Pillsbury + 1 year:

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Just Old Al
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Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by Just Old Al »

October, 2016:

The envelopes started dropping into letterboxes, with electronic equivalents spreading by their own means. Even the Library’s delivery systems were put to use in a place or two where things needed to reach the other realm.

Small, square envelopes of a mottled green, they bore a Maple Grove return address and recipient names and addresses hand-written in a dark green ink, with a dark green foil seal on the reverse holding the flap closed. Each envelope contained three items – an invitation, an RSVP card, and a pre-addressed envelope for the RSVP card.

The invitation was simple:


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"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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jwhouk
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by jwhouk »

---

I looked at the date, then looked at the calendar.

I then groaned.

A deep sigh came from the innermost depths of my being; then, I picked up my cell phone and pressed a few buttons.

A moment later: "Hey, Suzie? Joe. You just get your invite?... Yeah. Unfortunately, I work that weekend... I knew I could count on you. Thanks."

That night, when I went into work, I looked up the schedule for that week - sure enough, I'd been taken off the schedule on "administrative leave" for the entire week.

It's nice to have friends in high places, I thought as I snapped my body camera on.
"Character is what you are in the dark." - D.L. Moody
"You should never run from the voices in your head. That's how you give them power." - Jin
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Sgt. Howard
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by Sgt. Howard »

Greg sorted through the mail at the box itself that fine late Summer day in Malott, Washington- he had just tasted his first week of retirement, and came to the conclusion he should have done it decades ago. More orders for the 'Howard Hub Mount', several orders for 'G' gauge bridges and trestles in aged cedar, a royalty check from Sturm, Ruger, 'Monkey Depot' put in a bulk order for four hundred bistro table/chairs sets in 1/6th scale and one hundred Parisian lamp-posts in the same... and of course several requests for a hardcopy of 'The Gospel of Ishmay'... and an odd, largish, square envelope in mottled green. Opening it at the mailbox, he could hardly believe his eyes- then sprinting up his driveway at a pace to belie his age, he yelled to his ever-loving-
"SASSAFRAS!!! GIT YER WINTER FANCY STUFF FIGURED OUT! WE'RE GOING TO MINNAHOOTA IN DECEMBER!!!"
Miss Annie opened the door to witness the maniac she loves dearly working himself to a foam.
"Big deal- you go there three times a week as it is, just to see what new ways you can endanger the planet,"
"No darlin', this time we're invited to the Richer-Alexander's for Justin and Shelly's first wedding anniversary party- it's a surprise shindig!
"No way!"
"HAH! WAY!!!"
"What day?"
"The tenth of December- we can portal right through the library to their place- they've built the new digs, you know... supposed to be bigger than that shopping mall they put us up in last time around. I bet Al and Daisy are having a time throwing this one together,"
"... 'supposed to be'? you go there all the time- haven't you seen it?"
He looked at her, caught short- "Dearheart, I only go to the shop where Al and I ... fiddle with ... stuff..."
"Yea, like that thermonuclear 'Doc Johnston Special' that damn near took out most of the twin cities?"
"Now Annie, SOMEBODY had to figure that thing out,"
"Two monkeys and a football is what comes to mind... well, the great lakes are not evaporated and surrounded by glass... so far... "
"Good Lord looks after fools, drunks and the US Army- I've got investments in all three, so we're good,"
Annie just looked at him-"Why couldn't you just collect STAMPS? You are the most... INSANE... fellow I have ever known..."
"OK... what's your point...?"
Rule 17 of the Bombay Golf Course- "You shall play the ball where the monkey drops it,"
I speak fluent Limrick-
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GlytchMeister
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by GlytchMeister »

Glytch had been out of the hospital for a week when he finally sat down and began to sort through his woefully overgrown email inbox. It was ten o' clock at night on November 7th, and he was eating his fourth meal of the day - a ribeye steak, grilled to the perfect boundary between medium and medium-well, a baked potato loaded with butter, cheese, and bacon, a sliced apple with peanut butter, and a salad comprised of iceberg lettuce, baby spinach, carrot strings, parmesan, and raspberry vinaigrette. Glytch had spent the first half of his day forging the blades of his newest contraption, and had burnt a lot of calories.

A couple of emails stood out from the rest, prompting him to flick the emails from his phone to the large flatscreen he had mounted to the wall in the living room - the first was an invitation from Al and Daisy. Of course, Glytch RSVP'd his affirmative. "I've been looking for an opportunity to show off some of my projects..." Glytch muttered around a mouthful of potato before reading the next email.
"Job Offer - Surprise Party"
Sarge? Hmm. I bet it's about that anniversary.
"Justin and Shelly are having a little ceremony in the Library on their anniversary - Justin wanted to give his wife the memories she deserved. Al mentioned you are a bit of a renaissance man... I don't suppose you are any good with music? - Sarge."

Glytch grinned and quickly finished his meal, dictating his reply to his phone as he cleaned up. Then, he fired off a quick email to a buddy he met at MIB: "You have a gig on 12/10, make sure you're free. Bring my gear too. Details will come later."
With that, he ran upstairs to shower and get dressed in a simple red hooded button-up shirt, a black leather jacket, black and red sneakers, and dark blue jeans. On his way downstairs, he called work to let them know he would be working remotely for a while before packing a few sandwiches into a lunchbox - old frugal habits die hard. A tap on his phone started his car and opened the appropriate garage door. While the car warmed up, Glytch went back upstairs to pack his bag - it was the one Eme' had given him, but he had modified it slightly to fit over his shoulder and diagonally across his back. He took his favorite formal outfit, some spare clothes, some portable tech, the endless bottle of Vanilla Coke, a few of his more portable projects, and, as always, his bow, quiver, and armor. Ever since the Battle of Pillsbury, Glytch's Boy Scout background refused to let him leave the house without being prepared for paranormal hijinks, a habit that was only reinforced by his encounter with the Black Book of Lanthis.
Back downstairs he went and outside into the garage... Past old Frankie (there was always something that needed fixing on it, so Glytch always had something to do if he was bored), past the custom Harley Night Rod Special... And hopped into the heavily customized Pontiac G6 hardtop convertible coupe.
It'll be nice to see everyone again... Heh... This oughta be fun.
With an anticipatory chuckle, Glytch backed out of his garage, inserted his phone into the wireless charging mount, and roared off toward the nearest Vehicle-friendly Library Portal. "Heh... Be prepared... Give me a month to prepare, they won't know what hit 'em..."
He's mister GlytchMeister, he's mister code
He's mister exploiter, he's mister ones and zeros
They call me GlytchMeister, whatever I touch
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Sgt. Howard
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by Sgt. Howard »

Monica opened her laptop, half-asleep and grouchy... which is to say, pre-caffeinated. Tapping in a few commands, she brought up her Email and immediately started selecting stuff that got by her filters for junkmail. One item caught her attention- It came from the Richer-Alexander estate. Tagging onto it, she took a deep pull from her coffee cup before attempting to read.
It was addressed to Jet and herself- an invite to a party, a sneak celebration of Shelly and Justin's first anniversary. She squealed with delight at the prospect.
"Wuzzat noise?" came a sleepy voice at the head of the stairs, "I woke up an' you weren't there," Georgette mumbled.
"Came down for breakfast," Monica smiled.
"I thought 'breakfast' was what you did to me a moment ago," leered Jet as she padded over to Monica and started molesting her.
"That was almost a hour ago, 'snot MY fault you passed out,"
"Yes it is," she responded with a husky voice just before she kissed her. When they parted lips, she noticed what was on the screen- "Whoa! The R/A Estate? Cool... 'Weapons Optional'? What would we be packing?"
"Your scrawny ass and my ginormous hooters... some of those guys pack heat, concealed weapons... I know for a fact that Al and Greg do- and Miss Annie has a .44 mag that she carries in a purse specifically tailored for it. Jin's been talking about it for some time now, as has Alan... yea, all of those we called 'squishies' seem to like the idea these days,"
"I fall into that category, don't I?" Jet asked in a small voice, "... the professional crowd I run with has a very 'anti-gun' stance to their thinking,"
"You've seen it up close, remember?"
"Like I could forget... that poor girl... those poor cops... had we not been prepared, the numbers would have been higher. Not any amount of laws could make any difference to something like that... and the models that scream the loudest for 'gun control' have armed bodyguards protecting them! Stupid... " she thought for a moment, "... what's involved in getting a concealed carry permit?"
"Dunno- I'm sure one of the Old Sergeants could talk you through it,"

Kevin approached the bedroom with a tray laden with coffee, waffles, cherry compote, orange juice, and kiwi fruit- enough for two. Sprawled across the bed was a dainty, straw headed pixie of a girl, sleeping as soundly as possible. Kevin stooped down and blew the fumes from the tray gently into her face- she awoke with a mild start, saw the tray and a broad smile split her face-
"You are going to spoil me," she attempted to protest.
"That's my job," he responded as he admired her- something about a happy woman totally nude and disheveled in a bed in the morning is sooooo.... YUMMMY...
"We have an invite to the Alexander place- a surprise anniversary party for the Epimethuses. 10th of December,"
She went all dreamy eyed at the memories thereof... then she giggled-
"You suppose they repaired the floors where Al Banged Daisy through the woodwork?"
Rule 17 of the Bombay Golf Course- "You shall play the ball where the monkey drops it,"
I speak fluent Limrick-
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Just Old Al
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by Just Old Al »

“Tell me why we’re doing this again?” Al exasperatedly said, while leafing through the latest batch of delayed construction estimates from the contractors.

They were betwixt and between – and the completion dates on both houses were slipping.

Part of it was down to the weather – the freeze had come in late September this year, forcing the enclosure of new Alexander House and slowing down its sheathing and completion because of the weather-resistant structure they’d needed to scaffold around it.

Now it was mid-October, and the crews were catching up, but it was going to be a close-run thing.

Old Alexander House was another story. The damage that had happened with the floor collapse had been simple, and easy to fix – or so the first contractor they’d brought in had assured them.

The second, brought in when the first packed up and stopped returning their calls – said that it was a problem, but he could handle it, never fear.

The third brought in told them the whole wing had to come down and it was impossible to fix without tearing down the entire house with it. He left the premises rapidly when Al questioned his competence, ancestry and identity of his parents as he’d obviously been hatched out under a rock.

New Alexander House would be ready, never fear, generous bonuses offered with one hand and lawyers on the other hand assured that it would be ready two to three weeks before the party. However, both Al and Daisy were triple damned if they were going to have the party at New Alexander House if they could conceivably avoid it. It just didn’t seem right.

By this time, it was time to call in the cavalry, or more specifically, the werewolf.

Later that day Jacob Kronwulf rolled out in his battered pickup with several of his employees. He spent the next three hours going over the North Tower, evaluating the condition of the structure, taking test borings of the beams and evaluating the structure section top to bottom.

The next day he returned to talk to Daisy and Al.

“Sad to say, the North Tower section is beyond in-situ repair. The timber that was used in it was not of proper size to begin with, and it was never dried properly. Because of this the place was never too structurally sound to begin with, and rot and insects got in through the fieldstone foundation and made a mess from there.

The house surrounding it – the original main section and subsequent additions – are good, but they’re in danger as well because some parts are partially supported by the section in question.

In short, that section needs to be rebuilt – nothing else will do.”

The older couple sighed – that was what they’d expected but been afraid to hear.

“OK, so what’s the best course – I assume from what you’re saying we can save everything around it? What are we talking for an estimate here on time and how much disruption to the other structures?” Al, ever the engineer, went straight to the heart of the issue - what would it take to deal with it?

“Disruption should be relatively minimal – we will end up installing bracing to hold everything up, and struts to the basement floor with timbers to spread the weight so the support of the old section can be removed.

The tower’s obviously going to have to be cleaned out and its systems isolated for replacement – it’s not a problem – as my crew’s done things like that before. You’ll still be able to live in the house, but I recommend the other half of it – this part is going to get drafty and noisy.” Kronwulf paused at this point to allow his clients to digest what was a very, very large lump to swallow.

“Now comes the big question – how long?” This from Daisy - Al had been about to ask but hesitated a fraction longer. Both dreaded the answer, and had almost resigned themselves to having the party at New Alexander.

“If we start tomorrow…seven weeks.” Kronwulf stated this calmly, but with a twinkle in his eye. he knew what the old couple wanted for an answer, and hopefully he'd given it to them.

Two voices simultaneously said "Do it."
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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DinkyInky
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by DinkyInky »

Getting her arse handed to her was getting irritating, and Emerauld was plotting the next strategy to try while rinsing off the remains of the last battle.

"I really need a break...though preferably not bones this time," she thought ruefully at her last failed strategem against the muttering Master.

Dressing quickly, she left the hut and began to wander with purpose.
Stretching before a brisk walk, as she did not wish to have sore muscles before another training exercise, she stopped as she found herself walking back towards the portal to the library, and quickly moved back to the training grounds.
The last thing she needed was more busywork...because he never let her cheat.

Sneaking around in the limited shadows spying on her sister, as she was also "training", Safyr noted how often she reversed her attempts to run and hole up in the Library. She was also very distracted, garnering injuries she ordinarily would easily avoid.
Consulting her notes, she noted it was nearly a year since they had done battle to defend Shelley, along with her family and friends. Perhaps a word with him about this may bring about a solution.

*****************

Having made her thoughts known, she went back out to try being invisible, her sparring time not for some hours. Watching her sister sparring distracted yet again, she saw the portal energies coalesce overhead just before the scaletail leapt up and snatched something green from the air.

"Hmm...there is a Centaur design in this wax seal."

(they remembered to keep it natural for Elven quirks)

"A Centaur? Master Mutters, that is for me and Saf'!"

He shifted stance and effortlessly dodged Emerauld, holding the envelope just out of reach, then cartwheeled and grabbed Safyr(who leapt off of her high perch to try and obtain the envelope) with his foot, and tossed her, spinning back up to catch Emerauld with his tail, flinging her into the air.

"When you can grasp it from my hand, you may read its contents," he said, grinning with far too many teeth.
Yanno how some people have Angels/Devils for a conscience? I have a Dark Elf ShadowKnight and a Half Elf Ranger for mine. The really bad part is when they agree on something.

Aphyon chu kissa whol l'jaed.
--Safyr Drathmir
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Just Old Al
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by Just Old Al »

AN: This is from an idea passed to me by JWHouk - thank you Joe - I hope I did it justice.

“Do it.”

Thirty minutes later, pandemonium reigned. Daisy, in human form and clad in her jeans and a tattered shirt, was giving orders to Edward, to be distributed to the other staff. The tower had to be stripped of its contents, and right now.

Between Daisy and Al they thought for a total of thirty seconds about calling in the paranormal cavalry, but decided that the risk was too great. While Shelley and Justin would be a great help in lifting and lugging, they might hear things they shouldn’t in the excitement.

However, this said NOTHING about shanghaiing family. Five minutes after Kronwulf left to muster his troops, Daisy was burning up the telephone wires to AHI – and specifically the office of the CEO, one Buck Alexander. From there phone calls went to the other victims of this mad rush – Atsali, Katherine, Rowdy and Cinnamon.

“Constance, cancel my appointments and the status meeting for this afternoon, and don’t count on seeing me tomorrow. My mother and Al have gone insane, and I need to go pick up the pieces.”

“Oh, dear, Mr. Alexander – what’s going on? Can I help?”

“DO NOT ask that question – you might be press-ganged as Katherine and I just were. A contractor is coming in to finally fix the structural collapse at Alexander House – and we need to empty the damaged area ASAP.”

“Sir, all due respect – you’re going to need all the help you can get. Let me call my husband and get Melissa and Kristin to do the same, and we can come out and help. If I know your mother and stepfather then you’re going to need all the help you can get.”

The office staff, husbands in tow, showed up approximately an hour later. By that time, the staff had made a good start at stripping the furniture in the lower rooms, which had been carted to rooms in the still-sound part of the house. Things were shoved in willy-nilly, and with little regard for habitability.

On their arrival, the ladies were asked to remove all of the wall hangings, pictures and such and cover them with sheets of hardboard held in place with strapping tape – said sheets and strapping purloined from the shipping department of AHI by the CEO in direct contravention of corporate policy.

Sometimes, it’s good to be the boss. He’d straighten it out with the accountants later.

The same department provided boxes, tape, rolls of bubble wrap and paper blankets. As needed, things taken from rooms were packaged and stored, the contents noted on the outside of the packaging. Contents of closets, crawlspaces, built in furniture and odd unused corners was pulled out, bundled up and trundled off into whatever accommodating corner could be found.

In the middle of this Daisy reigned – the alpha dam truly in her element. Her Southern roots gloriously present in her speech, she whirled through the tower, suggesting, directing, exhorting and cajoling all within earshot.

Al, knowing instinctively when it was time to be elsewhere, grabbed two of the press-ganged husbands and headed for the attic. Opening a half-door in the back of one of the closets he and his minions crawled through – and when the light switch was clicked on they were presented with a mess that made the coal cellar look like an operating theatre.

Stacked crates, ancient fruit boxes and stacks of mouldering papers confronted their eyes, along with an assortment of trunks, suitcases, portmanteaux and the occasional dead rodent.

Al was in heaven – he loved old storage spaces.

“OK, Ray, be a good lad and nip downstairs - grab an armful of boxes and a roll or two of packing tape. Rick, when he gets back we’ll go after the loose papers – right now let’s move out the crates and things that are in one piece.”

Straining, lugging and tugging they pulled box after box to the opening and shoved it through. A hand truck was located, and the crates wheeled away to a hastily-emptied bedroom on the floor outside the tower area.

While boxes were being moved, Al was back in the attic shoving things through the half-door to the outside for the other two to move. As he did so, he noticed several boxes of pictures and what looked like personal papers – and these he set aside for further consideration.

Soon enough, the attic area was roughly cleared, and the crates and boxes moved to safety for further consideration.

Now, the three of them boxed up the loose papers and random items, shoving them through the door and out. That completed, they closed the door and hauled off the rest of the detritus to the storage area.

Al sent the younger men back down into the fray – he had a bit of nosing about to do first.

Finding the box of pictures, he pulled out the oldest-looking album and began to look through it. What he saw surprised him to no end.

Old, musty and clearly untouched for years, these were stills from film production – ones which Al recognized immediately. A red Ford Mustang fastback with white stripes on Las Vegas’ Fremont Street, sitting with the door open, surrounded by crew. An ungainly, spindly artist’s concept of a lunar vehicle, sitting on balloon tires in the desert. Shots of motion rigs, and a parking lot full of archaic-looking police cars.

The next page was even more interesting. – an 8 X 10 of a boy with a striking resemblance to a young Buck, held by a very redheaded Jill St. John, in a costume Al recognized as coming from the film “Diamonds Are Forever”. The next page contained one of the same young man shaking hands with Charles Gray, and the page after that with the actor Jimmy Dean, hands on the young man’s shoulders and infectious grins on both their faces.

The last was a full shot of the young man with Sean Connery, a smile on the actor’s face and a look of awe and an ear-to-ear grin on the boy’s face.

The page after that was an 8x10 publicity still of Sean Connery inscribed “To Rock – best regards, Sean Connery”

“Well, this explains a few things, it does!” Al said, and tucking the album under his arm he headed for the ground floor and his family.

“ Rowdy! ROWDY! PICK that UP and get it put away, boy! We have things to do! Cinnamon – don’t take one, take three or four – you’re no invalid, girl – put your back into it!”

Feeling like he was stepping into a meat grinder, Al stepped over to Daisy, who asked “And where have YOU been?”

“Got the attic cleared out – took a couple of the lads with me and got it done. In doing so I ran across this.” Al showed Daisy the outside of the album – and she stopped and her eyes got big.

“Is that what I think it is? Buck – BUCK – come see Momma for a minute, son.” Buck detached himself from the piece of furniture he was strapping to a jack and walked over. Daisy took the album from Al and walked over to a pile of boxes, reverently putting it down on top.

“Al found this upstairs in the attic. A lot of things got…misplaced…when your Daddy died – and this was one of them.” She opened the album and started flipping through it, stopping at the first of the pictures of the young man.

“This was your Daddy in 1970. Grandpa had gone on a business trip to Las Vegas and taken Grandma and him along so they could see the sights while he was doing Harvester business. He found out they were filming a Bond film, and leaned on the folks he was meeting with to get Rock access to the set.

Rock was in hog heaven. He loved the Bond films from the time he was old enough to enjoy movies because he and your Grandpa used to go to them together. When he got on the set it turned out that he had the run of it – and Grandma made sure he had a camera and as much film as he could possibly shoot.”

“Your Dad always talked about that time – that was the beginning of a love affair with the whole Bond franchise that he passed on to you, from what I can see. Take this home with you – and when we can find the other albums you can have those too. They should be with you.”

“No finding to do – this album came from one of two crates full of photo albums that I dug out of the attic area. Looked to me like there was at least one more of negatives and loose prints, and some very old 35MM camera equipment as well.” Al was glad to be able to give her this news – it was obvious these things though lost were very important to her.

“Oh, damnit….” Daisy unexpectedly started to cry. Concerned but uncertain, both Al and Buck stood here as the chaos of the clearing swirled around the three of them.

“I’m sorry – just being a silly old dam. Seeing this stuff brought back memories of your Dad and me watching Bond films on videotape and sitting on the couch when you were all little. I still love your Daddy, and miss him a lot. This just kinda brought it all back.”

“Well – no time for this!” She straightened, and the whirlwind manifested again, the angst not forgotten but set aside. “All right you two, enough looking at the pretty pictures – we have a tower needs clearing!” Get to it!”

Marching orders given and accepted, Al and Buck hastily got back to work. With them gone, Daisy laid her hand on the album and softly said, “Miss you, love, and always will…”
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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GlytchMeister
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by GlytchMeister »

Glytch hopped out of his car and headed into the stacks upon stacks of bookshelves, his face displaying the same dreamy, contented smile as it always did when he was perusing the Library.
He pulled out his phone and logged into the Library's network, searched for the blueprints of the old Castle Alexander, and VORPED himself to their location. His smile became slightly more mischievous as he pulled the CAD drawings from their spot on the shelf, gradually turning downright disturbing by the time he had walked to a table and spread out the plans.
Then, he began to study the blueprints, his mind racing as a stream of ideas sprang forth. Not even Nudge strayed too near, as the young genius's grin told everyone he was firmly set in the madness place.
A quick few commands on his phone produced a second copy of the blueprints, and Glytch set to annotating them with the necessary changes to be VORPed in. A dedicated breaker in the circuit panel, cables run through the vents, a slightly raised stage set in one corner, speakers and amps, and on the corner opposing the stage for the band went Glytch's own personal contribution to the party. Several hours later, Glytch turned his attention to the logistics... He VORPED in his new laptop and broke into the core mainframe of the VORP systems, gave himself sysadmin status, and began to create the massive, convoluted program that would, at the push of a button, cause every one of the changes to be teleported to the old mansion.

At this point, a minor librarian approached and tried to tell Glytch he really shouldn't hack into the VORP system.
Glytch immediately told him to go fetch a large bacon cheeseburger, steak fries, and an apple.

The assistant librarian prudently decided to not argue.
He's mister GlytchMeister, he's mister code
He's mister exploiter, he's mister ones and zeros
They call me GlytchMeister, whatever I touch
Starts to glitch in my clutch!
I'm too much!
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jwhouk
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by jwhouk »

Lake Independence, Minnesota, was so named by the USGS surveyors who first came upon the lake on Independence Day in the early 1850's.

The maple forests around the lake were ideal for settlers, who began making homesteads around the lake by the end of the decade. Unfortunately, the Civil War prevented further settlement immediately, and the lake was mostly despoiled until a decade later.

Two things had a huge impact on the area: first, the Saint Paul, Pacific and Manitoba Railroad set tracks through to a settlement to the south of the lake, creating the village of Maple Plain. In 1871, the first post office opened along the tracks, and shortly thereafter settlers filled into the small town.

The second thing to happen that impacted the area was shortly after the post office opened. A former steamboat captain had made his way up the Mississippi to the mill city of Minneapolis a year earlier, and had begun the company that would known throughout the world as "The Maker of America's Harvest." He had already set up a place to build his machines of harvest in the Twin Cities; now, he sought a place of his own in which to live.

He found the place on the shores of Lake Independence - quite by accident, according to family legend. The post road on which he was told led to the lake was actually an old Indian trail - and led to what was once a Dakota settlement.

Ebenezer Calvin "Ebbie" Alexander fell in love immediately, and set forth to not only buy the land, but build a house on the site.

The story of how a centaur established the great Alexander's Harvesters is a story for another time. However, the story of his home - the grand Alexander Estate - is of interest to the reader for one particular episode:

Ebbie had grand plans for the place, as he had stone and fine hardwoods brought in from Northern Minnesota for his estate. However, about halfway through the construction, his shipment of lumber was halted due to a disagreement with his supplier. Stubbornness was, sadly, a family trait - and he vowed that he would finish the job using lumber from his own estate.

The idea was practical, and had the added advantage of providing his family with pasture in which they could revert to their true centaur forms - in private. The trees that lined the property proved adequate to the job, and the luxurious tower that he had wanted as a piece of vanity was finished. The Minneapolis papers were agog when the family held an open house for the factory workers, celebrating that the mansion was a "feat of construction not likely to be seen again" in the area.

Sadly, they did not realize how true the statement was. For most of the wood used in construction of Ebbie's tower was from the bountiful maples that frequented the land around where now the family paddocks were located.

And maple wood, as many who have used it in construction know, is extremely susceptible to insect infestations and rot...
"Character is what you are in the dark." - D.L. Moody
"You should never run from the voices in your head. That's how you give them power." - Jin
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by Sgt. Howard »

"Howard, there's somebody out in Oyler's field looking lost," Annie commented to her husband.
Greg took a squint out the kitchen window- "I would say so- those are city clothes, if I'm not mistaken- that skinny lady came out of the outhouse. Where are...? AH! HERE we are..." and he picked up the brass Civil War vintage binoculars hanging from the bookshelf. Screwing the focus to the distance, he assessed the figure looking for any form of landmark.
"That's Georgette Sundahl!" he blurted out.
"THE Georgette Sundahl?" Annie thought for a moment, "the same one who kissed you on the cheek that one time?" there was a dangerous edge in her voice.
"Now little Mama, she poses no threat to you and you know that... be civil, will you?"
"A super model busses my husband and I am supposed to shine that on?"
"Sassafras, I spill more than her off my plate when I eat... even if I was the wandering type, there's not enough there to hold my fancy- YOU know that," he smiled, "besides, I'll bet she'd muck up biscuits and gravy given step-by-step instructions from my Grandmother. She's pure city girl... but doubtless she's here looking for me,"
"And what makes you so sure?"
"I've GOT to be the only person out here she's met- and I don't see her coming out here to meet you... could be mistaken... hmm... she DOES fancy the ladies, now that I think about it... maybe she's.."
"Don't go there, you sick dirty old man!"
"OLD?!?... well... yea, I guess so... but you don't have to rub it in. I'll go get her before she steps in something,"

Greg had no trouble flagging her down and directing her to the mobile home. Annie poured her a coffee, and sat her down and then came right out with it-
"What can we do for you?" she asked.
Greg was taken slightly aback by her abruptness, but then sat down as well and mentioned, "Yeah, I figure you're not here for the 'Suicide race'... that already happened,"
She looked a bit embarrassed- "Well, Monica said that you fully understood guns and how to use them- she also said you are a qualified NRA instructor. And... well, the wedding... was... well..."
"A bloodbath," Greg finished for her, "... I'm guessing you're thinking about a concealed carry permit? You will have find out some of the particulars from your county sheriff's department, but I can certainly instruct and advise you as to what weapon would suit you best,"
"Sheriff's Department? Why them?"
"THAT's where the authority lies on that subject- somehow, I doubt you'll have any issue, being a celebrity,"
"Why should that matter?"
Greg gave a grim smile- "You are an asset to the community- as such, you'll get preferential treatment,"
She screwed up her face- "But... what about ... other people...?"
Greg looked at her with resignation- "THAT ... depends on who's the Sheriff and what politics he worships... if he's a fan of gun control, the average Joe stands no chance,"
She digested this- "That's not fair..."
"No... it certainly isn't," Annie piped in.
Georgette looked at her, remembering something from the wedding-
"You... you shot some fellow who attacked you... what did that make you feel?"
With cold eyes, she replied,

"Recoil,"
Last edited by Sgt. Howard on Mon Dec 28, 2015 12:28 am, edited 1 time in total.
Rule 17 of the Bombay Golf Course- "You shall play the ball where the monkey drops it,"
I speak fluent Limrick-
the Old Sgt.
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jwhouk
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by jwhouk »

---

Ari sat nervously in the waiting room of the office. She had been filling out applications left and right since she'd been let go from Wal-Mart, and she was getting desperate.

This place had actually called her back for an interview - something she hadn't even gotten a sniff of from any other place she'd handed in her resume.

"Miss Wardoff?" The receptionist called. Ari rose upon hearing her name - a bit too quickly, as her portfolio of resumes went skittering across the floor. She hurriedly collected them and, smiling apologetically, went over to the woman's desk.

"Our HR director, Constance, is ready to see you." She pointed her towards the hallway. A few doors down, a blonde woman in a smart business dress smiled - even as Ari struggled to keep her portfolio from re-opening.

Just as she reached the door, the phone on her desk rang. Ari motioned to a chair and asked her to have a seat.

"This is Constance," she spoke into the phone. "Oh, yes, Mr. Alexander... Oh, dear - at least they got everything out before that happened... Well, yes, I think our office staff would be more than willing to help out again this weekend." She paused for a moment. "Well, I do have an interview here for that position we've been... yes, that one... Sure thing, I'll call you back when I'm done. Say hello to Kath."

She hung up the phone. "Sorry, my boss is moving things out of his mother's place in Maple Plain." Ari's eyebrow raised slightly. "They've had to renovate the place since that nasty business at the Pillsbury A-Mill last year. So," she leaned against the edge of the desk, reaching back to take a folder from the top of the file tray that was on it. "You were here for the security position?"

Ari had closed her eyes. Every time she'd heard any reference to the Pillsbury incident, on TV or in the papers, she had to stop and concentrate; for some reason, the event had caused her and her two sisters to freeze up every time they'd heard of it.

"Uh, yes, the security position," she said. "I have references from my past employer, and my educational references are on page two..."

It had only been by accident that they'd discovered how they'd "frozen" when the Mill was mentioned. She witnessed how Drey had frozen up on reading a story about one of the surviving police officers from the incident - and put two and two together. She and her sisters had come up with a "distraction technique" when it came up in reference: they thought about Justin Bieber.

Granted, it wasn't a perfect workaround, but it kept them from appearing to be on drugs.

"There's a distinct lack of experience here," she pointed out. "But truth be told, we have had issues trying to fill this particular position."

"I'm willing to work in difficult circumstances," she said - perhaps too eagerly. "And I have background in security - it's what I did back in college."

"I see that. Well," Constance put the folder down on the desk. "The job would be at the old number 2 plant, and would require a background check; AHI does some contract work with the US Government at that facility..."
"Character is what you are in the dark." - D.L. Moody
"You should never run from the voices in your head. That's how you give them power." - Jin
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by GlytchMeister »

oh boy. That is a recipie for disaster... Why do I get the feeling this epilogue has a fifty/fifty chance of exploding into another epic doorstopper?
He's mister GlytchMeister, he's mister code
He's mister exploiter, he's mister ones and zeros
They call me GlytchMeister, whatever I touch
Starts to glitch in my clutch!
I'm too much!
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Sgt. Howard
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by Sgt. Howard »

Da fuse be lit!!!
Rule 17 of the Bombay Golf Course- "You shall play the ball where the monkey drops it,"
I speak fluent Limrick-
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by jwhouk »

GlytchMeister wrote:oh boy. That is a recipie for disaster... Why do I get the feeling this epilogue has a fifty/fifty chance of exploding into another epic doorstopper?
Three to five, at least. ;)
"Character is what you are in the dark." - D.L. Moody
"You should never run from the voices in your head. That's how you give them power." - Jin
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by Sgt. Howard »

jwhouk wrote:
GlytchMeister wrote:oh boy. That is a recipie for disaster... Why do I get the feeling this epilogue has a fifty/fifty chance of exploding into another epic doorstopper?
Three to five, at least. ;)
I put the odds at three to one in favor of pandemonium... and I will not back a smooth resolution at any odds!
Rule 17 of the Bombay Golf Course- "You shall play the ball where the monkey drops it,"
I speak fluent Limrick-
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by jwhouk »

Jacob Kronwulf's family had been involved in the home construction business since long before Minnesota had even become a state. And, in all those long years, he had never heard, never seen, a remodeling project this bad.

The whole cleanup at the Pillsbury Mills Center - as it was now being called - was child's play compared to what he was facing at the Alexander estate. After they had cleared out the entire north wing of the home, he'd been given some of Ebbie's original notes about the construction of the estate. What he'd found was not pleasant.

Halfway through the construction, his supplier of hardwoods from the northern part of the state had gotten into a tiff with the railroad that was delivering the wood to him at the depot down in Maple Plain. It apparently had something to do with some anarchists - which raised the burr in his saddle, being a former Pinkerton.

Out of what appeared to be pure stubbornness, he'd gone ahead and mowed down the trees on the estate - and used the softer Maple wood to build most of the north wing.

That, however, was not the worst of the problems. Lake Independence had experienced some pollution issues about a dozen years back - one of the Alexander's neighbors had dumped an immense amount of phosphorous fertilizer into the lake, and it had turned the water green with heavy algae buildup. Buck and his sister Cinnamon had championed a cleanup of the lake - and legal action against the farmer who'd done the deed.

What they hadn't realized was that the phosphorous had started to seep into the ground water underneath their estate. Emereauld and Safyr had not noticed it, as they had visited the estate during the fall and winter months; but had they returned in springtime, the unmistakable scent of poisoned land would have filled their senses.

At that point, it might have been enough warning that they could have done something - but there was no mistaking it: the very land under their feet was starting to erode.

Jacob was waiting on seismic confirmation, but one of his own crew - his foundation specialist - told him bluntly that the entire structure would need to be replaced, and new fill brought in, lest whatever was built on it crumble as well.

What he dreaded was telling Buck, Daisy - and Al.
"Character is what you are in the dark." - D.L. Moody
"You should never run from the voices in your head. That's how you give them power." - Jin
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by FreeFlier »

Sgt. Howard wrote:Da fuse be lit!!!
Fuses are not required . . . this is a hypergolic mix.

--FreeFlier
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by Sgt. Howard »

"Well, now- what have we here?" Sheriff Frank Rogers asked as Greg's maroon Suburban cruised up to the Okanogan Wildlife council range. Deputy Carlson looked over and watched as Greg assisted the tall skinny woman on the uneven ground.
"THAT's not Annie," he said in an undertone.
Frank looked at her- no, that wasn't even HALF of Annie. And Annie tends to get possessive with her man. It was agreed that a 'domestic disturbance' at that address would be the deadliest thing they might ever face...yet the two got along just fine... most of the time...
"Sgt. Howard- we've got re-qualification going on right now, but we ought to be done in about another ten- you giving lessons again?"
"Yessir- basic safety and marksmanship plus C&C... for out of state,"
"What state?" Frank enquired.
"Minahoota- this here's Georgette Sundahl of the Twin Cities,"
"WELL... SO IT IS! My lands, Howard- how is it you seem to know everybody who's anybody? We get a verified celebrity in this county and my first knowledge of it is seeing her on your arm!"
"Is it always like this around here?" Georgette asked Greg, "That lady at the gun shop seemed a bit frosty with you, but also commented that you seem to attract big names,"
"I've just met some interesting folks is all- we're a bit upriver here, so they tend to get impressed easily,"- he said this within easy earshot of Sheriff Rogers.
"I ought to impress YOU with the fact that Joyce Breumer reported artillery fire from your compound not too long ago...I assume that was that .500 Smith you bought?"
"Yup- it went to a good cause... good to see you're up on these things," Greg replied with a smile.
"Just a curiosity- what's Miss Annie think of you being up here with a supermodel?" Frank asked as he tipped his hat to Miss Sundahl, "no disrespect, Ma'am,"
"Miss Annie trusts me- besides, Georgette has her choice of far younger and better civilized specimens than yours truly, I'm sure I'm reasonably safe,"
"You are a charmer in your own right," Jet shot back, "and I have kissed you before, you rogue... now, are you going to teach me how to shoot or are you going to brag to the Sheriff some more?"
Frank and Deputy Carlson had a good laugh while Greg looked at Jet with raised eyebrows- "... kiss and tell!" he finally blurted out, "We have to wait until the Sheriff's department all qualify ... shouldn't take too long, I imagine,"
True enough, the Rangemaster called out," CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE!- PUT YOUR WEAPONS DOWN, BREECHES OPEN AND CHAMBERS CLEARED!" There was a general hubbub as various Deputies compared scores, cleared their weapons and started moving out of the range.
"So, Miss Sundahl- how is it that you know Howard?" Frank asked, jerking a thumb towards Greg.
"He sort of ran across me in Minneapolis... why do you call him 'Howard'?"
"That's his name- among military and Law enforcement, often we go by the last name," He furrowed his brow, "What were you doing in Minneapolis?" he asked Greg.
"Research," Greg said lightly. No further answer was forthcoming.
Frank looked at him with a slight frown- then he turned back to Jet, "And you came all the way out here to get firearms safety instruction?"
"Well... he has quite the reputation," Jet innocently stated.
"He does at that," Frank stated grimly, "he does at that- we used to have quite a drug problem here in the Okanogan... then the idiots crossed Howard here... and I can't get this guy to tell me what he did, but soon enough, the meth labs closed up and moved elsewhere..."
"Now, Frank, we've been over this..." Greg protested.
"Not to my satisfaction, we haven't... oh well, the range is yours. Behave yourself mister- you get Annie McCalvey mad at you and I won't intervene until she's out of ammo," and with that he turned and left.
"He... really doesn't like you?" Jet asked.
"No- he's afraid of Annie,"
Rule 17 of the Bombay Golf Course- "You shall play the ball where the monkey drops it,"
I speak fluent Limrick-
the Old Sgt.
ShneekeyTheLost
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Re: Pillsbury + 1 year:

Post by ShneekeyTheLost »

FreeFlier wrote:
Sgt. Howard wrote:Da fuse be lit!!!
Fuses are not required . . . this is a hypergolic mix.

--FreeFlier
[dexter]Careful with that metallic Mag...

*FWOOSH*

...nesium.[/dexter]
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