Google has a well known company policy of “do no evil” — today their stock price momentarily struck $666.66. Had to get a screenshot of this historic moment. Satanic message? Financial coincidence?

I’m not into guns personally but this one made me smile. It’s a bit creepy if your friends — and foes — don’t know you for having a twisted sense of humor, so caution advised.

It’s supposed to be for foe’s only, but friends or family might think see this bullet as a joke email. I normally dislike joke email, but personalized joke mail like this once in a great might make me smile. Update: Here’s an example of what the email looks like:

No to ban on assault weapons
And now let me be serious for a moment.

In case you were wondering, despite never owning a gun or being part of the NRA, I’m against a ban on assault weapons. Sorry for shoehorning in something political into a joke post, but at least one reader was curious why I’m against a ban on assault weapons and since I don’t write about guns very often, I figured this was an opportunity. I’m against more government encroachment on our constitutional rights almost 100%. I’m for less government, not more. I’m for fiscal responsibility in government.

And speaking of weapons, and going back to entertainment, Saw 4 this Friday in theaters everywhere.

What a strange post. Hey, it’s almost Halloween. Conveniently categorized in the 666 category.

What do you get when you mashup Bible characters with a 2D Fighter? Bible Fight is on! Let’s get ready to rummmmbbbblllee!

Download Hmmcast #71 mp4

At Thursawday.com you can now view the official Sawvents schedule complete with sawce code. The Thursawday website will “officially start cutting” (launch) September 6, 2007 and will run for 666 consecutive weeks, ending on Thursawday June 4, 2020. Every Thursawday starting September 6, 2007 new saw-related material will be added and available. Learn more, including how you can get saw-involved as the cutting date draws nearer. Presaw action.

This is the longest web project I’ve ever committed to and as you can see by the Sawvents schedule will span nearly 13 years.

Download Hmmcast #66 mp4

Thursawday.com precuts

Behind the saws
Can you smell the irony of today’s Hmmcast being #66? Nope not planned, just a strange, eerie coincidence. I thought why not throw another log on the fire and make it 66.6.

Seepage.

The clock is ticking. Counting down from one midnight toward the next. There is something about to happen. Midnight cannot arrive quickly enough as day morphs to night. Ticking.

Let me out of this chair!

Out of this chair and back to the other side. I don’t want to look in the computer monitor again, but it’s not over yet and I can’t resist. There is more seepage to observe in the open window inside the monitor and somewhere else. Just outside a bedroom window …

Time For Them To Come True
tap, tap, tap the sound at Murdock’s bedroom window. He knew it was out there and he couldn’t avoid the blinds. He peeled it back and saw its hand. Or what might have once been a hand. Saw its teeth, wet and glinting in the neon lamplight. It was half his size.
   ”Go away, p-please.” He shut the blinds.
   He knew it was his fault.
   Cheryl and he had become something online. They’d cybered often and Murdock never expected to become so attached to her. A foolish spat had fragmented their relationship. She blamed him, then hated him, then took it beyond.
   Her final words chimed eerily against his frontal lobe, “I’m a witch, Murdock. You don’t play with me. I play with you.”
   That was yesterday, and then three hours ago, eight o’clock, he began seeing them.
   Tap, tap, scratch. Oh the small little fingernails! They grew uglier.
   He went into the kitchen and poured himself a stiff rum and coke.
   The phone rang suddenly.
   He jumped, the ice clicking inside the glass like teeth.
   ”H-Hello?”
   ”I know where you live.”
   ”Cheryl, what are you doing to me?”
   ”Midnight, Murdock. They’ll all come then.”
   ”Wait! Please…what are they–”
   The phone went dead.
   The clocked ticked eleven forty-five. He poured another drink. His apartment was searing. They were kids — children — none more than four or five years old! Why was he frightened?
   He went to the door and confirmed that the deadbolt was in place. He heard the sound, faint yet echoing through the dimly-lit apartment hallways.
   ”Daddeeeee … daddeeeee.”
   He picked up the phone and started dialing 911. The police would think him deranged, but would help him. The line of sanity was no longer clear.
   ”911?”
   ”Please help me, they’re coming for me.”
   ”You’re the cyber man, and you get whatever you can.” Click.
   ”No…” he dropped the receiver and it bounced across the linoleum.
   ”Daddeeeeee, daddeeee….” The doorjam started rattling.
   He backpeddled into the bedroom, searching for his gun. He threw aside the clothes, gripping the pistol. His pace was frantic, grabbing the bullets and shaking them into the chamber.
   Dadddeeeee, dadddeeeee
   tap tap tap, scratch
   He watched the clock tick midnight. Bong….bong…bong…
   How many times have I cybered? He thought, my God how many times…
   Bong…bong…
   …glass shattering…bong…bong…
   …doors rattling and shaking…bong…bong…
   The first one sauntered into the bedroom and he saw its face and its sullen brown eyes.
   ”Daddeeee,” it said and Murdock dropped the gun to the carpet. He couldn’t hurt them.
   HOW MANY TIMES?
   He held his arms as they came to him one by one and hugged him.
   They kept coming. HOW MANY? And coming.
   HOW (…bong…)
   MANY (…bong…bong..)
   coming

Not real.

Today wasn’t real. The moment I sat in the chair this morning I felt something was wrong and yet I’ve been unable to get away from viewing this bizarre theater being played out in the monitor. The undeniable power of love and loss, political lies and deceit, a future where not making the grade carried dire consequences and a terrifying glass eye with a mind of its own. What next?

In the corner of my desktop I clicked the mouse and Windows prompted me with the date and time. Today it was 6/6/6. Online sites were making odds on it being the end of the world, roulette wheels spun in casinos with all the numbers adding up 666.

Who believed that this number means anything? Nothing but a series of coincidences and a reference in the Bible in Revelations 13:18:

This calls for wisdom: let him who has understanding reckon the number of the beast, for it is a human number, its number is six hundred and sixty-six.

In life I’m continually drawn to wonder what is more frightening: our ability to believe or disbelieve?

@—-/—-thorns in rosebush
Lanny and Bob were the Siskel and Ebert of debunkers. Loch Ness, Bigfoot, UFOs, Ghosts, you name it, they were there — and readily skeptic.
   Both had been married and divorced twice. They freely admitted they trusted and believed very little besides themselves.
   ”This ride I hear is real lame,” Lanny said, chomping on some popcorn.
   ”Isn’t it our vacation? What are we doing in the Land Of Unreality?” Bob said.
   The slender attendant grabbed the microphone and began telling them about the many sights in Hollywood they’d be seeing. “Over there is the wild west…” The tumbleweed rolled alongside the dusty old saloon and two cowboys suddenly crashed through a window, fighting on the ground.
   ”Two lamer points for the red dye blood,” Lanny said, pointing.
   ”Two? Three at least. You know how they always crack bottles on each other’s head? Some kinda real-looking plastic and they dub in glass shattering sounds. Major league fake.”
The transport glided along the tracks and into Waterworld next. The water looked wet and blue and refreshing.
   ”Water is real, at least.” Bob said.
   ”Yeah, but you know what’s gonna happen next. Seen it as a kid. The transport stops, the tour guide acts like something’s wrong and we all are supposed to start freaking.”
Lanny laughed. “Jaws comes outta the deep, huh? Big nasty shark with flesh on its mind! Oh, the fish gets a four on the lamer chart. You could see the machinery in its mouth!”
   On cue, the transport jolted to a stop.
    “Something . . . appears to be wrong,” The tourguide said shakily. “And there have been rumoured shark sightings of the famous Jaws…” Several of the tourists looked genuinely disturbed. Lanny and Bob shared pitiful glances as they shook their heads.
   Alongside them the famous blue fin emerged from the water, cutting through the swells, racing closer toward them.
   ”God help us,” Lanny said, looking up, “please make this weak part of the tour get over quickly.”
   His prayer went unanswered.
   Suddenly, the mammoth shark emerged beside the transport, it’s wide hungry jaws spread. Bob sat nearest the railing and his eyes bulged. Several women shrieked as the transport shifted from the force of the shark collided with the side of the transport.
   The shark bit through the metal railing and snagged Bob’s arm. As the shark withdrew, Bob was jerked from his seat and into the mouth of the hungry beast.
   ”What the–” Lanny said, suddenly freezing. “BOB!”
   Blood squirted from the jagged hole in Bob’s shoulder as he was shredded inside the shark’s mouth as it hinged and unhinged over his screaming, squirming body.
   Lanny watched the shark dive beneath and then reemerge coming at him over the side of the transport. He raised his arms feebly as the shark bit him in half.
   Across the street a little boy pointed to the tour transport stalled in the middle waterworld and looked up at his wise guardian.
   ”Is that shark real, daddy?”
   ”Sure, son, this is Hollywood. Everything is real.”

The monitor turned into a mirror but it wasn’t my reflection staring back. No, instead a gigantic eyeball, bug-like with its pupil containing more eyes. Dozens of eyes, hundreds of eyes, thousands. The same eyeballs repeated to infinity.

The mirror darkenend and a single eyeball appeared, unblinking, watching, accusing and showing …

Dueling Eyes
Dance with me.
   The glass eye loved downtown Seattle. Down the alley where the drugs and sex flowed freely. The inhabitants would meet the glass eye and nervously avert its gaze.
   The glass eye never blinked.
   ”Killroy? Killroy, oh my god!”
   ”Madison, my dear.” The glass eye steered straight, out of Madison’s view. The peppermint smell of Madison’s breath and the tasteful aroma of her flesh tickled Killroy’s nostrils.
   ”I’m so glad I finally found you! Where you bee–?”
   She connected with the glass eye and raised a trembling finger to her mouth.
   ”Don’t be afraid, please.”
   ”What happened?”
   ”I cut it out.”
   Madison stepped back once. The alley grew darker.
   Dance with me.
   ”It had a mind of its own, Madison. I had to stop it.”
   ”Your . . . eye?”
   ”Yes. It still does.”
   The glass eye remained fixed; staring, searching, wanting.
   ”Come home with me, Killroy, we’ll try to get you help. I promise.”
   ”You don’t understand, Madison. That’s why I left. I was the only one who knew what must be done.”
   ”Why are you down here? Why this-this place?”
   Killroy pointed to the transients and prostitutes and unwitting trespassers.    ”They live here, it lives here, it must know why.”
   ”You’re a doctor, Killrory. Dr. Gaez! Don’t you remember?”
   Killroy pointed to his left eye. “It knows, yes.”
   ”You’ve been down here for the last month?”
   ”Here and … ” he pointed down an alley which led to blackness, “there.”
   ”Please come home, Killroy, I love you.”
   His left eye battled his right. Dance with me. Why did it always say that? Why did it always tempt the glass eye? The eyes struggled over tender optic nerves, constantly balancing the other’s acts. The struggle moved on and on. The dance. There was a craving Killroy felt pulsing in his forehead; a violent struggle of two eyes feasting on eachother’s weaknesses.
   ”I…can’t.”
   ”Killroy, please.” her hands gripped his shoulder and bent his left eye into hers. They connected and he could view the depth of her kindness. Those warm green-blue waters. The Bahamas…a time together sunning and funning, honeymooning. Ah, ten years ago! The memory enveloped him, sealing and delivering his heart to hers.
   A stranger suddenly lurched from the distance and yanked Madison away, holding a menancing blade at her throat. “Give up the dough, Doc. Common knowledge you’re loaded.”
   ”Don’t hurt her, please.” Killroy turned and the glass eye gripped the scoundrel. The scoundrel watched it for a moment and his hand started to shake. His forehead twitched unnaturally.
   ”You see it, my friend… yes…you see it, don’t you?” Killroy nodded.
   ”Killroy!” Madison screamed.
   ”You’re a freaking psycho, Doc! Only thing I see is your bankroll. You’ve been hanging around here looking to get the blade.”
   Killroy moved closer, his lips folding into a grin. The glass eye stole the warmth from the night air. The scoundrel started to pull the blade away from Madison’s neck. Madison bit his hand, and then broke free.
   ”You freaks!” The scoundrel shook his bloodied hand and dropped the glinting blade. His legs and the wind carried him into the black hole inside the alley.
   A tear raced down Killroy’s left eye. A soft wind feathered his moist cheek. He asked the glass eye, what have I become?
   The glass eye remained unchanged.
   ”Come home, Killroy, so many people love you and miss you. Please.” Madison hugged him and he could feel her warmth spread through him. Another tear joined the first, another, another, another.
   He slowly nodded, realizing what had broken him. Work, the pressure, the stress. It had driven him into the bowels of Seattle seeking the answer to the war raging beneath his forehead.
   He chose.
   Killroy and Madison started walking away together.
   The glass eye fixed on it. Locking.
   Dance with me!
   The reason he’d left before was lucid. The scoundrel had delivered the brutal reminder. He couldn’t help them. Couldn’t stop their gushing wounds. They died at his hands and he couldn’t — NO NO NO — wash their blood from his naked, weak eye.
   DANCE WITH ME!
   Guilt! Guilt lurked behind his eyes. The war raged over guilt. He’d finally found the answer at the hands of a lowly thief.
   The glass eye beckoned. With a quick bend and swipe Killroy had the scoundrel’s blade in his hand. He could make it right, this time. Deeper than the last time.
   ”I’m coming, Madison, but not with you.”
   DANCE!
   (deeper)
   WITH!
   (deeper)
   ME!
   (deeper)

* * *

Killroy awoke in the hospital bed, his bandaged face was a clever facade. He reached into the black, grasping, grasping until they restrained him. Sometimes he screamed.    Sometimes he cried. He never spoke anymore.
   And the glass eyes never blinked.

On screen the black and white blur was joined by red. The window opened again and there was of air from behind. I tried turning around but the chair held me tight. Prisoner.

We were moving forward, the chair and I as one. Moving into the future. A classroom …

F Means Death
“I know it’s gonna happen,” William Franz said, pursing his lips and staring down at the cold concrete.
   Lisa Jenks touched his arm supportively. “Don’t worry so much. Maybe it’ll make a mistake.”
   Clayton Brain’ Biggs sighed. “If *only* you had studied, Franz.”
   ”Bite me, brain!”
   Brain chomped at the air playfully. “At least us ‘brains’ survive, Franz.”
   William sank in his chair.
   ”Maybe you won’t fail, William.” Lisa said, smiling. “Nobody thought Jake Young would make it last year.”
   Teacher. Model and serial number 2-239/nodnaisrm. A computer playing the unpredictable role of man. A machine sheathed in black plexiarmor rolling upon four metallic spheres. Inside a frigid heart and hideously programmed brain.
   Teacher rolled slowly past each desk, one-half the speed of a turtle. It scanned each student’s test grade, quarter grade, and final. Ten desks from William and closing…
   No trial, but a silent verdict. And William would pay.
   ”How low an F you thnk you got, Franz?” Brain said, chuckling.
   ”You’re a real jerk, Brain!” Lisa said.
   ”Bite, me bimbo–”
   ”Just knock it off!” William cried and immediately regretted his action.
   Too loudly.
   Teacher rolled from eight desks away and out into the aisle. It’s mechanical voice echoed in the dead classroom, “In-frac-tion 27003–in-ter-uption of Tea-cher.”
   ”I’m sorry, Teacher,” William said, making a pleading gesture. “It was just a slip. Won’t happen again. Sorry.”
   The last student who committed infraction 27003 hung by his fingers in the corner of the room until he screamed. And for the second noise infraction, he was promptly extinguished.
   The room hung dead, freeze-frame, nothing but the beating of twenty-seven hearts.
   ”Stu-dent 4156, Row 5, Seat 6, Wil-liam Franz. You are so charged with pun-ish-able of-fense. How do you plead?”
   He looked fleetingly at Lisa who’s eyes were full of tears and Brain who secretly displayed his middle finger.
   ”Guilty.”
   Teacher’s computer panel exploded with a multitude of random light patterns, beeping sounds. A familiar display. It was thinking of whether or not it should punish and if so, the degree of severity.
   The clock dinged on the wall.
   If you’re gonna do it, William thought, do it now. I’d prefer dying quickly. Do it!
   Morgue silence.
   Teacher rolled back and began grading again, deciding to ignore. William breathed.
   ”Lucky,” Brain said, shaking his head.
   William’s fists clenched. He would love to have ripped Brain’s tongue out but violence was infraction 27099 and the punishment for that was incomprehensible.
   The whole public school system had been revamped in 2021, leaving zero tolerance for underachievers or troublemakers.
   Teacher rolled into William’s aisle…closer.
   Five students away….Three…at Brain’s desk.
   ”I know you didn’t fail,” Lisa said, but her voice was fragmented. Tears ran out of her rosy slits.
   ”Please don’t, Lisa, please.”
   ”Student number 2003, Row 5, seat 5, Clay-ton Biggs. Rise.”
   Brain stood proudly. Probably he would win another trip to Venusland, all expenses paid for his scholastic greatness.
   Teacher moved to the side of William’s desk and began scanning him. Brain looked on, sneering.
   Shortly Teacher would drop its black defense shield and the icy steel probe would emerge.
   ”Acknowledge. Student num-ber 4156, Row 5, Seat 6, Wil-liam Franz?”
   ”Y–Yes.”
   ”Quiz 14, A,” It began, “Quiz 15, A…17-A…A, A, A… Fin-al grade. A.”
   William’s eyes bulged. Lisa almost fell from her chair. No way Teacher was correct! History had been William’s only decent subject, and even in that he couldn’t have made an A! There was only one student in class capable of this greatness.
   Teacher rolled back to Brain, turning. Brain backpeddled, screaming, as Teacher’s defense shield lowered.

The window closed and a blur of black and white serpentined from the top to bottom of the monitor. Through the speakers music began to play. Familiar music.

I tried to rise from the chair, but was sunk in and something wouldn’t release me. The chair didn’t want me to leave. That music, yes, I recognized it. It was the kind you hear during … elections.

Politically Correct
“Mr. President, Mr. President, Mr. President–”
   The President pointed to the tall, studiously-dressed man in the crowd.
   ”In the sixties, is it true you were an avid hemp user and if so, what effect does this have on your leniency or lack thereof in the country’s drug policy?”
   ”I didn’t engage in the use of marijuana, or any other substance, in the sixties. In fact I am disturbed by these persistent allegations. And even if I had smoked marijuana back then, or used mouthwash four times a day, or been a candy addict, none of those things would ever have affected my decisions regarding past, current, or future drug policy. Evelyn Jones, USA Today?”
   ”Yes, thank you, Mr. President. You publicy speak out against abortion and how it affects the lives and safety of mothers across America. Can you elaborate on why you feel it is never appropriate, or under what circumstances it would be?”
   The President took a deep breath. “I always find the media’s undying attempts at cornering me entertaining, and you know I have answered this question before. ‘Never’ is a strong word that should carefully be used in a position such as mine. I can’t say it would never be appropriate, but I can say that I personally would never do it.”
   The room laughed and more hands shot up. The President picked one.
   ”About the threat of chemical weapons, Mr. President. You have consistently assured the American people that these weapons pose little to no threat. The same was said of nuclear weapons under previous administrations. What can you say to diminish the rising fears in the American public? And specifically, what are you doing to ensure the future is brighter regarding dramatic terrorist threats such as these?”
   ”There will always be weapons of mass destruction. For me to stand here and claim otherwise would be terribly inaccurate. Your question about what we’re doing is better answered by the Secretary of Defense than I, and should be addressed in his press conference. However I will confirm, again, that there is absolutely zero threat to the American people today and that our current defense weaponry is light years ahead of that which was demonstrated in Desert Storm. Therefore any concerns about our ability to counter any terrorist attacks should be discarded. Last question, please?”
   ”Mr. President, these allegations that you have a mistress inside the White House…?”
   ”False. Totally. You know how devoted I am to the First Lady. Have a great day ladies and gentlemen.”
   The President walked into the back room, followed by several secret service agents. Inside the next room was the Secretary of Defense. The guards left the two men alone.
   ”The media has its usual prejudices,” The President said, sighing.
   ”About the situation in Florida….”
   ”Yes, Mr. Secretary. What is the breakage?”
   ”It appears we’ll lose half the state.”
   ”My god. Can’t we shoot them down?”
   The Secretary shook his head solemnly.
   The red phone rang. The President picked it up and listened intently. “What? Not pregnant–no!” The President briefly set the phone on his quickly-rising chest. “Donna, she’s–oh my–what will I do, Mr. Secretary?”
   ”Abortion?”
   The President nodded and gave the instruction.
   The Secretary reached inside his uniform and removed a plastic baggy.
   ”Your turn to roll one,” the Secretary said, grinning.
   Suddenly the President’s recent speech resonated in his head. No, the abortion would not be good for public opinion. Not at all. He picked up the phone again and changed the instruction. “Send my good secretary Donna to Disney World instead.”