Hot Club de Paris - Shipwreck

Yay!

A long post, with lots of enters

h
e
l
l
o

n
o
l
a
n
,

t
h
i
s

i
s

a

l
o
n
g

p
o
s
t

w
i
t
h

l
o
t
s

o
f

e
n
t
e
r
s

The Indigo Parsnip: An Epic Tale by Lucas Thurston

1

He walked out into the rainy alley, holding a plastic bag filled with garbage. Ted Heintz, a man of 67, had not lead an interesting life. In fact, Ted had worked in the same diner for 50 years. He had tried to join the circus, become a fire-fighter, and he had even attempted to join an organization of professional streakers, to no avail. Ted quickly realized that he as destined to live a bland life.
He had a midly wrinkled face, with deep set dark blue eyes. Ted's face never seemed to change. The muscles had formed into a neutral look. His mouth was always an absolutely straight line in the lower portion of his face. When he spoke, his lips barely moved, thus resulting in him having a painfully quiet voice.
At this point in his life, Ted was wondering why he never got any exciting diseases or condition. He walked closer to the dumpster which was hungrily awaiting its garbagy meal.
"I would even take cholera," muttered Ted as he thrust the garbage bag into the dumpster.
The rain was coming down in giant, round, globules. Loud high metallic noises came from the dumpster as the rain grew stronger. Ted's glasses were nearly opaque with condensation and his greying hair plastered to the lenses. He was too absorbed in his deliciously sour bad mood, so it did not bother him.
Ted looked over his shoulder in a curious manner. Nothing was behind him, just the noisy dumpster, some old newspapers tied in a bunch, and a mass of moist cardboard.
"Odd, I could swear I heard footsteps," thought Mr. Heintz.
A shiver went down the back of Ted. Not from the cold rain, and not from fear, but from excitement. This was the most exciting thing he had experienced since he stubbed his toe on a table and hit his head on a hanging plant, simultaneously.
A haze of condensation wafted over Ted's neck. Again, Ted turned around, but this time he was face to face with a shadowy figure. The man, was taller than Ted by about 6 inches, and his nose was pointed right between Ted's eyes. For a moment, Ted was crossed-eyed, focussed on the man's nose.
Ted attempted to look the man in the eyes, but the shadow from the fedora the man was wearing, it was very difficult. He suddenly noticed the size of the man who was standing infront of him. The pinstripe suit fitted him as tightly as a tube sock fits a foot. Rippling muscles bulged and stretched the dark fabric. A sweet odour hung around the goliath, like freshly baked bread.
The last remains of condensation were still wafting through the nose, and inbetween the clenched teeth of the mysterious figure.
Ted suddenly saw movement out of the corner of his eye. The man had quickly drawn out a clipboard from behind his back. His left hand, which was free of the clipboard, reached into the darkness underneath his hat and pulled out a pen, which Ted assumed came from behind his ear.
"Tedworth Jackson Heintz?" asked the man, in a high scratchy voice.
"Wh-what?" blurted Tedworth.
"Are you Tedworth Jackson Heintz" asked the man again, this time stressing each word as if they were seperate sentences.
"H-how do you know my first name?"
The memories flooded back. Years and years of school in which Ted was teased for his absurdly stupid name. He had moved to Chicago to get away from torture. He knew that if he ever returned to Wales, he would still be cursed by the memory of his name.
"Ah, perfect. I am Fitzgibbons, I'm sorry Mr." Fitzgibbons glanced back down at his clipboard. "Heintz, I have come here to this deserted, lonely alley to..."
The excitement inside of Tedworth was overwhelming. This is the most incredle thing I have ever experienced in my whole life, was the only Ted could think of.
"...kill you."
Bliss erupted through the body of Ted. Tiny wrinkles appeared at the sides of his eyes, as a smile spread its way across Ted's face. Laughter crept up his windpipe and out of his mouth.
Fitzgibbons was somewhat taken aback. He had seen many reactions to people facing death, but laughing? Never!
"Um, I am going to kill you."
"Oh, I know!" laughed Ted.
"Oh, okay then."
Fitzgibbons pulled out a long black blade. The metal itself was not black, but some substance had congealed onto the blade. He pulled his arm back, rain hissed as it came in contact with the weapon. Fitzgibbons thrust it forward, right into Ted's right arm. Ted was shaking from his laughter so much that he accidentally jumped to his side.
"Damn," uttered Fitzgibbons.
He tried again. This time he stabbed Ted in his left arm,
"Oh come on!" cried Fitzgibbons.
After four more attempts Fitzgibbons still had not hit his target. Ted had the first to wounds, a stab in his left thigh, a stab in his right calf, one on his foot, and severed his ring finger.
"WOULD YOU STOP MOVING!?" screamed Fitzgibbons, and with one final jab, he hit Tedworth Jackson Heintz square in the heart.
Ted fell to the ground in a heap, but a fullfilled heap. Fitzgibbons however was a wreck. All that stabbing had made him tired and hungry.
Slowly, he shuffled out of the alleyway, leaving a still smiling Ted to die of the posion-tipped wounds and pure, unbridled happiness. -Lucas Thurston

A DOUBLE BLOG EXBLOGOVANZA BLOG: The Hives, What The Crap

The Hives, what the crap? Timbaland? Justin Timberlake? Pharrell "Timbo" Williams? To many "timb"'s. If you haven't heard, the Hives are coming out with a new album, The Black and White Album, due on October 9th in North America, the 15th in the UK. They've recorded 20 to 30 songs, 7 of which produced by Pharrell "Timbo" Williams. Some guests include Pharrell, Justin Timberlake, and Timbaland.
What has happened to my new favourite band? I've always known the Hives for their unbridled rocking RAWK. Alas, it seems time has changed, and hip-hop is now sneaking it's fingers into garage music. None of this makes sense to me. What does Timbaland want with these Swedish rockers, can't he be happy with, ugh, the Pussycat Dolls? And, Justin, bring your friggin' sexy back somewhere else! Leave indie music alone. Last but not least, Pharrell Williams. Does he even have an album? I swear he features in everything that has to do with hip-hop or pop music. New Toy Story movie? Pharrell is fucking in there being the sly looking bastard crooning over Mary!
All in all, I just wanted promising news about the Hives, not some crap about the recent flavour of the month rapper (Hint: It starts with a Timb)
-Lucas Thurston