'GANS AT SEA cont'd...

by Lucille D'ecoupage

Dickinson and Farthing enjoyed the type of familiarity whereupon bouts of silence are not seen as adversity. There's was a kind of kinship and they stood in the courtyard for a moment, listening to the rise and fall of the rumblings from the crowd inside.

The room served normally as a grand dining hall although for this occasion, the massive dining table and chairs had been cleared away in order to accomodate the great number of guests. At that point in history, the house was over one-hundred years old and had been painstakingly maintained by professional staff of more than two generations. Designed by Robert Adams in 1728, the room itself featured a series of tapestries on all four walls depicting myths of the four elements and had been hand woven in Paris. The ceiling was heavily plastered and ornamented with molding. Columns supported key structural points and were accented in a Corinthian style.

The furniture was more contemporary although obviously selected to accent the sweeping, cathedralesque stature of the room. A few lone peices stood out - primarily a carved cabinet in Mahogany opposite the fireplace. The panels of the cabinet depicted stories of the Inquisition surprisingly detailed in fashion. The floor of the room was Oak and had an inlaid, chequered pattern at the outside. A large patterned carpet had been rolled away for that evening as well and the heels of the guests made clacking and creaking noises which drifted absently over the music of their dance.

Sir Richard spoke as though already in conversation, "I may not sleep this eve, but I shall be right for it in the morning."

"The coach is early," said the Doctor, "I expect little fanfare upon our departure."

"Good. I am not one for ceremony."

"You carry yourself well. You are honest in a crowd."

"It only serves to make the time go quicker."

Dickinson turned and took a sip of wine. He said into his glass, "Put word into practice, here comes your First Lieutenant."

Poetry Corner - featuring The Plant Whisperer
untitled

the ebb and flow
returning tide
to the store

not acceptable
money
returned

lunch
cold uninviting
coupons redeemable

stock up
on your prizes
the clock is ticking

The Disillusionists cont'd...

Alexis and Jay were urban animals. If they spotted a deer at the side of the road they would wave, as though it had just stepped out of a video store across the street. They were fully aware of their inadequacies although they would never admit to being afraid. Still, they were particularly ill-equipped for what they had undertaken the previous night or two ago...

They had managed to rendezvous at the correct time and place - Jay's apartment, five-thirtyish and determined who would drive which car and also, which keys belonged to what car... They argued bitterly and for some time over who should lead. Mike had supplied them with a portable GPS unit which neither of them knew how to operate, so they left it behind. They did however, stop on the way to pick up a pair of VHF walkie-talkies because they looked neato and were on sale at Canadian Tire. Finally, at Starbuck's, they decided Jay should lead in the rental car because he was the guy and Alexis would follow in Mike's car with the map because it made her more comfortable.

"Breaker-breaker, good-body..."

"Shut up. I'm trying to concentrate."

Jay could see in the rear-view mirror that Alexis had her dome light on and appeared to be reading the map - for minutes at a time.

"What are you doing?" asked Jay into the tranceiver.

"I'm trying to figure out where we are!" Came the shouted reply a moment later.

"But we just got on the highway."

"I know," she screamed, "I'm just not sure which one."

Although it never occurred to Jay to think, 'What have I got myself into', he did immediately ask, 'How do I get myself out of this?' Mike was insane, there was no doubt about that and although he doubted Mike would actually kill him, Jay wouldn't put it past him to throw acid in his face or maybe break a finger or something worse... Alexis was beginning to scare him too. Maybe she was going to kill him when they got to the woods. He took another quick toke on a pinner he'd brought along and vowed to keep an eye on her from that point on.

Meanwhile, Alexis had tossed the map book into the back seat. She had been out this way before - it was her suggestion in the first place and she was sure she could fing the spot again - "Turn here!"

"Where?"

"Turn right now!"

On it went for miles. After say, an hour, Alexis slipped into a trance like state, watching the way the tail lights looked on Jay's car and how they worked with the music she was listening to. The pavement gave way to gravel. Another hour? Two?

LIFE OF LOUGAN

by Jack the Dog Barker

An ankle eye-view of the typical Lougan household. Featuring... Lonesome Betty Lougan, Tall Paul Lougan, some guy named Reggie and another loser named Bob. Starring the huge balls of Jack the Dog Barker.

Act I, sc ii

BOB So listen, I need to borrow your truck sometime tomorrow.

PAUL Sure. What'sp?

BOB Aw... my fuel pump's fucked so I hadda park it up on the highway last night.

PAUL How'd you get here?

BOB Walked.

REGGIE That's fucked up.

PAUL Why didn't you call us.

BOB I don't have no cellphone...

REGGIE So you need a hand?

BOB I can just pick up the part and swap it over quick.

PAUL How're you gonna get my truck back?

BOB I don't know. I'll bring it back and then take the bus out.

REGGIE Might as well go right to the impound bud.

BOB Whaddya mean?

REGGIE That thing'll get towed in five minutes.

BOB No way.

REGGIE I kid you not. They got a new policy.

BOB I seen stuff parked up for days.

REGGIE Not any more.

BOB Shit. (to PAUL) Can I use your truck now?

PAUL Too late amigo.

BOB Fuck.

LONSOME BETTY enters -right- and all three freeze. She sits down on the couch and begins rolling a cigarette as though nothing had happened.

LO BET Who's winning?

BOB Wasington.

LO BET Fuckin' fuckers.

Then, as if noticing BOB for the first time -

LO BET Hey. Where the fuck were you yesterday? You were s'posed to help me pick up my cheque.

BOB Sorry, I was delayed en root.

LO BET Well sorry, but what the fuck am I s'posed to do?

PAUL Have a beer why don't you.

BOB Why can't Paul drive you?

PAUL Somebody's got to work around here.

LO BET (to PAUL) You're a fuckin' homosexual you know that?

PAUL Yeah, whatever...

PAUL makes an exaggerated display of rubbing his head. LONESOME BETTY makes an exaggerated display of giving a shit.

The Lougan Condition

Today's guest editor - South Paw Johnson

Moving Day

Art or Neccessity - you be the judge.

Throughout North America, at the end of each calendar month (or perhaps at the beginning), Lougans gather together to load their possessions into the back of beater pick-ups and haul 'em to the next place. This strange migration has been occurring since the days of the Great Depression when even Gra'maw came along. Lougans are closely associated with the ancient hunter/gatherers of our ancestry and are theoretically pre-disposed to wanderin'.

Packin' one's shit in garbage bags and throwin' the mattress on top are traditional forms of expression and can in certain circunstances be regarded as an art form. This movable collage of used consumer goods and livelihoods is a public demonstration of socio-economic rebellion and should be recognized as such. This mass movement should also be awarded government funding, as it's practitioners also need to pony up for pizza and a case of beer at the end of the day. The Harper government should be held accountable for their grim record in providing funding for the arts. That is all.

'GANS AT SEA cont'd...

by Lucille D'ecoupage

After having shaken most every hand in the room and conferring with some of his sponsors, Farthing led his wife to a small patio at the rear of the house in order to take in some air. The night was beautiful and clear. A breeze had come up, enough to clear away the soot and haze of the city. The sound of horses hooves on the cobblestoned street echoed within the courtyard where they stood.

"That was wonderful." said Lady Farthing, the warm, flickering light of a gas lamp highlighting the tenderness of her cheeks.

"It was?"

"Of course darling..." she tried to reassure him.

"I fear that more than all the ice on the earth, addressing my fellows."

Claire took him by the hand and led him to the far side of the patio - away from the house and the noise and movement within, "You're being silly my dear... Three thousand people have visited upon your boat in the last week alone, eager to see for themselves what conveyance will take them on your journey too..." she kissed him lightly on the lips and tried to draw him closer. "They see you as a hero, not something so unforgivien as a man."

"Ship." Said Farthing absently.

"Beg pardon?"

"It's a ship, not a boat..."

Claire held him at arms length, "Ship, boat, it matters not."

"Not a boat."

His wife had seen him like this on numerous occasions and realized it was folly to intervene. His mind was laden with images of tasks yet to be done for it seemed he had to attend to everything, even though he was as far from his port as he was today. "You've always been more interested in details than even in your own self," she declared.

"Am I not just one more detail?"

"Pish. Enjoy yourself. This is your night. I won't listen to you any more..." She moved towards the house where she had earlier spied Dr Dickinson hovering. "Doctor?"

"Yes m'lady..."

"A word if I may."

Thomas Dickinson was one of Sir Richard's oldest and dearest friends and was a veteran of an earlier expedition. As ship's surgean he had witnessed first hand the tremendous suffering on board these vessels. He was also instrumental in designing a nutritional program using the latest technologies in food preservation and preparation. As a result, they were bearing sufficient canned goods to last at least two seasons on the ice.

"Do look after my husband won't you?" said Lady Claire to him, "You know how his hygiene suffers."

"Yes madam. I shal endevour to keep him in fine order and presentable upon our return." The Doctor had a great fondness for her and how she managed to keep such good humour in what must always be trying times.

"You do that Thomas." She gave him a peck on the cheek, as this he suddenly realized was her bid farewell, "You are too caught up in business as well. You are doing something most men can only dream of, do not forget to enjoy it."

"I know ma'am. It is an honour." He bowed before her.

"Good." She smiled in order not to cry and turned toward her husband who remained at a discrete distance. "I must go and speak with the Vice Admiral."

LIFE OF LOUGAN

by Jack the Dog Barker

An ankle-eye view of the typical Lougan household. Featuring... Lonesome Betty Lougan, Tall Paul Lougan, some guy named Reggie and another loser named Bob. Starring the sage presence of Jack the Dog Barker.

The story takes place in the livingroom of a cheap rental house. Centre-stage is a couch, chair, coffee table and lamp - all Salvation Army issue. A television with a stereo piled on top of it faces away from us stage left. A cooler full of beer is prepared off stage right. Exit left front door, right for kitchen, bathroom and bedroom. Downstage is the front window... Let's have a sniff around shall we? *

* (All events have actually occurred although not neccesarily in this order or to these people).

Act I, sc i

Lights up - TALL PAUL, on couch and REGGIE, in chair are watching television. JACK sprawls majestically at their feet. We hear the SOUND of a hockey game throughout most of the scene. BOB, exhausted, enters -left- carrying two cases of beer.

JACK Woof.
BOB Hey.
PAUL Hey man.

BOB Who's winning?
PAUL Washington.
REGGIE Fuckers.
BOB Beer?
PAUL Cheers.
BOB Reggie?
REGGIE Yeah.
BOB hands them each a beer and sits down. Pause while he settles in. LONESOME BETTY enters -right- and begins hitting TALL PAUL over the head with a glass ashtray. He defends himself but does not strike back.
LO BET You fuckin' asshole!
She exits -right- just as quickly.
BOB Holy fuck! What the hell was that all about?
PAUL Nothin... (loud) She's just a fuckin' bitch is all.
LO BET (offstage) Faggot!
BOB Jesus.
REGGIE She's fuckin' shitfaced man.
BOB No doubt.
PAUL She's a fuckin' bitch.
All three react simultaneously as a near miss occurs in the (televised) hockey game.
REGGIE Oooo...
BOB Oh!
PAUL Ah.

JACK Woof-woof.

The Disillusionists cont'd...

This was the second time in as many days that Alexis and Jay had been down this road. Instead of having had "the night off" as Mike had claimed, they had driven a pair of cars deep into the forest. One of them being Mike's and the other a rental, which had been procured earlier. At a pre-determined spot on the back-country road mapbook, they would leave the rental behind and drive back into town in the Lexus. It had taken them a little longer than they had planned because they ran out of gas and had to walk several kilometres in the dark to the rental, take it into town for a can of gas (when they had called Mike at Corps) and then fill up and return the rental to it's original spot. More or less.

Late the next day they got back to the city but had to concoct a story about Jay being in jail overnight for disorderly conduct. Grunter and May didn't seem to notice their absence so they never mentioned the story... Jay and Alexis couldn't decide however if there was any gas left in the rental.

After picking up more supplies, May and I had spent an uneventful first night in the motorhome. We had parked in the street outside of Mike's place and tried the intercom but he was nowhere to be found. I volunteered for the couch, which when not slid out, squeezed far into the living room. May told a couple of stories about trips she had taken with her parents as she lay in the bedroom at the back of the coach. She had fonder memories of a tent trailer they had owned since before she could walk. Later they moved up to a C-class, which Buck had let her drive while he operated the pedals. Throughout the years they had pretty well covered the country. This camper, the one they were in now, was an anniversary gift May's parent's had given to themselves. I felt honoured to have been entrusted with it.

Back in the day, when we were working together, when they knew us by name down at city hall, when you had to physically go downtown to do a title search, we were a perfect team. It was fun because not everything was already done for you. There were ledgers that hadn't been cracked open in years - entire histories written on one page. File card cabinets which smelled like over-ripe bananas. Information hand-written and processed and archived. I lay on my back and stared at the dark ceiling.

To hook up with these guys seemed like an act of desperation. What little fun I had had so far had been with May. Everyone else was so determined and selfish. I wondered where she was from, why she had never mentioned her parent's before or at least how I couldn't remember her mentioning them. Then thinking about having lunch one day, trying to cross-reference the owner of a building, The Chichester - the son of some daughter-in-law's sister who bought two buildings and had tried to buy another... It was very confused, trying to remember a past when I had not really been paying attention. If nobody had time for anything now, what would they have time for in the future?

'GANS AT SEA cont'd...

by Lucille D'ecoupage

The evening had arrived at the point which Sir Richard dreaded most. The speech. While he knew it was necessary to acknowledge the support and commitment of these people; people without whom he would merely be a dreamer, he found it next to impossible to face them. It was the most difficult aspect of his career, perhaps more difficult than leaving his dedicated and beautiful wife behind...

He felt her relaxed grip on his upper arm, the subtle urging in her grasp. The crowd had turned to face him. Decorum knew no substtute. He drew in a breath and squeeled, "My-Lord-Ladies-and-Gentlemen," before he could gain control of his larynx. With a clearing of the throat and another deep breath, he continued without blinking. "Especially those of you who have deigned to uh, accompany me... Three years ago I returned from an expedition to the north of the Americas indeed it was in search of a channel which would allow His Majesty's ships to the east..." He became aware that he was merely paraphrasing the Lord Admiral and as he looked around the room he could see that the crowd had wanted more. Their faces all seemed to be constricted into polite grins and he blurted out, "It was unsuccessful."

There was some uncomfortable shifting of feet and clearing of throats before he could muster the strength to continue, "Yes of course I know more than any of you that we charted nine-hundred and eighty miles of previously unknown shore we collected biological and geological specimens previously unseen we contacted peoples with whom no man had traded and that we quite unfortunatelt lost some of the greatest officers and men that I have ever had the pleasur of serving with..." Sir Richard paused long enough to draw another breath and then continued as quickly as he could, "To my wife and the many other people gathered here tonight that I shall not see for a great many month I wish you patience and happiness for as we will be out of communication subject to harsh cold and deprivation bitter realities yet to be experienced and underneath it all a longing for loved ones which pains me most of all..." He suddenly slowed as he caught the reassuring eye of his wife, "I think that on this occasion, with this memory, we are more prepared and more confident and more able to penetrate this fearsome land and with the grace of God and the co-operation of hie elements we shall nail our colours to the mast and we will break upon the western reaches of the passage and be the first to return to England by way of Cape Horn!"

There was a slight pause as the dignitaries seemed unsure as to wether or not he was finished.

"Indeed you will Sir!" bellowed Lord Terrence of Gate, who then led a round of applause and came over to shake the sweating Sir Richard and clap a hand on his back, "Ladies and Gentlemen, it is with great pleasure that I invite you to share a cup of cheer in the grand hall to send our brave men forward. Let the revelry begin!"

The Disillusionists cont'd...

May and I related the events at her parent's house later in the day as we drove towards the coast. Mike and Alexis seemed genuinely entertained, Jay was sullen - shuffling cards at the kitchenette table.

"Sit down Gunt. Can I get you a beer?" asked Buck.

"Sure, thanks. That would be great."

"Pass that salad, May-day."

"So Buck, May tells me you're retired."

"That's right." said Buck, "Forty-six years... cocksuckers."

"Buck!" Gracie stopped ladling gravy.

"What kind of work did you do?" I asked so as to not burst out laughing.

"Shunter."

"Shunter?"

"Worked in the yard. Rail yard. Mule. Somebody's gotta put the trains together."

That was something I never thought about. I liked to think I was a pretty intelligent guy but for the most part I never wondered about how things got done, sorta. I could appreciate the design of a television set but I had no idea how it worked. Or that most things started with a simple idea.

"Hadda fight tooth and nail to pry a package out of 'em."

"A retirement thing you mean?"

"Hadda hire a fuckin' lawyer."

A serving spoon clanged on the table. Gracie glared at Buck.

"Aw, alright..." said Buck quietly.

"He's got that blood preassure he's got to look out for." said Gracie as she picked the spoon back up, "More potatoes?"

"Thanks," and then to Buck I added foolishly, "It must have been upsetting though, to say the least."

Buck set his knife and fork down, "You don't know the half of it son..."

"Here we go..." sighed Gracie.

"Dad..." pleaded May.

"You pay into a plan your entire working life. You expect that money plus, plus their contribution and interest when you retire - that is the law. But when the company has not been paying into the fund like they should..." Buck dabbed at some saliva at the corners of his mouth, "Now don't you worry ladies, it's a matter of public record and I can damn well talk about it all I want."

"Well just don't get so upset is all." hissed Grace.

Buck frowned and looked me in the eye, "Nineteen fifty-eight. I was a kid. Just startin' out. One day, an engine backed over a workmate of mine. Dead. Cut 'em in half. Engine driver? Drunk as a skunk." He paused and cleared his throat, picked up his knife and fork and resumed eating, "Didn't say a god-damn thing. Kept my mouth shut for years. Wasn't until they tried to let me go, forty years and a couple month's severence and bye-bye... Uh-uh, threatened to sue them for post-traumatic stress. They pay up or I go to that poor bastard's family." He looked over at Gracie. "Now we didn't have to did we? Scared the shit out of the company though. Paid up big out of court. Took six years but what the hell. Damn that lawyer was good... What was the name of that guy? We should invite him over for dinner."

"We'll see how you feel in a few minutes dear..." dead-panned Gracie.

"I love you schmuckkums."

"Oh gawd please!" May was gagging again as we fineshed acting out the story in the motorhome.

Alexis yawned, "Ech. The corporate diaspora revolts me."

Editorial by Grunter Stevenson,

Publisher of Lougan Watch

People have been fainting at podiums more often lately. Is it because they know they are lying? Or is it because they have been eating a lot of pie? I'd like to think the latter. But if you look at the videos of history you will see that Castro fainted. So did Bush Snr. Nixon once caught a nap in the middle of an election. Stanfield dropped a football. Ford took out a flight of steps and Bush Jnr just took a dump in a blanket. (Carter's busy building housing for the homeless.)

It all happens... to everyone... It's okay. So when I puke on a police officer you'd think it'd be somehow forgiven. Nope. I just got back from my weekend in purgatory and sometimes I think it's better than my life in hell.

'GANS AT SEA cont'd...

by Lucille D'ecoupage

Admiral Lord Terrence of Gate waved a glass of sherry at the assembled crowd, "From the addition of one inch of steel to the hulls of his two vessels, to the installation of a newly developed ship-wide heating system, to the loading of a great ballast of supplies guaranteed to satiate even the most particular of crews..." He took a sip of the sweet wine and with his free hand held high called out to those who had dared to resume their whispered conversation, "I would also like to take this opportunity to announce, with the blessing of the Royal Society, that a reward of one-thousand pounds be bestowed upon the Captain and his crew for reaching the one-hundredth meridian!"

An audible gasp went out among the ladies thus assembled.

"Two thousand pounds..." continued the Lord dramatically, "Upon reaching the one-hundred and tenth and a further five thousand pounds for passing that glorious measure - the hundred and twentieth meridian!"

A great hue and cue ensued, glasses smashed into the fireplace and much excitement was exhibited by both the men and women attending. The Lord Admiral was entirely pleased by this display as it gave himself great plaesure in bestowing pleasure among others. He particularly enjoyed that moment when, as the applause died down and people's faces turned back towards him in anticipation of what surprise he might have in store for them next. He would hold the moment as long as possible, without impinging upon it's impact; a quite delicate art indeed.

"I am without doubt that given Sir Richard's considerable experience, his Officer's profound state of readiness and the smiling good grace of His Majesty, no other nation shall defeat our goal... That the mast first seen in the west by route of the east shall be British, will give rise to more British and will continue to be British. To all those gathered here, to those of us about to embark upon this adventure and to those of us unlucky enough to be left behind I say, Hip-hip..."

In a tremendous chorus, the entire room exploded, "Hurrah!"

"Hip-hip..."

"Hurrah!

"Hip Hip!"

"Hurrah!!"

The Disillusionists cont'd...

Later, out in the yard, Buck gave me some last minute instructions on how to drain the holding tanks, "Now this big one is your sewage, so you want to be carful of that one. You ever hook one of these up? No? Better let Rache handle that one... Okay then, the other's your grey water, being your dish water and shower water if your not hooked up to a full service site. This is blue juice for the lav, goes in here. Now, your fresh water fill is over here and the power cable is stored under here."

The attention to detail May's father showed was reflected in the upkeep and general maintenance of his vehicle. Mechanically, it was as close to original as it could be. Buck had said earlier that he never understood why someone would think they were smarter than the people who designed the thing. Why go mucking it up with a bunch of low-quality aftermarket crap that was being sold only to help someone else's bottom line?

The interior however was a slightly different story. It had been re-carpeted and re-upholstered to keep up with the changing times, even if those times had been a changin' way back in nineteen eighty-eight. The carpet was a nondescript brown, with brownish walls and a sort of brown/beige weave on the furniture. The cabinets were real wood, light oak and custom fit. Bathroom was just that - a room. It had a (small) tub, sink and proper commode all in alabaster-pearl finiosh with matching soap dish and toilet roll holder.

The main bedroom went all out in a blue, Scottish mood... tartan bedspread, classic velour curtains and the piece-de-whatever, a mirrored bedstead in dark walnut with twin reading lamps and drink holders. It was... beautiful.

"Dad, I already know all that stuff." said May, back from looking at her mother's vegetable garden.

"I know, but it doesn't hurt to make sure Gunther here knows too."

"Alright go ahead and bond." May went inside the camper to drop off a load of fresh potatoes, lettuce and tender manicured asparagus. "We've got to go pick everybody up."

"Everybody?" asked Gracie, "How many more of you are there?"

"Only three." May called from inside.

Buck addled up to the door, "Three more? That's good, this thing'll sleep twenty... course some of 'em'll hafta be outside."

"Give it a rest."

Buck pouted and flapped a big rubber lip at his wife. She knew to back away and he chased after her, making fish noises and sticking his butt out. "Now's our chance!" cried May and she reached down and pulled me into the coach. Buck and Gracie stopped horsing around long enough to come over and bid them farewell.

"You be good now."

"Take 'er easy. Watch that temp guage and don't rush it. Careful of your air honey."

May fired up the beast and rolled down her window, "Okay daddy, we're gonna be okay. Bye!"

"Bye Buck. Nice to meet you Gracie." I waved through the windsheild.

"Bye, have fun..."

'GANS AT SEA

by Lucille D'ecoupage

I never felt so strongly the vanity, uncertainty and comparative unimportance of everything this world can give and the paramount necessity of preparation for another and a better life than this...

- William Edward Parry

Chapter One

In the spring of 1823, a group of London's military and social elite were gathered at Admiral Lord Terrence of Gate's Chelsea home to mark the occasion of the sailing of an expedition to chart the route of the fabled Northwest Passage. The Passage would in theory provide a shipping lane through the frozen wilds of North America, a trade route offering control and relative safety to the spoils of Asia...

It was paramount for the burgeoning trade with India and the relatively new markets of China and Japan. The man chose to lead this expedition was no stranger to adventure - yet he stood near the back of the room with his wife and quietly trembled with what his physician had described as, "the trepidation of crowds". Fifty feet away at an ornate mantle stood another Great Man, the Lord of the Admiralty, and he banged his knuckles hard against the mahogany and brought the assembled guests to attention, "Ladies and Gentlemen, if I might have your considered attention for one brief moment... I would like to propose a toast to our friend and confidante Sir Richard Farthing and also to the attending Officers of his crew."

Whatever conversation that had been taking place seemed to fade in an invisible wave toward the back of the room, ending with the downcast face of Sir Richard; leader of two previous assaults on the Passage and decorated veteran of the Napoleonic Wars. Lord Terrence of Gate continued, "Three years ago, upon having returned from the sort of predicament I should think no man would be eager to return, Sir Richard convinced me, emaciated as he was, that a successful route through the North of the Americas could be achieved given three things. Modification of His Majesty's ships. The timely departure of a competent crew and the happy co-operation of our Father's temperamental weather. To this end, he has spent uncounted hours coordinating the efforts of many... assembled the finest Officers and crew I have ever laid eyes upon and has continued to oversee the efforts of the minutest detail! Details which we can assume will make his ships as safe and pleasant to ride as a cabriolet in the sweet summer sun."

There was a round of polite bemusement, as the Lord Admiral considered himself to be somewhat of a showman. The effect of this speech was evident in an exchange of glances between Sir Richard and his ship's Surgeon, the Phrenologist, Dr Thomas Dickinson. Both had endured many hours of the Lord Admiral's hospitality and they knew his grandstanding to be extraordinary and long.

Tues 12:01 am

"Hello? Oh hi, hey whatre'ya doin'? You're sleepin'? Oh. Ya busy? 'Cuz I wanted to check something... Hello?"

-click- *

Just talkin' to Jack there. Jack's got an answer for everything. He should start his own religion almost... Anywhatever, there's a new serial called 'Gans At Sea. Here's a picture. (It's fuckin' freezin' in here...)

* transcript of actual over-heard phone conversation which occurred at work - ed.

Graham, winner of the Mohawk Raceway Slots Contest for his caption, "Oh I know..." won the free contest for a roll of quarters yadda-yadda and so on...

Grunter Stevenson: So Gray-ham, are you serious?

Graham the Magnificent: Oh I know.

GS: Nobody really entered that contest.

GM: That means I won.

GS: I guess... So you entered how many times?

GM: One hundred and sixteen.

GS: What the... oh yeah, that's right. Here, have another drink buddy.

GM: Thanks, oh you know...

GS: Yes. Yes I do. So Graham, you're no doubt familiar with our policy concerning entry fees.

GM: Oh I know.

GS: I'll refer you to the contest chart small print listing A... So in order to proceed, I'm uh, going to have to see the hundred and sixty bucks you owe me.

GM: Seriously?

GS: Yes.

GM: I thought that was a joke! Fuck you asshole...

GS: Hey hey, c'mon now...

GM: Rock lyrics don't work on me, you know... I know, so, give me the fuckin' tickets.

GS: What tickets?

GM: The tickets for the slots!

GS: Dude. First of all, there are no tickets and second, you don't need them anyway.

GM: No?

GS: If you had to pay to get into a casino, nobody would go...

GM: Oh I know.

GS: I know you know.

GM: So gimmie just the roll of quarters then.

GS: Oh for fuck's sakes...

The Disillusionists cont'd...

May and her father burst into the room, giggling. "Stop it dad!"

"What's the matter? I too old for ya?" he said and they both laughed so hard they nearly peed their pants. I stood up and offered my hand like a dope. When May's dad stopped laughing he looked at my up and down and said, "Where'd ya find this guy?"

"Daddy." Admonished May.

"Buck, this is Gunther." said Gracie.

"Gunther. You some kinda Nazzi son-of-a-bitch?" he said, clamping a paw on mine and shaking it like he was gonna tear it off - smiling all the time though.

"Uh, hell no Sir... I'm sorry did you say Buck?"

"Yessir. You can call me Buck-head if you wany, I don't care."

"That's what his friends call him." Said Gracie.

The three of them formed a wall of eyes until I agreed, "Well, okay. Buck-head."

"Ah-ha-ha-haa!" they all laughed. It seemed to be some kind of welcoming ritual that had evolved in the house and I had walked right into it.

"Gets 'em every time!" laughed Buck, clapping me on the back.

"I'm sorry Grunter," snorted May, "but you'd be surprised how often that works."

"Did you say Grunter?" asked Buck.

"Uh, yeah..." said May.

"Ah-hha-ha-haa..." Buck was laughing again, "Sit down there Grunter, let me get you a beer."

"Thanks."

Buck went over to the fridge, opened it and stuck his enormous back-side out while he rummaged around in the leftovers for a cold one, "Remember that one guy..." he stood up and passed a bottle to me and mimmed offering one to the ladies, who declined. He scratched his head with a massive, disfigured from work knuckle, "I don't know, Bill or something."

"Just about passed out," laughed Gracie. May looked apologetically at me, "We'd smoked a joint on the way out."

"Oh honey, you're not doing that anymore..."

"No Mom. Not any more."

"Shit." Said Buck, "I was hopin' you could hook me up." Everyone then resumed laughing their heads off. Until then, I didn't know that May's parents were white. It had never occurred to me that she might have been adopted but then, why should she have mentioned it? I didn't really know much about her at all.

'GANS AT SEA

SPECIAL INTERVIEW WITH PRODUCER LUCILLE D'ECOUPAGE

Producer Lucille D'ecoupage talks with Lougan Watch about the exciting new serial feature 'Gans At Sea, the most hotly anticipated literary event this season...

Grunter Stevenson: Ms D'ecoupage -

Lucille D'ecoupage: Call me Lucy.

GS: How about Ginge...

LD: A-tat-ta-tat...

GS: Okay, Lu-cee. Tell us about your new, hotly anticipated oceanic extravaganza 'Gans At Sea.

LD: What would you like to know?

GS: I dunno. What's it, like, about?

LD: Well, it's an adventure story set in the early eighteen-hundreds about these well-meaning but hopelessly inept English twats who head out into the high arctic in an effort to reach India so they could continue pillaging while avoiding the French.

GS: So you hate the English as well?

LD: Hate is a pretty strong word, I'll say I'd prefer to mock them.

GS: Understood. Is there any sex in it?

LD: Well, they are a bunch of guys together for months at a time on the open ocean.

GS: Ew. Didn't they bring along any punani?

LD: We'll see...

GS: I think our readers will appreciate that.

LD: I don't know if its historically accurate.

GS: Who gives a shit, either that or have 'em bonin' a goat.

LD: It is meant to be a serious examination of the folly of early explorers.

GS: Fuck that! I thought it'd be a buncha goofballs bumpin' inta each other and yo-ho-hoin' eh?

LD: Gawd, why d'ya have ta be so negative all the time?

GS: I'm not bein' negative! I'm just trying to liven things up around here...

LD: Well why don't you just give me a chance to do something myself without trying to take over like you always do?

GS: I'm not tryin' to take over - I'm just tryin' ta help make it fuckin' interesting or else it'll be a bunch of tools sittin' around with their pinkies out -

LD: Just forget it then.

GS: What? But I... ah fuckit okay be that way.

LD: What way?

GS: You know what I mean.

LD: No I don't. What way?

GS: Never mind.

LD: No. Tell me.

etc etc...

The Disillusionists cont'd...

May's parents lived on a nice acerage fairly close to town. Evidently they kept the camper in a barn on the property and it was dry, mold free and in mint condition. The only thing was that, "My dad doesn't like Mike hey?" said May as she drove, "So don't tell him that... tell him that we're just using it to go camping."

"He doesn't mind you just showing up and driving away?"

"Oh he already knows. The only other thing is, it's a deisel pusher so do you have like, an air-brake rating or anything?"

"Uh, no." I had pictured a van or something, "Why, how big is this thing?"

"It's fuckin' huge... That's okay though, I'll drive it. I've got an endorsement but it's just such a pain in the ass in the city."

I was certain that whatever I said would sound stupid but I spoke anyway, "I don't mind learning..." And then, "So what does your dad do anyway?"

"Oh he's retired," said May, "I'm sure you'll hear all abouit it.

They arrived at the house a few moments later and May parked on the lawn besid the drive. The camper stood, in all it's Class A glory, outside of the barn. It was the size of a small English Council house. Three generations of the same family could easily live in it. It had twin slide-outs, an awning and dual air-conditioning units on top. The main door was open and a vacuum could be heard running inside. May called towards the house, "Mom?"

Buck and Gracie's place was an old board and batten from the late eighteen-hundreds. It had two stories and a summer kitchen (added sometime in the nineteen-teens). It was used mostly for storing stuff now... Upstairs were three gabled bedrooms and the first right on the left led into the bathroom and at the end of the hall was a window I'd bet. The basement had stood in the same place for well over a century, it's walls were sixteen inches think at least and the sump-pump kicked in regularly and that was good, because the groundwater had flooded up to five feet deep a couple of times.

"Hi hon," came a voice from inside, "your father's just putting a few touches on the cruiser. Why don't you come inside?"

We went up the steps of the porch and into the summer kitchen. Once inside the main house, in the big regular kitchen, an older, white woman sat at the table stubbing out a cigarette and wiping cat hair off her housecoat.

"Hi Mommm..." said May, holding out her arms - which seemed pretty dramatic for someone who claimed to be living at home.
"Oh honey, it's so good to see you!"

Mrs. - I wasn't sure all of a sudden what May's last name was - got up and came over to May and gave her a big hug.

"Hello," she said to me over May's shoulder.

"Hi, uh Gunther, Gunther Stevenson. I extended a hand which she took as she and May untangled.

"Oh sorry," said May, "Gunther, this is my mom, Gracie."

"Hi Gracie."

"Hi'ya Gunther, c'mon in you two, make yourselves comfortable. Would you like a cup of coffee?'

"Sure. That would be great."

"Rachel honey," she said to May, "go tell your dad to get in here. Next thing you know he'll be scraping moose dirt from nineteen ninety-seven off the undercarriage."

"Yes ma'am..." she laughed and was gone.

"Sir down Gunther, that's an interesting name..." without giving me time to respond she continued, "the old guy gets a little cagey now and then but don't let it bother you. If I see you're having trouble I'll reel 'im back in for ya." She filled up the kettle with bottled water from the fridge and took a jar of instant coffee down from a cupboard. "I hope you kids can stay for lunch."

"I'm sure we could."

"Good." Gracie sat back down and lit up another smoke. She looked at me and smiled, "So where're you two off to?"

"Oh, we're planning to head out to the coast."

She exhaled, "NIce. It's beautiful out there."

"Yeah, well May, uh Rachel is in charge."

"Aw jeez, call her May if you want, I'll know who you mean." She got up to pour hot water in some mugs, "It's just when you've known her from day one as one thing it's pretty hard to switch gears all of a sudden, y'know?"

THE LOUGAN CONDITION

Lawn Disease

What is it. Why should we care...

The horticultural industry has long been a supplier of employment and recreation for Lougans in North America. While our cousins in Europe, Asia and elsewhere, (in the western and southwestern United States prodominately Latin American labourers) have enjoyed the benefits of cultivated lifestyles for centuries, the acceptance of certain practices in Canada has been slow to materialize. Lougans have traditionally been at the forefront in adopting ancient traditions - for example; Eschewing daily bathing. Scavanging techniques related to diet and sexual relations that would be familiar to Neanderthal man. Injesting raw plant material for it's psychotropic insights and perhaps most notably - Herd-like gatherings of intoxicated individuals of varying size and intensity.While not particularly interested in contributing to society or perhaps monetary gain beyond what is required for a twenty-four hour period, Louganus Americanus ex extremis, will often-times pick up casual employment cutting lawns for a living. The impact of this activity is two-fold. First, it keeps them from breaking into your house. Second, you're just as likely to be beaten on the street. The repetitive nature of this activity, combined with daily exposure to air-borne pathogens (pesticides, mold spores, animal feces) can destroy an individuals will to live. A common refrain in the industry may sound something like this - "If I have to cut one more lawn I'm gonna lose it, man." The warning signs are sometimes not immediately obvious as sufferers may appear to be in their "normal" state i.e., sullen, uncommunicative, hairy, stinky, drunk, stoned, or both. Sufferers may also; cough, smoke, urinate frequently, vomit, sleep intermitently, find an increased/decreased sex drive, eat poor diets, consume vast quantities of cheap beer etc etc.

While no immediate solution is in sight to this unfortunate condition, recognition and acceptance are important steps in obtaining treatment and eventual re-training as Astro-Physisists or perhaps Dentists...

The Disillusionists cont'd...

After eating - if you could call it that because A: the portions were tiny, and B: I didn't recognize anything either visually or tastually - Mike went over some of the details, "Everything is in place, shoot, cut, produce - all digital. Music, everything. Music is Jay's department... He's talented but a bit of a bitch sometimes. Alexis does the editing. I've worked with her a few times and there's nothing she can't notice... We shoot over six days, depending on the weather." He looked at May, "You've got the food? Good. There'll be early mornings because I want to get you in a blue/grey light. We're not going with any permits so we've got to act fast... The country shit, who cares, but once we're in the city holding up traffic some cop will try to shut us down. May?"

"Yo."

"Maybellene here has been setting up ropes for different scenes, times, level of decay and so on... So if you get into trouble just drop it and get in the van. Got that?"

"Check." I mimicked May.

"Use your discretion though. We're not made of rope ovah-heah. May's also the costume, continuity, catering and production assistant. If you've got any questions about anything other than creative issues go to her. Otherwise, come to me. I'm drivin' this buggy so don't fuck around. Alexis is not to be bothered in any way, also she's doing the make-up... Mostly we're going without sound but who knows. I might even use film if the feeling strikes but right now we don't have the budget for it so no worries." Mike paused and took a sip of wine, "Any one of us could be shooting you at any time, got that?"

"Sure."

"What that means is, if you don't see a camera, it doesn't mean we're not still filming. It's important that you stay in character the whole time. Especially when we're downtown. No matter what happens... We've got to get this thing in the can as soon as possible, capeesch?"

"Absolutely."

"What else... Don't even think about money, you're not going to starve but nobody, including me is getting paid up front for this. In fact, I'm paying for it, so look, you said your rent was taken care of and I can appreciate that so here, " Mike dug into his pocket, "Here's a hundred bucks walkin' around money..."

I shook my head, "Oh no man, don't worry about it."

"Take it. You might need some stuff for the road."

I accepted the cash since it was, well, cash. Seeing as how I hadn't even done anything yet I figured this was some kind of contract. I asked Mike why I was coming out of the ocean in the first scene.

"Incongruity. It's incongruous with your manner of dress. It also represents your birth."

"Do I have to be wet?"

"No. Perhaps. Maybe. We'll see how it goes. May honey, make a note that we'll shoot two versions."

"Okey-dokey," said May as she extracted a notebook from her bag. "One dry one and one wet one."

"May's parents are lending us a motor home..." Mike's cell phone rang at that moment. He looked at it and then put it back in his pocket without answering. "So uh... Don't try to touch Jay. He's a little jumpy."

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah like, don't shake hands with him or pat him on the back. He's got a whole touching thing that you just don't want to know about..."

"Okay."

'GANS AT SEA

While the precise origin of the term "Lougan" is obscure, there is much evidence to suggest that absolute tools have existed throughout history. In a new feature, contributing editor Lucille D'ecoupage takes us on a fascinating journey through history - the discovery of the Northwest Passage in 1837 - in the exciting nautical adaventure,

'GANS AT SEA

coming soon

THE LOUGAN CONDITION
Short Man Syndrome
What is it. How we can avoid it.
Short Man Syndrome is a socio-economic disease commonly found in the lougan community. It affects approx. 95% of all males under the height of say, 5' 6" and has far-reaching and often tragic consequences. Most notably, SMS sufferers will be (to varying dgrees) angry, disaffected, vindictive, violent and ugly little pricks. They may seek to compensate for their perceived disorder by adopting quirky haircuts, platform shoes, cars with big tires (see also No Dick Syndrome) and perhaps most disconcertingly, a tendancy to be snivilling little whiners who will stab you in the back at the first opportunity. As a case study, we refer you to subject A(hole), Tall Paul. Tall Paul is a pseudonym but I think you know who we mean. Subject A is typical in many degrees of this socio-sexual malaise in that he sports a spikey, thinning-on-top mullet, two-sizes too big boots, packs a weapon and will gladly sell anyone out if the price is right. I know we said we'd be covering skidmarks this issue but that joke is kind of a one-off. Tall Paul likes to come across all buddy-buddy but I can assure you he is a rat and deserves to die. I may seem a little angry here but that is one of the contact reactions to the little weiner.
Speaking of little weiners, legendary ass-sniffer Jack the Dog Barker just dropped by because I was going to have him sit in as an expert on skidmarks so what the hell...
Grunter Stevenson: Jack, I've seen you dragging your butt across both the front lawn and the carpet in the living room, what gives?
Jack the Dog Barker: I didn't come here to be abused.
GS: Okay okay, listen... uh, what role does diet play in the formation of skid marks?
JB: Well Grunter, in my studies of the subject I have found that a fatty diet consisting of fast food, snacks and other goo can lead to a condition known as gummy-dumps. Gummy-dumps may smell good to a dog but...

GS: You're not peddlin' a book are ya?

JB: Excuse me?

GS: Ever notice how some expert comes on the news, statin' the obvious and then it turns out he's got some agenda like, oh let's see... Money?

JB: I needn't remind you that I live a cash-free life.

GS: Yeah, livin' on handouts and curb finds.

JB: I don't know why I come over here.

GS: I do. Pizza crusts.

JB: (sigh)

GS: I'm renting a carpet cleaner tomorrow, want to pitch in? Oh yeah, I forgot...

The Disillusionists cont'd...

We stood there for several moments, an odd sickly sensation formed in my gut - an unidentified fear, helplessness, the creeping desire hold back the ravages of time. A sudden realization that I didn't listen to people when they talked, as May was doing now, "...I got to a point where I thought, I'm just going to do it, you know? I've been trying to make money for so long with the shop and everything but now it's time to take a bit of a break... do something for myself. I mean, I don't regret it - I learned a lot but I don't know. Filling up a shipping container in Malaysia just isn't the same adventure anymore."

I didn't push for any details, mainly because I didn't have a clue what she was talking about. I tried to be helpful and said something stupid - "That sounds like a great plan... You must have built up a lot of connections. Let me know if you need any help." May looked at me funny, like I hadn't been listening at all. I'm a lot smarter in my head than I am talking. May didn't answer. We just stood there, looking at the roofs of the houses that were originally built for distillery labourers. Who could afford to live there now? Not a distillery worker. Not us.

Later we met Mike at a restaurant downtown. Mike said he liked to meet in restaurants because it made him feel in control. "Volume was a powerful tool in public," he said, "both for emphasis and for the stifling of ideas... Also, I never cook for myself if I can help it."

We were in CORPS, some kind of post-noir poseur piss pot. The place was packed. There was one other dude with a trucker hat on. We sat near the window but away from the door. Mike was picking his nails while I talked, like he was the crown prince of Azerbuju.

"...so yeah, I've got a little time so I thought, why not?"

"How much time?"

"I don't know, three months?"

"Three months?" Mike rolled his eyes at May, "Is that all? I'm talkin' about a year!"

"A year?"

"Yeah. A year."

I shrugged, "I don't even have any lines..."

"How do you know that?"

"How do I know what?"

"That you don't have any lines?" He sat up straight, "Who knows what direction this thing might take."

"A year..." I looked at the floor.

"Aw fuckit, I was just fuckin' with ya." May laughed but I didn't find it funny. Mike continued, "Look, there are a lot of details to work out and there's only five of us so we all have to pull our own weight."

"Where are the other two?" I asked.

"I gave 'em the day off." Mike reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out my wallet. "Here. You must have left this in my car last night."

"Damn!" I thought out loud, I didn't even notice it was gone...

THE LOUGAN CONDITION

In our quest to keep things fresh, I just asked Lo Bet to scram - ha ha, just kidding. (G.P.'ll be mad at me for making fun of the less fortunate. Less fortunate that what?) Anyways, The Lougan Condition is a new forum where extinguished members of the community are invited to debate the issues important to losers everywhere.

First up is longtime Lougan and all-around idiot South-Paw Johnson. Evidently ol' South-Paw's been in the neighbourhood for years but I only met him yesterday so go figure. Weird not knowin' who your neighbours are...

South-Paw Johnson: I'll say. I was livin' in L.A. next door to Bob Hope for two years and had no idea.

Grunter Stevenson: Really? Bob Hope?

SPJ: Yeah. He had this apartment and I was livin' in a dumpster in the alley.

GS: Cool. So South-Paw, what are some of the issues which face the regular folk of today?

SPJ: Well, I'd say the number one issue is fat chicks.

GS: I'd have to agree with you on that one.

SPJ: I don't know what they're eatin' but somebody's got to tell 'em to stop.

GS: I hear ya.

SPJ: What're they thinkin' wearin' tights all the time?

GS: Too true, too true...

SPJ: An' maybe wash their hair once in a while.

GS: Amen brother.

SPJ: An' especially don't wear them low cut jeans, I don't walk around with my beer-gut exposed so why should they?

GS: Interesting point my friend, now, would you say however, that some fat chicks are quite do-able?

SPJ: Oh for sure. Totally do-able.

GS: Okay, well thanks for comin' out bud. Next time on The Lougan Condition we'll be tackling the issue of skid marks ssooo... stick around! My name is Grunter Stevenson and my guest has been my new best friend South-Paw Johnson.

SPJ: How's it goin' eh?

The Disillusionists cont'd...

"So where are we going now?" I asked May as we rolled along in her car.

"Oh," she thought for a second or two, "we don't have to meet Mike until later. I was so excited about getting started I didn't really think... He said something about picking up supplies but that's about it."

"You want to go check out a building? For old times sake?"

"Okay."

I sat forward in the seat and pointed through the windshield to the left, "Turn here and go down a couple of blocks... There's a place I found when I was a kid but I don't think it ever turned up when we were working together. I think you'll like it."

"Oh goody-goody..."

It was funny to be back in the old mode with her again after all this time. We had only really worked together for a few months but still... "Remember they tried to incorporate a walking tour into the project? About three people showed up and complained mostly about the lack of facilities."

I had to interupt her to point out some more directions, "Sorry, uh, take another right up ahead and we should just about be able to see it... Now."

Behind a tall fence stood a huge brick barn-like structure. The main building was a distillery built in 1865, at one end stood a massive smokestack with old pipes and covered walkways jutted everywhere. It stood windowless and ashamed, a dozen gabled openings lined along the top. They were originally used to control temperature, to keep the structure at a fairly consistent humidity and the building was oriented to the west, to provide the most protection from the sun as it transited the sky - or so I have read. The escaping hot air would suck with it damp coolness from the basement and keep the indoor temperature steady in the summer. In the winter, massive coal-fired boilers from an adjacent building breathed hot steam into a maze of pipework, warming the sweet distillate and rosing the cheeks of contented labourers - busy about their task.

"Do you want to go inside?"

I didn't have time to answer before May had squeezed through the chained and padlocked gates. The place was deserted. It was a mystery why it wasn't already converted into condos. All of the original fixtures and equipment had long since been melted down, converted into manhole covers or ship's hulls. The cavenous space echoed with our shreiks and laughter. Around the walls facing us were walkways, some old, some newer which must have given access to long since gone kettles where rye whisky once cooked. Barrel storage and hoppers full of grain must have been in the out buildings and were connected to this main area through the pipes and walkways outside. There was a musty smell in the air and I looked for any artifact I could take home with me, as I always did on these very special occasions. May had gotten ahead of me and was climbing up a ladder to the roof. There was an inch of greasy dust on each rung as I followed. At the top she pushed open a shutter and we could feel the rush of the warm air outside. We could see all the way to the coast.

the big date

Y'know, one of the best things about G.P. is her car. It's a Pontiac Sunfire and it hauls ass. Sure it's seen better days, but the first thing I hadda do usually with a chick's car is change the oil but hers was like new! We took it to Niagara Falls and got a room at the Falls Inn. It was a little off the main drag but it was clean and best of all, cheap. I had on a pair of trousers instead of my jeans and felt a little uncomfortable especially as how they pinched my left nut when I sat down. Geepers had on a dress she picked up at Winners especially for the occasion and looked smokin' hot I can assure you.

We went into town for a little while, looked at the falls for like, two seconds, and then went on some stupid rides and even took the giant ferris wheel. Then we hit the bars and actually got back to the room without any bullshit happening, which was nice for a change. I set the thermostat to bake and Ginger gave me the best blowjob I've ever had and then I banged her long time against the fuckin' ceiling almost.

The next morning we did it again and then had Eggs Benny at the casino and walked outta there a hun'erd-an-twenty bucks richer. The only low point was when I called G.P. "Lucky Lucy" which she didn't seem to appreciate so we're kind of at a stalemate on what I'm supposed to call her... I think Lucille is too formal and she thinks the G.P. thing is a little too informal. I liked "Bejeepers" but I guess it's gonna be "Luce" which I think is dumb.

The Disillusionists cont'd...

At first, I wanted my place to look like a chalet in Italy or something. It had this crappy trim that somebody put up years ago and nobody ever bothered to take down. I spent days painting and texturing the walls, tiling the floor and refinishing the baseboards - all using "found" materials. Now it was all nearly invisible under all my stuff (pizza boxes and empties not included)

Anyway, now I barely recognized it. The landlay's kids were running around upstairs so I just kind of lay there on my side thinking... So long as E.I. stayed off my back I could stretch things out for another three months at least. What else was there to do anyway? Maybe May'll do me finally... I went and took a shower - twice - the first time felt so good. I could still pull in the ladies; the mirror it must be said, agreed. I put on the same outfit as usual, t-shirt and jeans with my steel-toe workboots and San Jose cap. In the spring and fall I might add a jacket. In the winter, a sweater. That was it. I've never had a cold.

I burst through the front door into the bright afternoon sunlight. May idled her car at the curb.

"God-damn. We'll have to find us some chaps to go with that nasty aftershave pardner..."

"Shut the fuck up." I said, grinning from ear to ear.

Why are people constantly bitchin' at each other? I just spent the last six hours explaining to Luce what I said to Bets and I'm still not sure if she believes me. All's I said was that I felt so comfortable with her that it felt like I had known her forever, which is like, longer than any relationship I ever had... So now both of them are pissed off at me because I went over to Bet's and lost it on her - even T.P. backed off a bit I was so mad. Later I promised Lucy I'd take her someplace special so we're gonna drive down to Niagara Falls tomorrow. I stopped off at the store after my damage control mission and called Boo who helped a lot by explaining that "humans are a relatively new species and have not yet got all the kinks worked out" and that he "hoped we'd come around before destroying the planet". Boo's always good at puttin' my problems in perspective

The Disillusionists cont'd...

Mike sat at a desk in a lab hidden deep in the basement of his house. Wearing surgical gloves and a magnifying visor, he took Gunther's driver's licence out of a wallet and scanned both sides of it into a computer. Using a template, he transferred the information from the original onto a blank and then cropped a suitable picture of himself in the appropriate spot. He printed copies of both sides and then, using precision instruments, cut away the area where the magnetic strip sat on the back of the new licence.

With skills gleaned over many years of creative fund-raising, Mike then applied a mild solvent to the original, removing the plastic coating. He carefully timed this manuever so as to not marr the original. He then scimmed the strip off of the licence with a surgical plane and gently placed it in the appropriate spot on his creation. He then replaced the original's strip with a blank, which would merely appear to be malfunctioning. Mike fixed the two sides of his copy together, trimmed it to regulation size, signed it electronically and then, with painstaking accuracy, transferred a watermark decal from another, unknown licence, to the front of the document.

He then ran it through a laminator, trimmed away the excess and tested it on an M.O.T. link he had borrowed from a friend. "Jesus. This idiot can't drive worth shit." Mike said to himself as he viewed Gunther's sordid driving record. He held the forgery up to the light and angled it to catch all the details. Rubbing it with 1000 grit wet sandpaper to dull the gloss, he then eased off the corners with a scalpel. Finally, he walked on it a few times and threw it in the dryer to give it "character" and then slipped it into his own wallet and stood on it to give it "shape".

Satisfied with his handiwork, he repaired the surface of the original and put it back into it's wallet. He then looked for a charge card and could not find one. "Fuck". He sat for a while and reconfigured his plan... He would have to make an alternative card for Alexis and bring her along for procurements. It would up the stakes but it was too late to turn back now...