet and it appears to be an isolated case here in town. No other parts of the world are reporting any outbreaks. Just good ole’ Columbus. Damn I hate this town. First the drivers and now the zombies.

About an hour ago we had the shit scared out of us. One of them just smashed into the window like a bird confused in the sunlight. You know how sometimes birds just keep flying into the same window over and over? He was doing this but kept trying to bite the glass like he could see us. Hildi let go with a loud bark that scared even more crap out of me. Finally Mr. Zombie decided he couldn’t get a grip on the glass with his few remaining teeth and moved on. Damn that was bad.

For lunch Hildi dined on a nice Salisbury Steak and I had General Tso’s chicken. This isn’t so bad since we have the electric. Supposedly the National Guard is moving around the area disposing of the undead but damn that’s going to be a lot of bodies to get rid of. I have a feeling OSU’s enrollment and graduation rates are going to drop quite a bit.

The Zombies seem to be moving closer and closer to the building but they aren’t really doing anything other than making me chuckle. One woman has been trying to chew on a car antennae for about an hour.

**6 hours later**

Note to self: When it gets dark outside you must turn of the lights on the other side of tinted glass. They know we are here. How do I know that? There are about seventy-five creepy crawlies outside my window trying to get to myself and Hildi. Where is that National Guard!

I’ve closed all the office doors because I’m afraid they will get in. I can hear the rhythmic pounding of a calfskin drum on my office window as the zeds try to break through. Sooner or later they will. I peaked down the hallway outside our offices and there is nothing out there. Not even the small mouse I see every so often.

The pounding is continuing to spread to the windows in the neighboring offices, sounding like a tribal dance of some sort. Maybe they’ll bring about the end of this mess instead of calling up some rain.

**1 hour later**

It sounded like a car accident. Crashing glass and objects moving with the force of a tornado. They’ve made it into one of the offices. Time for Hildi and I to make a break for it. Going to take the stairs. Don’t wanna get trapped in an elevator with no where to go. I’ve seen ‘Resident Evil’. Not going to happen to this guy. However the sprint up the stairs is going to kill me. What a time to quit smoking.

We’ve made it up to the roof and I can here those damn undead coeds coming up the stairs like a herd of water buffalo. This bites. There is no way down from up. Trapped like a rat about to be eaten alive. I can see vehicles moving in the distance but they won’t be here in time. Now the tornado sirens are going off. This town sucks. Now I’m going to die in it. Me and Hildi alone on the roof. She is just sitting there looking at me like I’m a loser.

In the distance I could hear it. The ceiling fan noise that means only one thing to me. A UH-1N. A Huey helicopter. Thank naval flight deck training. I caught sight of it whipping across the tree tops headed straight for us. The machine guns belching fire and dropping the undead in there spots. The aerial dragon hovered and turned this way and that, clearing the parking lot and the driveway. Finally it landed, disgorging troops from it’s belly onto the body part strewn ground. Over the loud speaker I heard what I choose to think was the voice of God saying ‘Stay right there. We are coming to get you.’

I hate working Saturdays. I really hate this town.

BlogCatalog

The Fog

It rolled in like a blanket sometime during the night. No one onboard is really sure what time it was. I questioned the night watch and they don’t remember seeing the weather patterns change at all. It’s like their memories of the four hour watch were wiped clean.
I went down to the radio room and had them contact our command and control ship to check the weather but the message was full of static and you could get every three words if you were lucky.
‘___ fog ___ ____ ships ____ ____ ____ anchor’
The message repeated itself over and over, like a looped recording, playing for anyone that could hear it. From the radio room, I moved to ops to see what was on the radar but it was worse than the radio message. One solid mass over our small fleet. Four ships that should be lined up abreast of each other but there was nothing to see. Radar just showed one large red mass.
Finally I spoke to my other officers and got their input. Some suggested moving on with our course but the compass was out. It just spun in circles confused like someone that had just spun around a bat.
Finally I made my decision. We should only be in a couple hundred feet of water so I was going to drop the hook. I ordered all exterior lights on and called away the orders to set the anchor detail.
***
It’s been five hours and we’ve seen no change. 1300 Hrs and there is no sunlight outside. Despite the crushing fear that occupies my body, I stepped through the hatchway to the bridge wing to get a good feel of what was happening. There was the slight pitter patter of a gentle rain mixed in with the overbearing gloom of the fog. This is the tropics. There shouldn’t be this type of fog.
As I turned to walk back into the bridge I saw a light in the distance. Very faint but it looked like a navigation light for another ship. We couldn’t wait here for this fog to burn off so I ordered the anchor to be lifted and to get under way at 5 knots. Slow, but safe. I nudged the helmsman and pointed out the light issuing the order to follow it, but if it starts getting closer to go to all stop.
At that slow speed our ship should have been bounced around like an old carnival ride but the sailing was smooth. We followed that light for about two hours before we finally hit a spot where the fog was lifting. Just as we reached the edge of the boundary, I saw the ship we were following. It was an old three masted schooner and as I looked up in the sky to see what the cloud cover was like, I swear for a split second I saw some old WWII TBM Avengers flying cover.
I looked back at the ship and it was gone. Shifting my bewildered gaze back to the sky I saw the planes were missing also.
Calling to the navigator, I asked if the compass was back up and he stated it was and we were headed due south on a heading of 180. I had him plot our location and the navigator reported our exact location was 19°26’47.88”N by 63°36’03.95”W. This put us about 20 miles East Northeast of San Juan, Puerto Rico.
Just outside the southeastern border of the Bermuda Triangle…

Benjamin Kotz, Capt.
USS Jersey BC-101

A new piece: Point Bluff

This is a piece of flash fiction that I wrote for a contest at Horror Realm 2009.  Unfortunately it didn’t win anything but I still love it!

I hope you enjoy.

Point Bluff

Day Seven Hundred and eighty-five —

The pencil clattered to the desk, the sound echoed in the small chamber at the top of the lighthouse. The weather beaten man hadn’t seen another human for almost eight hundred days and the solitude was beginning to take its toll.

“Where have they gone?” the man inquired of no one in particular.

“Where have they gone?” he wailed out the window of the lighthouse startling the seagulls and pigeons that now roosted atop the navigational spire.

With wild eyes, he spun the knobs of the radio to the left and then to the right followed with another trip to the left. He was greeted with static. Even the repeater stations had finally gone off the air leaving the lighthouse keeper alone in the dying world.

One hundred days since he’d heard another voice. Pure human silence. He’d left the house in the morning to the jeers of the seagulls and returned at night to the thunderous crashing of the surf against the base of the bluff, the sound rivaling that of the bombs that had exploded over two years ago.

A small pool of spittle gathered at the corner of his mouth as he continued to spin the dials with increasing strength and speed. The gleam in his eyes would have terrified the most fearless of men had there been any left.

“Why have you left me?” he screamed into the microphone, praying another voice would answer as if by magic. Exhausted, his head slammed into the table with a mixture of weariness and frustration. After only a few minutes he stood and strode with purpose onto the rusted catwalk of the lighthouse to peer out upon the violent blue ocean.

“Why have you left me?”

His right foot rose over the top of the rusted rail so that he was perched with a leg on either side of the safety measure.

“Where have you gone?”

Slowly the left foot went over the rail to join the other. He leaned back, knuckles white with exertion from his grip on the railing, ensuring he wouldn’t fall by accident.

“Why have you left me alone?”

With that final thought, the lighthouse keeper launched himself off the object he was sworn to protect. Into the air he flew, taking flight over the edge of the cliff. The seagulls, no longer mocking him, swarmed around his airborne body almost as if they were providing him with a fighter escort to the outcropping of rocks below.

As the tide rolled out, his body disappeared with the rest of the flotsam that had washed in. The seagulls maintained their vigil atop the lighthouse, watching the horizon for ships, and listening to the squawk of the radio that sat unattended on the desk.

“Point Bluff Lighthouse, this is the Coast Guard Cutter Solitude. Is there anyone there?”

Cooking with LP!

Welcome to a this weeks episode of Cooking with LP!

My name is Ben and on this weeks episode we’ll be grilling ribs on the grill using our rotisserie!

First we have a beautiful rack of ribs here to use which we need to rub down and let marinate for about four hours. 

Mix together 4 tablespoons of onion powder, garlic powder, and brown sugar.  I recommend mixing the rub using your hands to break up the clumps of brown sugar to get an even mixture.

Take the ribs and rub the spice mixture roughly into both sides of the meat, place in a large dish and put into the refrigerator for at least four hours.

Once the four hours has gone by take the ribs out of the fridge and let it come up to room temperature.  While the meat is warming take a sharp knife and place slices between every other rib.  Take the spit for the rotisserie shaft and thread the ribs onto the shaft weaving them through where you placed the cuts earlier.

Once the meat is threaded on slide the prong onto the other end of the shaft.  Tighten the knob and then place the chuck end of the shaft into the motor and start it.  Then light the grill and let the meat turn on the spit for about 50 minutes.

Once the fifty minutes is up split the ribs into separate pieces and serve on a plate with a home made potato salad!  Excellent!

We’d love to thank for watching this episode of Cooking with LP and also thank Sara for providing us with the ribs we used today!  I’m sure she never felt a thing.

Remember, Long Pig is the other white meat!

House Cleaning

I am not a morning person.  That’s plain and simple.  When the obnoxious tone of my alarm clock blared in my ear like live trumpets blaring reveille inside my head, it flew across the room and bounced off the walls dropping into the garbage can of other clocks like a slam dunk in the old NBA.

There was only one problem with how this dramatic moment played out, it wasn’t my alarm but my communicator going off.

“Komrad Jared”, I managed to husk out.

“Jared, it’s time for another house cleaning run”

Shit.  House Cleaning is a pain in my ass.  I’d much rather take a run into a dead zone than do House Cleaning.  Damn chemicals stink to high Heaven.

“Garage. 30 minutes.  Have you contacted the rest of the team?”

“They’ll meet you there.”

I managed to roll my tired carcass to the side of the bed and get into a sitting position still sore from the incident in DZ3.  Who would have thought an obese Zed could cause so much pain when they fall on you.

Massaging my blue, green, and black shoulder I made my way into the shower to hopefully loosen up my ever stiff joints.  Friggin’ arthritis.  I love the mountains but the changes in weather really wreak havoc on my battle scarred body.  That was our newest drinking game.  Comparing scars.  The first one to forget what one was from had to drink.  Usually we just forgot on purpose.  Sometimes that was the best party of an otherwise shitty day.

At least we had hot water again.  I don’t even want to know how Fred jerry rigged that, but I damn sure know it felt good pelting my body.  I dried off using a fresh towel, something we aren’t in demand of since our scavenger teams have stolen everything that wasn’t tied down.  That’s how I got this damn bruise, running security for a scav team.  We heard a rumor there was gasoline and natural gas in a nearby town so out we went.  Evidently the hefty Zed of a secretary hadn’t gotten the notice that I’m a ‘badass’ and wanted to test me out.  Looking at my shoulder, I have to wonder if I really am a ‘badass’ or just lucky all these years.

After they pried her dead ass off of me they managed to get me back to the doc so he could check me out.  Plenty of bite marks in my Omega Armor but none on my body.  As we got my gear off the pain washed over me like a typhoon over a small Pacific island.  Pain I had never experienced before.  They finally got me up on the table after peeling me off the floor and managed to dope me up and set my shoulder.  That was just a week ago.  I hate being on light duty.

After drying off I put my black t-shirt on.  Nope not the one on the left but the one on the right.  I don’t own any t-shirts but black ones.  Same with pants.  Pick a pair of BDU’s out.  The only difference in them are the camo colors and patterns.  Unlike most of my Komrads I only where steel toed combat boots.  Most of the guys will where the soft boots but I have always had this unnatural fear of something following on my toes and lopping them off.  Flight deck boots were my preference and man could I stomp the shit out of stuff with them.  The sound a Zed’s head makes when my foot makes contact is quite interesting.

I swung by the mess and grabbed a cup of the glop that passes for coffee nowadays and strolled into the garage.  Bob and Fred were there loading up their truck for a scav run.  They decided it would be great fun to give me shit about House Cleaning.  What a bunch of assholes.

Ted and Janet were waiting for me by the fuel truck dressed for action.  Janet had the tanks of her flamethrower strapped to her back and the wand in her hand.  Ted, wearing his leather driving gloves, had that slap happy smile on his face.  It’s the one he gets every time he knows we are going into the field.

Without a word Ted jumped behind the wheel and I climbed to my post over the tank on the nozzle.  Ted set the big truck to rumbling and rolled us out of the garage toward the fence line where we would spray death.  Gasoline sprayed out like a garden hose covering the Zeds with  flammable moisture ready for Janet.  As we drove down the fence line, Janet walked behind us warming things up with an undead fire.  House Cleaning in today’s terms refers to the act of burning the undead of the fence of the compound.

We haven’t figured out yet how they know we are here.  We can only guess that it’s our smell that draws them near, but every time we need to send out a team we have to do some House Cleaning to get rig of these buggers to make it easier on us.

One day there just won’t be anymore of them left.  Either that or there won’t be any of us left on the face of the Earth.

‘Go, Go, Go’

Thwumping of the blades overhead

Master Chief in our face

‘Are you ready gentlemen?’

‘Yes Master Chief!’

‘Where are we headed?!?’

‘To the Gates of Hell Master Chief!’

‘Stand Up!’

‘First men on the ropes!’

Whir of hydraulics

Rear door drops

Ropes kicked out

They swarm below

Grenades go out

Clear a zone

‘Glove up!’

Our scents entice them

They look up

Cover helo’s open fire

Clearing a path

‘Go, Go, Go!’