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| Loyal Written Art For all Criss Angel or non-Criss Angel related written artwork. |
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(#51)
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07-16-2012, 03:28 PM
Helloooooooo! Anybody out there?
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(#52)
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07-16-2012, 10:48 PM
I am
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(#53)
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07-17-2012, 04:21 PM
Melody Morris sat in the worn, faded pink Barcalounger, absorbed into the plot of the latest episode of The Young and The Restless showing on the twenty-inch console television in the living room. Daytime dramas, her "stories" as she called them, were her primary if not her only escape from the dreariness of her life. The dilemmas and intrigues of the fictional characters on the small screen made her own problems pale by comparison; the plot twists and turns on every episode stimulated her work-dulled psyche. Their sorrows were her sorrows, their joys her joys, their anger, fears and frustrations, all were hers as well. If she could not live a life of glamor and excitement herself, she could live it through the soaps.
A slam of the back door, followed by a man's cursing, jolted her back into reality. Melody hesitated, if only to wait until a commercial break so as not to miss out on the action on TV, then went into the kitchen to see what was the matter. She found Boone by the fridge, guzzling down the last of the milk straight from the jug. She did not admonish him for it; indeed, she had long since given up trying to teach Boone any type of civilized behavior. Instead, she simply asked, "So, what's the matter with you?" Boone stopped guzzling milk, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, slammed the empty jug on the counter, and turned to face his mother. "(Bleeping) security guards threw me out on my ass, that's what's the matter!" he snapped. "What security guards?" "The ones at the Luxor Hotel, that's what! Here I am, trying to wake people up to the truth about the Apollo 11 mission, and I get hauled in for 'unlawful solicitation' or some such bull(bleep) like that! And," he stressed, zeroing in on his mother's face, "it turns out someone tipped them off about me ahead of time! I'll bet five bucks it was Roxy who did it!" "No, Boone," Melody said, shaking her head, "it wasn't Roxy who called. It was me." "You?" "That's right, me. I found the number in the phone book, called them and told them you'd be around causing trouble when Buzz Aldrin was there." Boone was dumbfounded. "Mom! How could you?" "Because I didn't want to have to post your bail if you got arrested," Melody replied, her anger growing. "It's bad enough you spend every waking hour in front of that computer, hammering out nonsense about UFOs and JFK or whatever--" "It's not nonsense, Ma! I keep telling you--" "--it's even worse when you have to go out in public to do it! Do you know what it's like having a lunatic for a son? You're an embarrassment to both of us, Boone! You have no job, no money, nothing but your crazy conspiracies that nobody believes! I can't stand it anymore!" She straightened herself and stared Boone in the eye. "You have one week, Boone," she said firmly, "one week to get a job and start paying your share of the rent here! If you don't, then you are out on your ass, big time! I'm not going to support you anymore, Boone. You're a grown man and you need to start being responsible for your life. You need to wake up and start living in the real world, and that means going out and making a real living." The TYATR theme music sounded. "Think about it, Boone," Melody said. "One week--that's all you got. Now, I got to get back to my stories." Melody returned to the comfort of the Barcalounger and her soap opera world. Boone stormed into the sanctity of his basement bedroom-cum-base of operations. (Bleep) her! he thought ferociously. An embarrassment, huh? She spends her time watching those stupid-assed soaps and says I'm wasting my life? The whole (bleeping) world is coming to an end and she doesn't give a diddly-damn about it! She's an embarrassment if you ask me! Too brainwashed by the media to see what's really going on in the world! Am I the only person around here who knows the truth about everything? He sat down before his computer terminal and turned it on. Get a job, he fumed internally. Become a wage slave for The Man. Give up your God-given intellect for a weekly paycheck that Big Brother in Washington chews a big chunk out of to keep hard-working Americans in the dark about their covert activities! If you ask me, I think it's time for a nationwide strike! He paused as a light went on in his mind. He had a vision of thousands--nay, millions--of ordinary Americans, fed up with government cover-ups, dropping everything and walking out of factories, offices or wherever they were employed, united in a single cause, bringing the country to its knees. It was awe-inspiring just to imagine such a thing. "That's it!" he exclaimed enthusiastically. "That's what we should do!" Elated, Boone's fingers flew over the keyboard. "Greetings, truthseekers!" he spoke as he typed. "Over the years I have tried through the Web to convince everyone that we would not stand for the lies and deceit your government has dished out to us disguised as 'truth'. Now, it's time we take action! It's time for us to stand up and say that we're mad as hell and we're not going to take it anymore! Therefore, I am calling for a NATIONWIDE STRIKE! Refuse to work at your job for The Man until the REAL truth is revealed! Bring the whole country to a standstill until Washington breaks down and confesses its errors! There is strength in numbers, and what is the government's few paltry thousand compared to the millions of decent, hardworking American citizens who are willing to stand up to them! WAKE UP, AMERICA! WE WILL NO LONGER BE DECEIVED" |
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(#54)
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07-17-2012, 04:28 PM
Can we say AIN'T GONNA HAPPEN
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(#55)
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07-26-2012, 07:36 PM
Sorry for the delay, but I am just plain stuck here! I'm just not as creative as I was back on the old site. I will try my best to get back on track--don't want to leave you hanging. V.
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(#56)
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07-27-2012, 03:16 AM
Quote:
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(#57)
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07-28-2012, 05:22 PM
Like most if not all of Boone's webposts, his call to action went unheeded. Everybody went to work as usual throughout the week, looking forward to their paychecks and their next day off. For the citizens of Las Vegas, it was just another week in Sin City; any conspiracy theories were light-years away from their minds. Nothing mattered but the weekend for residents and tourists alike.
Las Vegas had something else to look forward to that weekend: the arrival of Buzz Aldrin for his SpaceShare lecture and exhibit. The Grand Ballroom was set aside for the occasion: the lecture podium was decorated simply with a single American flag to the right and the NASA logo hanging behind it. A slender microphone attached to the lecturn was connected to a hidden loudspeaker, its volumne level tested and retested for the most comfortably audible level. Every available chair was positioned in front of the podium for maximum visibility and easy access (space was allotted for wheelchairs in keeping with ADA regulations) with a four-foot aisle in the center. The ShareSpace displays, ten in all, consisted of enlarged photographs of CGI generated space stations, shuttle launches, and photographs of school-aged children wearing identical t-shirts with rocket ships printed upon the fronts, with Aldrin prominent in the center. This latter was to encourage the general public to support science education in American as well as for Buzz Aldrin's SpaceShare program. The glass-enclosed oversized posters were lined against one wall in a far corner of the ballroom, away from the lecture area. This was to ensure a smooth flow between the display and the podium, especially in case of an emergency. All this was supervised by Chief of Security Big Luke Macaffey. He stood in the middle of the giant ballroom, overseeing the placement of the chairs, the hanging of the NASA logo, and the proper angle of the display posters, all the while nodding and grinning in satisfaction. Normally, he didn't care a fig about whatever special event the hotel was hosting; his job was to ensure that there was no trouble while it was going on, whether it was gatecrashers or a fire breaking out somewhere. This, however, was different: instead of a conference, a wedding reception, or the debut performance of some celebrity, Apollo 11 astronaut Buzz Aldrin, a real American hero, was arriving to share his experiences and his hopes for the future. It was a great honor for the Luxor Hotel and Resort, and Macaffey was going to make damn sure everything went smoothly. He had cleared the emergency exits and tested the alarm systems; he had measured the aisle for maximum clearance; and he had briefed the video surveillance team to keep an eye out for any troublemakers, recalling the hassle with that hippie nut job, Boone Whatshisname, a few days earlier. He even made sure Aldrin's hotel reservations were free of snags. With Buzz Aldrin coming to the Luxor, everything counted. "Chief Macaffey?" It was Mackenzie Coulter, the events director for the hotel. She was a slim woman in a red business dress suit, her chest flat as the desert, with sun-bleached hair tied up professionally in a knot on top of her head. She handed Macaffey a sheet of paper. "Here's the itinerary for Dr. Aldrin's visit," she said. "You might want to go over it before he gets here." Macaffey took the sheet with a brief word of thanks as Ms. Coulter walked briskly out of the ballroom to attend to other matters. He scanned the itinerary: Friday: Boy, Macaffey thought, she's got every minute planned out for the guy! She should let him have a little fun while he's here, for Pete's sake! Last edited by Veritas; 07-28-2012 at 07:52 PM. |
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(#58)
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07-28-2012, 08:55 PM
And we all thought Criss's schedule was busy
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(#59)
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08-07-2012, 08:28 PM
The big day arrived. At exactly two PM on Friday, a black stretch Mercedes limo tooled up the main drive of the Luxor hotel. Every parking attendant on duty snapped to attention as it eased to a stop in front of the glass-encased foyer, while a blue jacketed security guard opened the rear passenger door, allowing the guest of honor to exit the vehicle. As if on cue, the bell attendants moved in to collect the luggage from the trunk.
Buzz Aldrin, Lunar Module Pilot of the Apollo 11 moon mission, climbed out of the back of the Mercedes, blinking at the harsh Nevada sun after nearly a half-hour's ride in the dim confines of the limo and giving his aging limbs a much needed stretch. He had been to Vegas many times in the past, but always stayed in a different hotel each time; in fact, some of them had been torn down years ago to make room for the new ones. Oh, well, it kept his visits exciting, always giving him something new to see. He entered the refreshingly cool comfort of the lobby, followed by his assistant--his daughter, Janice, who was walking up to the front desk to check in. A bell attendant wheeling their luggage on a shiny brass cart brought up the rear. Buzz took a moment to size up his surroundings: the plush carpeting, the slanting terraces inside the giant black pyramid, and the spaciousness of it all, so unlike many other hotels in which he had stayed in the past. The Egyptian theme had been toned down, much to his relief. So many Vegas hotels, especially in the past, played up to the images they presented to the point of irritation; he just hoped he didn't have to meet some guy dressed as a Pharoh or something. Instead, he and Janice were escorted by the same security guard to the elevators, or rather inclinators, as he soon learned. Due to the angular structure of the hotel, the cars ran on an inclined track along the slope of the building, something Buzz found very interesting. It was also a very smooth ride; he hardly felt any hint of g-force. Must be the angle, he thought. The doors slid open onto his floor, and the Aldrins were shown their suite. Their luggage had arrived at the same time by freight inclinator. The bell attendant slid a keycard into the door slot and opened the door, standing back respectfully to allow the guests to enter first. The security guard, his duty fulfilled, took his leave in silence, leaving the attendant to make sure the Aldrins were situated comfortably in their suite. The bags were unloaded from the cart and set carefully on the floor by the sofa. With customary deference, he showed Buzz and Janice the bedrooms, the baths, the phone system, the minibar (of which Buzz made a mental note to steer clear), and made the usual offer of assistance in anything they wished to make their stay more comfortable. Buzz gave a hasty but cordial refusal, gave the attendant a twenty, and sent him on his way with a quick word of thanks. Once relieved of the fawning hotel employee, Buzz breathed a huge sigh and fell back on the giant king-sized bed. As much as he was dedicated to his foundation, ShareSpace, the traveling was wearing him out, especially at seventy-two years of age. One day it was Chicago, the next New York, then Dallas, then Phoenix, then Las Vegas. The total miles he had traveled around the country in the past decade alone would have equaled the distance between the Earth and the moon! Still, it was his purpose in life. If not for ShareSpace, he would have remained in the quagmire of depression and alcoholism that he had sunken into since his return from the moon back in 1969. Janice held out a sheet of paper in front of him. "Here's the itinerary, Dad," she said. Buzz took the sheet and glanced over it. It read like a pre-launch checklist, right down to meals and lecture times. The seven PM time slot caught his eye. "Interview with Criss Angel for MagicPlace dot com," he read. His brow furrowed in puzzlement. "Who the hell is Criss Angel?" he wondered aloud. "Some magician who performs here," Janice replied drily. "He's their biggest draw, and his website's the Luxor's biggest free form of advertising." "A magician?" Buzz sniffed. "It's an interview with a call-in Q-and-A. You want to cancel?" "Oh, no, no, I don't wanna cancel it," Buzz said. "I don't mind a few magic tricks if they're good enough. Might be fun." Last edited by Veritas; 08-14-2012 at 04:18 PM. |
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(#60)
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08-07-2012, 11:01 PM
Nice to see u back Vertias and Buzz is going to be shocked when he sees what Criss has up his sleeve
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