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DEMOLITION DAYS, PART 86

That reminds me of a story.
After that last one, I thought you might all enjoy a short follow up.
After Al, Chuck, Leo, returned to their other lives back in the world, they kept getting requests from various Agencies and Bureaus for more mine closure data, mostly focusing upon lines of documentation. The various Bureaus desired monographs, road guides, technical reports, and most importantly, detailed step-by-step “How To” manuals.
My guys, now my fully credentialed doctored colleagues, were predictably reticent to write up “How To” manuals for something that was obviously not of their authorship nor inception.
“Fuckin’-A, Rock,” Leo tells me in a phone call, “They want me to fuckin’ basically claim-jump you writing up mine closing procedures. What’s with these goatfuckers? They figured they paid you enough and are now trying to run a goddamned end around? Collective shitheels. No fucking way I’d even think of crossing, even accidently, the Motherfuckin’ Pro from Dover.”
I replied that I had no idea, as after the initial contacts after the field season, I had heard precisely dick from any of the bureaus. Which is fine, as I’m busier than a one-armed paperhanger in a windstorm getting ready to shift the family some 12,700 kilometers east.
I thanked Leo for the intel and told him not to worry, it’s just bureaucracy misfiring at its finest.
“Fuckin’-A, Bubba,” replies Leo as he hangs up.
It suddenly goes all dusty in my office. “I’ve trained that boy well,” I sniff and chuckle heartily.
A short while later, Al wrote me that he’s been contacted by the Bureau/Agency and they are desirous that he lead a field trip with a gaggle of professors from various universities. They are also not all geologists, but Environmental Scientists, Hydrologists, something called an “Environmental Engineer,” and other forms of societal detritus.
He tells me that they wanted him to lead a group of these characters out into the desert for a couple of weeks and show them the mine closure procedures which he developed.
He was most adamant in assuring me that they contacted him, and that the terminology was also theirs. He was already otherwise engaged, so he naturally had to decline. However, he made it abundantly clear that he would never even entertain such a notion like the one they had posited.
I wrote him back, as he was down in Patagonia doing something more or less interesting and/or exciting, thanking him for the information and wishing him well on his expedition. Since he was in the field, I also included a couple of the recipes we enjoyed back in the Nevada desert.
He later tells me that the Gauchos he was working with down there have never heard of Pineapple Upside Down Cake and they absolutely were delighted by it. Come to find out, they also like potato juice and citrus drinks as well.
“Good ol’ Dr. Good-deed. Aide to all men.” I pondered.
I talked with Esme about all this and she was of the opinion that either they knew I was headed east or they wanted me to have some time off. I had been doing a lot of ad hoc work for both Agencies and Bureaus over the last few years.
“Of course,” I replied, “Never ascribe to malice what can best be defined by governmental bureaucracy and officiousness.”
So, time puttered on.
We were holding weekly ‘GROJ (Get Rid Of Junk) sales’ on our weekends. Since everything electrical we possessed was 120 VAC, and the rest of the world, it seems, is 220 VAC, I had to part with all my antiquated electronics. My Fisher Studio-Standard stereo system, Akai reel-to-reel 16-track tape machines, EMI TG12345 MK IV recording console, and Harmon-Kardon turntables and amplifiers.
It was painful. However, I rationalized, if I were to stick them in storage for a decade or two, I’d have re-paid for them via rental fees a couple or three times over. Plus, and all that sitting unused in a storage locker certainly wouldn’t be good for these vintage electronical gizmos.
Still, it was a painful time to pack them into the back of someone else’s vehicle.
I had to take all my firearms to my Brother-in-Law for safekeeping. Since he’s in Kentucky, he was both happy to accept and vowed to give them regular workouts. Even though he’s some form or another of mechanical engineer, I guess I could trust him.
One day, the home phone rings. It’s Chuck and he’s livid.
“Rock!” he hollers, “You know what those chapped bastards at the Bureau want from me? They want me to step in on your turf, and take a clan of idiot pseudo-geologists out in the field for a couple of weeks and train them in mine closing. Can you fucking believe that?”
“Chuck,,” I say, “Whoa. Cool down. Leo and Al report the same, so it just looks like you were next on the list. So, going to take them up on their offer?”
“Don’t make me laugh, Doc!” Chuck asks, “First: I’m busy. Second: I wouldn’t have the foggiest idea how to handle logistics, camping, explosives, and all that other bureaucratic horseshit you somehow put up with. Third: I really don’t want a midnight visit from you and your bag of tricks because I’ve pissed you off by taking credit for what’s rightfully yours.”
“What is the fucking deal?” I ask Chuck, “I’m not like that at all. Everyone thinks I’m going go out and frag them because the Bureau asks them to do a job I did previously. Damn, I’m the most laid-back, gregarious, and even-tempered person on the planet; and I’ll mutilate the miserable manky motherfucker that says I’m not.”
Chuck laughs nervously.
“Hyperbole aside,” I continue, “It’s just that they know I’m headed out to the Middle East and don’t want to bother me right now; I suppose.”
“Umm, Rock,” Chuck clears his thought, and gulps, “That’s not the reason they told me.”
“Is that a fact?” I ask, “What did they give as a reason?”
“Now, Rock, don’t take this wrong. This is Bureau-speak, not me,” Chuck wants to make the point vodka-clear, “But they felt you were the wrong person to lead this group of ‘scholars’. They were concerned with your…”
Hesitation.
“Spill it, Chuck,” I say.
“Demeanor,” Chuck says, “Your conduct, your deportment, your behavior…”
“I see someone got a Thesaurus for Christmas,” I said.
“Rock, that’s them, not me,” Chuck continues, “They said you are too ‘wild and wooly’ to conduct this field expedition of ‘noted scholars’.”
“Is that a fact?” I ask, rhetorically.
“Just reporting to you what they told me, Bossman.” Chuck offers.
“I appreciate it, Chuck. Thanks.” I reply, “Don’t sweat it. I’ll take it from here.”
You could hear an audible expression of relief when we broke connection.
After a couple of cocktails, I had simmered down a bit. Esme says that I need to call my Agency buddies and get the lowdown on the situation, as they’ll know what’s going on.
For once, Esme is also very, very pissed off about the whole situation. Mama Bear’s claws were getting sharpened.
“You are gone for months,” Es exclaims, “Train a bunch of greenhorns, exceed project requirements by over 200%, supply crucial scientific data on forensic activities, and take out a disaster they didn’t even know existed in that mine with the locker full of explosives!”
“Yeah,” I reply, “Does seem a wee bit unappreciative.”
“And then they pull this kind of shit!,” Es yells further, “Those ungrateful bastards. Fuck ‘em. Let them stew in their own futility. They call and you tell them to get stuffed. After all you did for them…”
“Now, now, Dearest,” say, “Let me call Rack and Ruin. If anyone has the skinny on all this, they’ll have all the latest dope.”
“Bastards!,” Es cries, “You damn near get killed several times over and this is their thanks?”
“Yeah, I know, Darling,” I say, “Does seems a bit ungrateful and duplicitous.”
Esme hands me the phone.
“Phone. Call. Now.” She orders.
Looks like I just got my marchin’ orders.
“Yes, my love,” I reply. Even I know when I’m out-matched.
RING RING RING
Agent Rack answers and we go through the usual pleasantries…
“What the flying fuck you mean ‘I’m too dangerous’?” I question Agent Rack.
“Well, Doctor,” Rack tries to explain, “Your ‘cavalier’ attitude towards explosives. More of your ‘relationship’ with them. Not showing the proper deference…”
“WHAT?,” I roar, “Ask anyone that has worked with me in the field! ‘Safety first, last, and foremost’. Just that I don’t fret and quail around explosives like a bunch of phonophobic, jumped-up, wet-pantied shuddering schoolgirls, when I have to demolish something, doesn’t mean I’m anything other than a goddamned consummate professional.”
“Plus, Doctor, ” Rack continues, “It’s not the 1880’s any longer. A Stetson? A sidearm? A .454 Casull Magnum at that…”
“You have got to be yanking my crank here, Rack.” I angrily reply, as I really hate it when someone calls me Doctor like that, “The hat keeps the sun off my head so I don’t get addled like those fuckers you’re talking with at the Bureau. The sidearm is for safety. Oh, yes; there’s that word again. It’s a fucking tool, just like my Estwing hammers or my galvanometer.”
“Can’t kill anyone with a galvanometer,” Rack replies.
“But I could with a hammer, myriad ways” I reply, “And give me five minutes, I’d figure out a way to ‘extract’ someone with a galvanometer...”
Doctor, do let me let you talk with Agent Ruin; I’m needed elsewhere,,” he tells me.
Agent Ruin takes the phone. It’s the old Agency Two-Step.
“Doctor is distraught,” he observes.
No, ‘Doctor’ is just plain damned mad.” I reply, “They contract me for a job that has never been attempted before and I complete it beyond their wildest expectations! This is my recompense?”
“Well, Doctor,” Ruin continues, “I’m sure it’s strictly a business decision. It’s obviously nothing personal.”
“It sure as fuck sounds personal,” I gripe back, as now I’ve gone from annoyed to genuinely pissed off, “I’m surprised they didn’t say something derogatory about my Hawaiian shirts.”
“Oh, they did,” Agent Ruin lets slip.
“Oh? OK, Fine. That’s is then,” I reply, “The joyfulness of this whole experience has left the building. Tell them to strike me from their fucking list. I’m done with them. I wash my hands of them. I’m off east anyways. Fuck that bunch of paper-pushing, deskbound, pencil-necked dickheads. Fuck them. Fuck them solid. Fuck them ‘till they bleed.”
“Strong message to follow,” I add.
Doctor,” Agent Ruin reminds me, “Do I need to remind you that all our conversations are recorded?”
“Oh, fuck no. I know that. So fucking what?” I growl, “Like I’m going to get tossed in Guantanamo for expressing a personal opinion? I can still do that in this fine country. Or has the First Amendment been repealed in my absence?”
“Doctor, you’re obviously agitated,’ Ruin adds, “Perhaps we’ll talk again later when you’ve calmed down before you head to the Middle East.”
“Yeah, about that,” I reply, “You shady characters can cross me off your fucking list as well. You’ve done nothing for me on this latest concern. Nothing! You couldn’t even give me the courtesy of a motherfucking heads-up. Guess that tells me all I need to know about the future of our relationship. Goodbye, Agent Ruin. Give Agent Rack my ‘Da Svidonya. I won’t be answering your calls any longer.
“Doctor, I, um, wait…”Agent Ruin sputters.
I continue: “And as long as I’m at it, tell that other Bureau to go hang as well. They want more data or shit from me, tell them to go find it elsewhere. And also tell them good luck with that. The three experts that exist in the world apart from me already told them to get bent. At least they possess loyalty and a dollop of comradeship. I’ll be shipping your phone and other items back via parcel post. Hasta la vista, Herr Ruin. Have a day.”
CLICK-KER -FUCKING-SMASH! I hang up in the rudest way possible.
“Clapped-out assholes,” I muse. “All those years of working together. All those years of building relationships around the world. It’s all kyboshed over a fucking Hawaiian shirt. I guess it was inevitable. Either I became too specialized or evolved myself out of being useful to them. Ah, well, their loss. Can’t be helped…”
I take a healthy swig right from the prime vodka bottle. OK, several.
“FUCKERS!” I scream at the wood-paneled ceiling, shaking my fist in vehement rage at the clouds coolly cruising by outside my window.
Esme doesn’t come running. She doesn’t have to. She knows the score.
I ship the Agency’s toys back to them with a terse note: “Thanks for all the nothing. Here’s your shit back. Dr. Rocknocker. PS: Get stuffed.”
Not my best effort, I’ll agree. However, I was really pissed at that point.
Now I have the time to devote solely to relocating my family and I overseas. Gad, there’s so much crap one must go through. What to sell, what goes in storage, what to trash, what to give away…the lists are endless.
First to go are all my power tools. Fuckbuckets. It took me decades to amass that collection. I got a good price, sure, but now I’m more or less without a hobby. We decide to put all Esme’s lapidary equipment in storage. It’s too specialized to generate much interest, much less a decent price. Besides, they won’t rot in our absence.
I can ship my fishing gear and golf clubs overseas. They’re American, but at least not 120 VAC.
Our house goes on the market and we have to get it spiffed to within an inch of its life. Got to have that ‘curb appeal’. Good, let someone else do it, I’m busy. More unexpected expense.
I give our house contractors out in New Mexico their marching orders. It’s going slow and will be a seasonal thing, but they guarantee me the house will be ready by next summer if they can source the slabs of Baraboo Quartzite I want. Splendid, that’s something I don’t have to follow up on every day.
Then there’s our aquarium. 250 gallons of treated Houston water, loaded with native Texan fish and a couple of cranky Jack Dempseys. All the gear, filters, pumps, water polishers, heaters, treaters, all of it. Has to go.
My ex-Utah Mormon drinking buddy down the road expresses interest. I basically let him have it gratis on the one condition he takes everything, fish included. He has to keep the fish alive and happy their entire lives. I’ve raised some from minnows and have grown attached to a couple of the gaspergou and a certain smallmouth bass with those big brown eyes…
Digger, my stalwart mechanic, is going to purchase my truck. It’s a bittersweet parting, but at least I know it’ll have a great home. Digger is going to use it as both his personal truck and his company’s hot-shot vehicle for pick-up and delivery of everything from batteries to full drivetrains. I know the vehicle will be in good hands.
Our Land Rover is up for grabs. Few are interested, though; buyer’s market. It’s a couple of years old and has lots of miles, due to Houston being so stupid-big. I order an extra-large bottle of AstroGlide as I know I’m going to be taking it up the ass on this one…
Finally, our pets.
Reluctantly, I’ve agreed to take the cat. It’s a stupid little feline that I figure we can just toss in a suitcase and drag it with us overseas. No, I guess we’ll get a cat-carrier and figure it out with the airlines.
Then there’s Lady. 135 kilos of dopey puppy. She’s getting up in years, as well, especially for a giant breed. Luckily, overseas we’ll be living on a Western compound. So if we go through all the rigmarole of quarantine, getting her a ‘pet passport’, and shipping via a specialist service, Lady can bark at the tenets of pre-Islam (dogs really aren’t haram), and actually join us in our new home.
This is going to cost a fortune, but I don’t care. She’s an integral part of the family, she is going to join us.
I find a Pet Relocation Service and begin the masses of insane paperwork. It’s an ‘all-in’ service, basically door-to-door. But do not be deluded, they charge every micrometer of the way.
Vaccinations, chipping (she already was fitted with an RFID chip), booking, boarding, securing vet services, obtaining health certificates, securing import permits, dealing with all issues related to customs clearance, interacting with foreign agents, supplying IATA approved crates, and obtaining Municipality tags registration for new arrivals.
Gonna cost me a couple-three-four kilobucks. Worth every penny.
Esme, the kids and I are working on beginning packing, tossing this, wrapping that, sentimentalizing over the other thing when we get a ring at the door.
It’s a bonded courier. He has a package for me.
It’s of the size that would contain about 6-months’ worth of Playboy magazines, and has no external address. I sign for the thing and walk back to the kitchen.
“What you got there, Rock?” Es asks.
“Not sure,” I reply, “But it came via bonded courier.”
“Well, open it,” Es smiles. She loves surprises.
I do so and it’s a series of articles, re-prints, and other information regarding Nevada, mine closures, and the Mine Closure Act. There’s also a number of newspaper and magazine clippings that had been photo-copied into a dozen-page document. All of them, write-ups and reviews from different newspapers, house organs, and journals citing my work with the guys out in the field.
I open it further and there’s a personal note from Dr. Sam Muleshoe, and a certified check, made out in my name.
Seems I was correct. After exhausting their leads with Al, Leo, and Chuck, they have spent near a month trying to find someone to take over the project. “To fill my shoes,” as Dr. Sam Muleshoe notes.
They came up totally empty.
“Told ya’ so.” I gloated. Esme smiles a wide schadenfreude-fueled smile.
I look at the check. It’s plenty healthy, but not superhero strength.
I show Es and she laughs out loud.
“So,” Es whoops, “They think they can get back in your good graces by buying you off? Hah! Fat chance,” she says and regards the check, “Hell. They’re not even close.”
I agree with Esme passionately.
I write a quick, hand-scribbled note to Dr. Muleshoe, thanking him for the information. I give several options, some admittedly anatomically impossible, regarding what he can do with the check and the Bureau’s offer.
I wrap it back up with duct-tape, call the courier service, and return it to Reno, COD.
A couple of days later, I receive a phone call. Surprise, surprise, it’s from Reno.
“Rock, it’s Reno!,” Es tells me.
I shake my head “no!” slicing my hand through the air in the head-chop mime.
“Tell him I’ve gone bush in darkest Outer Albania and you have no idea when I’ll be back,” I say.
Esme looks a bit sheepish, as we can hear the phone remark: “I can hear you, you know.”
“Fuckbuckets,” I think, “OK, hand me the rap-rod.”
“Yeah?” I growl, very grizzly-like into the infernal communication device.
“Hello, Rock. This is Sam Muleshoe,” the phone reports.
“Damn,” I exclaim, “I guess you characters can’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Which word fucking confused you?”
“Rock, what’s the god damned deal?,” Sam asks innocently, “Why all the bloody hostility?”
“Oh, double-fuck me!” I say metaphorically, “Don’t act like you don’t know. Try and snake the latest field mine closing job out from under me and try to snag my guys. Then, when that fails, give some sort of bullshit report to Rack and Ruin. You think I’m ‘too cavalier’, too “wild and wooly’, and think I’m some goddamned 19th-century throwback that loves horrible Hawaiian shirts…”
“Doc?,” Sam asks, “Are you currently fucking drunk? What the actual fuck are you rabbeting on about?”
“Sam, I’m stone-cold fucking sober,” I reply, “Yeah. I know, that’s a first. But listen here Scooter. You must have balls of brass trying to sweet-talk me into running another field course after all you did…”
“Rock,” Sam pleads, “Please, believe me, I have no idea what you’re on about. Can we talk and maybe figure this thing out?”
“No!,” I holler, “I’m done talking with the likes of your Bureau. Nothing you can do or say to rebuild the bridges they’ve burned with me.”
“OK,” he says, “Doct…, err, Rock, buddy. Calm your tits. Give me the Reader’s Digest version. I’ll look into it, because I have absolutely no idea what this is all about. This really sounds serious, with fuck-up overtones. Trust me, I’m serious as the last cold can of beer on a field trip.”
“Marvelous.” I say, “I guess I owe you that much. Professional courtesy. At least one of us has the grit to employ some.”
So, I run through the tale of the travails of Al, Chuck, and Leo. Then my little difference of opinion with Agents Rack, Ruin, and the Agency. Plus my severing of ties with both that Agency out on the east coast and the Bureaus in the great American Southwest.
“Doctor,” Sam says intently, “I know it’s going to be difficult, but I swear on a box of your finest cigars with a vodka chaser that I didn’t know anything about all this nor did it come from this office. Por favor señor, let me do some digging. I’ll be back in touch.”
“Sam,” I say, thinking over the situation, “Yeah…I must apologize for my previous outbursts. I should have known you’re not behind this idiocy. Yeah, go do some fossicking. Let me know what you dig up. Again, sorry. I was a bit…animated.”
“Rock,” Sam chuckles, “Do you think that I’d dare anger someone like you? You must think I’ve got a serious case of cranial lithification to cheese-off the Motherfucking Pro from Dover!”
At this point, I knew that Sam was also only collateral damage; he too was caught in the crossfire. Ground zero for the original attacks lie elsewhere within the Bureau.
Esme and I go back to preparing for our trip coming up in 2 months. But Jesus Q. Christwagons, there’s so much to do. Everything you own; it gets packed, stored, or trashed.
It’s the decisions that get so tiring. Keep. Toss. Sell. Burn. Leave on someone’s doorstep.
I propose to Es that we just do the basic necessities. Then we hire some firm to finish up for us. It’d be worth the cost since just think what we’d be saving on aspirin and Ace Bandages.
Esme readily backs the idea that we should turn the job over to someone else. Plus in the interim, we can take a trip back home to Baja Canada so the kids could visit their grandparents, we visit our family, and all of us could cool out a bit before the big trip east.
I need to drop by Big Ray’s Tap for a few hours/days anyways.
Old commitments.
We’d go the beginning of our last month here in the States, spend a couple of weeks visiting family at home, leave the kids with the grandparents to get spoiled rotten. Es and I would return to Houston to finalize everything.
Then Es and I would fly from Houston to that damn sprawling annoyance of an airport on the big lake in Illinoise. The family would meet us there, handover the kids, and we’d all haul ass eastwards to the Middle East.
I readily agreed. Anything has to be better than dealing with this crapola.
Lady and the stupid cat would go to the pet schleppers a little early. Sure, it’d cost a few more dinars, but that’s one big headache sorted.
So, late one afternoon, I’m sitting in my office, trying to figure out exactly what reference works I couldn’t live without.
Compton’s? Save. Field Guide to Fungus? Toss. No, wait a minute. Could prove useful.
That’s why this is taking forever.
The phone rings.
It’s Sam.
“Hello, Sam,” I say, “What news?”
“Goddamn it all to fucking hell and back,” Sam roars.
“That’s a unique greeting,” I reply.
“I finally drilled down to the bottom of all this horseshit.,” Sam replies, “And it’s a real bowl of fuck all the way south.”
“I’m listening,” I say, “Actually, Sam, hold on. I need a drink. Moment.”
I give Es the high sign, note it’s Sam on the phone, and that I’ll be in my office if she hears any screaming.
I amp up my drink and return to my office, closing the door behind me.
Lady is here, waiting to keep my feet warm.
“OK Sam, your nickel,” I say, “What’s the scoop?”
“Would you believe?,” he begins, “That all batshittery this came from accounting and bookkeeping?”
“Well,” I reply, “I’ll have to admit that I’m not overly surprised.”
“Yeah,” Sam continues, “I was off on holiday. My first two weeks off after 5 years. My very temporary replacement received a memo from the head of the Bureau that there was great interest in you leading a shortened version of your last trip to demonstrate to a bunch of different university PhDs in the care and feeding of abandoned mines. Seems the Bureau Chief was very impressed with what you and your team accomplished.”
“OK,” I reply, “With you so far. So, where did things get wrapped around a tractor’s nuts?”
“Right,” he replies, “Here’s where things first went off the rails. Whoever vetted the list of potential attendees sorted the list alphabetically, not by field of expertise. Of course, the obvious first choice would be for geologists; especially those with mining, field, and blasting experience.”
“Ah,” I replied, “No wonder it was such a miscellaneous bunch of baloney-loaf whole-grain enviro-types that Al had mentioned.”
“Yep,” Sam agreed, “But before anyone with any brains got sight of that list, some fucknuts in the Bureau’s University Liaison department sent out invitations.”
“Invitations?” I asked, “To what?”
“That’s just the thing,” Sam continued, “They sent out invites to a program that didn’t yet exist, run by someone who had yet to be contacted, much less secured.”
“Oh, hey! That’s some good work you guys do down there.” I snort.
“Indeed,” Sam agrees, “So once that hit the mail, we started getting back replies and acceptances.”
“And there was no project, no leader, no logistics…?” I asked.
“No shit,” Sam scoffs. “So, what did these idiots here do? Contact the attendees and explain the problem. Take a little flack, but get it sorted out then try again?”
“Let me guess,” I said, “No?”
“Nope,” Sam sighs, “By that time, it was in the works and in the hands of accountants.”
“Oh, fuck,” I commiserated. “I feel your pain.”
“Yeah,” Sam continues, “They see that you’re the hookin’ bull on the last one and they dig into your contract. They figure, ‘Whoa, he’s way too expensive, just look at these expense accounts’, so they do an end-around and contact your colleagues.”
“Al, Chuck, and Leo. They’re damn good guys,” I said, “Fine field scientists, all. But I don’t think any of them have the moxie or experience yet to run a whole field course.”
“These accounting shitheads never bothered to find out,” Sam groans, “It was all ‘bottom line’, so you got caught in the squeeze.”
“OK,” I reply, “I see how that happened, but what about all the shit about me being a 19th-century throwback, that I’m unsafe, wear horrible Hawaiian shirts, and all that shit?”
“Comedy of bloody errors,” Sam says, “Actually, the Bureau Chief likes your fashion sense; you should see some of his shirts. But your slime campaign was based on unreliable evidence, tall tales, folklore, and outright fabrications. It was easy to pimp someone with a personality like yours, it’s been said. Someone was trying desperately to cover his ass. However, we have identified the perpetrator.”
“Next time I’m in Reno,” I said, “I’ll pay him a friendly little visit and arrange his transport to Neptune. One way. Y’know, it’d be easy for someone with a ‘personality like mine’.”
“Ah, yeah. He won’t be here,” Sam says, “In fact, we don’t know where the hell he went. He was immediately sacked, as were a couple of the more boneheaded accountants.”
“That’s redundant,” I smirk, “They really don’t want to talk with or see me anytime soon.”
“Right, then Rock,” Sam says, “We green again?”
“Yeah, Sam,” I reply, “Sure. Green as a New Saigon. But you’ve got to call Rack and Ruin for me. You have to let them know how this whole clusterfuck came to be. We had some words a while back.”
“Oh, yeah,” Sam remembers, “I talked with them the other day. They said they’ll be in Houston in a couple of days.”
“Cor! Just what I fucking need right now,” I lament. “Ah, it is what it is.”
“OK, Rock. Now, back to reality. You interested?” Sam asks.
“Send me a JD (job description) and the project particulars. The price of poker’s really going up this time, Sam. Stratospheric. Sorry, it’s all just business.” I relate.
“Yeah…,” Sam sighs, “I figure we’ll really owe you if you can drag our ass out of the campfire on this one.”
“You have no idea,” I chuckle. We exchange farewells and ring off.
Now I have some talking to do with my significant other.
Since we were all set to go back to Baja Canada, I could use those two weeks to go to Nevada, if necessary. I can be back in Houston with Es for the last two weeks before we’re slated to travel, and we can sort out the house.
“This won’t be an easy sell,” I muse, before chatting with my darling, brilliant, and ever-so-forgiving partner.
“I’ll need a drink first”, I declare.
Esme notes that it would be nice to have a little spare cash with us when we move overseas.
You could have dropped me with a Claymore. Es never fails to flummox me.
So, provisional OK from the powers that be. Now all I have to do is wait on Sam’s prospectus.
The next day, the doorbell rings. It’s Agents Rack and Ruin.
One is holding a box of very expensive cigars, and one is holding a bottle of very expensive bourbon.
I turn to Es and remark, “Look here, darlin’. Geeks bearing gifts.”
“Hello, Doctor,” Rack says, bristling, “We need to talk. “
“Why?” I ask, “I do seem to recall that I’m no longer associated with you people any longer.”
“Doctor,” Agent Ruin cocks his head contritely, bowing ever so slightly, “May we please have a moment of your time?”
I look to Es. She shrugs her shoulders. Luckily I’m partial to Es’ opinion. I am also partial to good bourbon and cigars, especially when someone else is paying for them. So I shrug my shoulders as well and tell them to make entry.
“My office, “ I say, “You know the way. Mind the boxes.”
Once in my office, the Agents stack their offerings and go on in great detail, basically collaborating Sam’s story. I remain steadfast and stony as the Harney Peak Granite of Mr. Rushmore fame. I’m not giving anything away any longer.
“Well, Doctor,” Agent Ruin finalizes, “That’s the story, warts and all.”
“Yep, it is pretty warty,” I agree, “So?”
“We would like to rekindle our relationship,” Agent Rack reports, “These are for starters.”
He hands me the cigars and booze; plus another box.
“Thanks,” I say, “But just because I accept your peace offerings, that doesn’t mean we’re going to turn back the clock.”
“What are you suggesting?” Agent Ruin asks.
“No more consulting,” I reply, “I want in. The ‘Full Monty’, as it were. If I’m going overseas and work for some twitchy Middle Eastern sandpit’s national oil company, I want perks, tabs, and my ass duly covered.”
“Work two full-time jobs simultaneously?” Agent Rack asks.
“However you want to structure it,” I say, “No more consulting. From here on out, you want me, you’re making me a full-fledged full-timer.”
Agents Rack and Ruin look at each other, enquiringly.
“Doctor,” Agent Rack replies, “We are prepared to offer you an ad hoc Agency appointment. You will be fully attached but you will be also doing your full-time job in the other country.”
“I’m listening. Tell me more,” I ask, “What exactly are you offering?”
“Full access to all pertinent information,” Agent Ruin continues, “Full entrée to appropriate facilities and, um, assets. Security for you and your family in case of, well, shall; we say, ‘difficulties’. Monthly minimum payment of [$$$] to any non-US bank of your choice. Extra duties would be duly compensated. Top clearances. An enhanced potential payment package, bonus possibilities, and full benefits for you.”
“Full benefits for me and my family,” I say, “Or there’s the door. Non-negotiable” I point out.
“Very well. That had been anticipated.” Agent Rack replies.
“Gentlemen,” I say, “Let us shake on what I hope turns out to be a beautiful relationship.”
We shake hands and I sign my life away. I’m really in it now, up to my neck. I have to learn to shut up more and just listen.
“Now, gents,” I say, “In order to seal the deal, let us break out the drinking stuff you’ve brought along. We will also smoke together so that we will know there will be no lies or deceit between us.”
“Also anticipated, Doctor,” both agents agree.
My ‘new’ old colleagues prepare to leave a while later, after a cigar, and far too much of what was a full bottle of expensive gift booze. They always get you in the end.
Contained within the other small box were my new Agency credentials, updated version satellite phone, secure codes, and a nifty new Swiss Army Knife, with a built-in cigar cutter.
With renewed dedication and expectations all ‘round, Agents Rack and Ruin take their leave.
They hope to be able to meet me and the family, remember, they are Uncles Rack and Ruin, overseas one day in the not too distant future. My information, further updated cards, registration, and all that official business guff will come to the specific Middle Eastern country’s US Embassy for me once we arrive and get settled.
“Marvelous,” I muse.
I receive an Email from Dr. Muleshoe explaining what we talked about and his hopes for my stickhandling a ‘quick’ 2-week field excursion for the approximately 15 Ph.D. types from around North America. Seems there’s a couple of Canadians and one Mexican professor that expressed desires to join. They had actually forwarded funds to be included in our number.
Sam suggests I drive out in my truck and proceed as per the last trip. Get the trailer, fill it with noisemakers, and the Bureau would sort out transportation and lodging for the attendees. Seems some want to camp, like real geologists, and some want to lodge in hotels, like real non-geologists.
I write Sam back:
First item: this is a 2-week sojourn into the desert. It’s a field meeting, emphasis on the field, not a tour of Nevada’s many fine hotels, resorts, and casinos.
Item two: I no longer possess my truck. The Bureau will provide me with the appropriate vehicular equivalent. No passengers, this will be the Camp Chief truck from the onset. Besides, I am the only one licensed to drive the vehicle when coupled to an explosives-laden trailer.
Item three: I will be flown to and from Reno from Houston. No buses, trains, or automobiles. It’s business class or zilch.
Item the fourth: the Bureau will source the necessary support logisticians to provide food, drink, and toilet paper for the 16 professionals while we are in the field. They will also need to provide cooks, dishwashers, camp tidiers, and the like as I don’t have time to deal with 15 potentially field-fresh, whiny waterhead PhDs.
Item the fifth: The Bureau will provide for all pre- and post-trip handling of participants. They can handle hotel rooms for the early arrivers or late-stayers. They can manage arrivals, registration, signing of necessary documents, and assuring vaccination records are up to snuff, waivers are signed, etc. They will also handle the transportation of participants to/from and during the field project, when and where necessary.
Item the sixth: I include a new version of my contract. Force Majeure, ‘Take or Pay’ clause. Door to door coverage. Plus my, ahem, augmented day rate. Absolutely non-negotiable.
Item seven: I have final say over what is done in the field. I am in command, the boss, the head cheese, the head honcho, and I require absolute discipline, especially where explosives are concerned. “My way or the highway” will be the theme of the trip. Gain, non-negotiable.
To be continued.
submitted by Rocknocker to Rocknocker [link] [comments]

I need your help with a home-quarantine Civil War project... I think this will be fun. Long text and big gallery of pics...

I appreciate any little bit of help you may be able to lend. This is just a fun project for me, so I hope maybe it's fun for you too.
The project: I am putting together a still life photo; a top-down view of an average Civil War soldiers' card game. Ultimately the big challenge for me is lighting it in my studio so it appears lit by candle lantern or whatever, but I'm trying to avoid anyone (like you guys!) getting distracted because of a glaring historical inaccuracy in my photo. I'm not trying to present a history lesson, just a fun composition. I'm worried if I post my final pic here, and there's some artifact that doesn't belong (like the cross rifle pin on the kepi hat sold in the Gettysburg gift shops) it would ruin it.
I have been gathering artifacts, both vintage and replica, to populate this still life of a normal night at a Union camp.
I know most nights they wouldn't have a table, but let's say its the top of a barrel or a random farmhouse table that was pillaged near their camp. I wanted something solid that would photograph well. Also I'm concerned more about contextual accuracy, rather than the resale value of my artifacts. But mainly I don't want to get called out, after the fact. Now is the time to get my ass handed to me!
Where I need your help: The idea is that these items are something that a standard Civil War soldier would have in their possession and it wouldn't be out of place on a table.Here is a gallery of each item with a small description underneath.
The pics:
https://imgur.com/gallery/S32Qdjn
It only shows the first batch, make sure to hit the Load More Pictures at the bottom. Please take a look at this gallery and the descriptions and let me know if there is anything that is not accurate to a Civil War soldier's possession.
Here are my specific questions:
I'm really happy with how my hand-weathered Union playing cards turned out. When I got them, they were factory-fresh, so I used some vinegar, dirt, and carrying them around for 4 weeks in my pocket to age them a little. They look great in person. I think the plastic-coated Highlanders deck looks too contemporary and will catch a glare but I wanted to see since they have been printed with a patina. You'll see in the gallery I have a single legit vintage "King of Flags" card from the Union Deck, that inspired me to track down a replica set of the whole deck, and then I got inspired to photograph that, so I needed to age it gently, and now I'm here with all these props.... it's a slippery slope!
I don't have any coins. I haven't found many contemporary replicas and the vintage relics look really old for being in someone's possession.
I'm taking the re-enactors website's word that the items (pocket watch, wallet, knife, etc) are camp accurate, as I assume a re-enactor customer would through a bitch-fit over inaccuracies. However I also know people will sell everything to anybody, so I don't want to look like a sucker. I think that's the biggest thing... I want to put so much effort into the lighting and arrangement, I don't want the final image ruined because I have a 1875 pocket watch or something. So I'm mostly looking for things that don't belong.
Thanks for taking a look! To me the main challenge is getting the studio lighting right, and I'm currently experimenting with that now. But I love talking to people about the everyday objects. I wanted to engage you in a conversation, and I didn't want to get a bunch of downvotes on my final composition because I had something stupid in there.
Thanks!



submitted by ageowns to CIVILWAR [link] [comments]

MAME 0.215

MAME 0.215

A wild MAME 0.215 appears! Yes, another month has gone by, and it’s time to check out what’s new. On the arcade side, Taito’s incredibly rare 4-screen top-down racer Super Dead Heat is now playable! Joining its ranks are other rarities, such as the European release of Capcom‘s 19XX: The War Against Destiny, and a bootleg of Jaleco’s P-47 – The Freedom Fighter using a different sound system. We’ve got three newly supported Game & Watch titles: Lion, Manhole, and Spitball Sparky, as well as the crystal screen version of Super Mario Bros. Two new JAKKS Pacific TV games, Capcom 3-in-1 and Disney Princesses, have also been added.
Other improvements include several more protection microcontrollers dumped and emulated, the NCR Decision Mate V working (now including hard disk controllers), graphics fixes for the 68k-based SNK and Alpha Denshi games, and some graphical updates to the Super A'Can driver.
We’ve updated bgfx, adding preliminary Vulkan support. There are some issues we’re aware of, so if you run into issues, check our GitHub issues page to see if it’s already known, and report it if it isn’t. We’ve also improved support for building and running on Linux systems without X11.
You can get the source and Windows binary packages from the download page.

MAMETesters Bugs Fixed

New working machines

New working clones

Machines promoted to working

New machines marked as NOT_WORKING

New clones marked as NOT_WORKING

New working software list additions

Software list items promoted to working

New NOT_WORKING software list additions

Source Changes

submitted by cuavas to emulation [link] [comments]

Curios and Keepsakes- Portentous Items

Some small 'props' to use that can add tension or mystery to your game, or potentially serve as plot hooks. Some of these tell a story, at least to the extent that players could make assumptions based on investigating them- though the "obvious" need not be the truth.
  1. A shattered hand-mirror that still has a reflection "stuck" in it- it will show nothing but that face twisted with rage.
  2. A horseshoe amulet, meant as a ward against the Devil, twisted and bent out of shape.
  3. A compass without directions. Instead, it is marked with a coin, a skull, a heart and a dagger.
  4. A noose woven from human hairs, soaked in seawater.
  5. A small stone idol in the shape of a satyr. Its grin seems wider every time you look at it.
  6. A shell. When put to the ear, it rings not just with sound of the sea, but with the mournful cry of gulls.
  7. A vintage gas mask, frayed and blood-stained.
  8. The splinters off a wizard's staff, tucked carefully into a satin bag.
  9. A knife with a bone handle. The handle has seven tallies scratched into it.
  10. A purple silk scarf that is always slightly damp and smells of sweat no matter how much it is washed.
  11. A mime's blank mask. Wearing it compels the wearer to dance furiously. It is not cursed or magical.
  12. A hooded cloak. The wearer's motions become slow, exaggerated and out of sync. It is not cursed.
  13. A brick, crumbled and mossy, with a message carved into it like it was soft as butter.
  14. A vial of dust.
  15. A fox-fur mantle, clearly designed for a lady of quality, crusted with poison. You don't slosh poison...
  16. A stopped pocketwatch. The second hand still goes, and ticks with a rather catchy beat.
  17. A painting that causes the viewer to lose their concentration briefly.
  18. A gold chain necklace, each link bearing a microscopic engraving of the names of the Dukes of Hell.
  19. A tankard with a slot in the metal base for a tiny knife. The name "Harold" is scratched into the bottom of the mug.
  20. A worryingly large collection of finger bones in a rucksack.
  21. A highly objectionable novel. Its contents vary for each person who reads it, but they're always extremely taboo.
  22. A wet skull. It feels soaked, like a cloth or piece of paper.
  23. A pair of sunglasses, one lens shattered, covered in fine white beach sand.
  24. A conductor's wand with a knife, well used, hidden inside it.
  25. A mind-bending journal, written by a blind man attempting to describe what he saw the world as.
  26. A wooden flute, carved with twisting dragons, carefully sawed in half then re-joined.
  27. A signet ring with a symbol that is completely different on the ring and when it is used to seal something.
  28. A doll with wooden bones, rubber veins and blood of dyed water.
  29. A papier-mache mask in the shape of a goat's face with branches for horns. Expertly made.
  30. A platinum Mobius strip, shaped as a ring, engraved with mathematical formulae for mana and magic.
  31. A small wooden jewelry-box with a snake's skeleton in it, wrapped around an emerald brooch.
  32. An iron gravedigger's spade, badly burned and tarnished, scratched as though by claws.
  33. A black wooden mask in the shape of a crow's face and beak, chipped and worn.
  34. A tapestry of two snakes devouring each other in a circle. It radiates an unspeakable aura of hatred. Nonmagical.
  35. Two tickets to a play that never existed, written in a bizarre mixture of Elvish, Abyssal and Halfling.
  36. The sheet music to a jaunty party tune that trails off mid-way into a lament for a lost love, titled "Hate the Feast".
  37. A femur snapped messily in half, carefully mounted in a glass case for study.
  38. Three iron cubes about an inch on each side. A person carrying any of them feels unbearably guilty.
  39. A military canteen, brimming with sour milk.
  40. A hide drum that, for some reason, reminds you of sunset when played.
  41. A Fighter's breastplate, caked and crusted with gore and sweat.
  42. A Cleric's holy symbol, rusted and tarnished.
  43. A Thief's tools, covered in an oily, sticky, black substance.
  44. A Wizard's tome, full of sketches of flowers and birds- and absolutely no arcana.
  45. A Druid's totem, but of a human with one arm.
  46. A Paladin's banner, showing a purple skull on a golden sunflash, tattered and mud-stained.
  47. A Ranger's quiver, but it only holds humanoid bones.
  48. A Monk's sash, made from drow skin.
  49. A counterfeit crown with an unknown maker's mark.
  50. A collection of flasks, labelled things like "stomach fluid", "marrow", and "plasma". They're from troglodytes.
  51. A three-toothed cog, labelled "#229".
  52. The eye of an owl, dissected and preserved.
  53. An encyclopedia of Abyssal, with the name "Harksburg" on the inside.
  54. A set of surgeon's tools, covered in grease and warped as though half-melted by heat.
  55. A disturbing silver brooch that displays a man impaled on a spike.
  56. A white t-shirt that bears the legend "These Are The Good Times", with a picture beneath that of a bloody drum.
  57. A journal detailing a flood survivor's experiences, going from desperation to rambling madness.
  58. A Halfling golden marriage crown, broken and slightly rusty, the flower motif nearly worn away.
  59. An essay proposing that humans and dwarves share a common ancestor in halflings. Scarily plausible.
  60. An aakocra saint's wings, preserved as a relic.
  61. A cheery tune for the flute that is utterly addictive, scrawled on delicatessen wax paper.
  62. A fire poker inscribed with the full script to an Elvish tragic play.
  63. A silver poker chip inscribed with a black skull and the words "Solo questa volta"- "Just This Once".
  64. Eighteen wedding rings of the exact same design inside a wooden box.
  65. The blueprints for a wickerman, sketched out in charcoal on parchment and signed with "Ladybird".
  66. A golden pocketwatch whose hands spin furiously, blurring with speed, then stop at 1:00 whenever it's opened.
  67. A dancer's coronet and veil, damp, battered and frayed, abandoned carelessly on the ground.
  68. An eyepatch with the name "Siegfried" on it, inside a red clamshell box, apparently abandoned.
  69. A seer's omen-bag, filled with paraphernalia like crow feathers, knucklebones- and a missive from a local king.
  70. An iron armband carved with the image of a dwarf slaying a werewolf, slightly nicked.
  71. A vampire-hunter's silvered stake, hollowed out and with a scrap of paper inside that reads "Help!".
  72. A thick black notebook, full of notes on various aberrant species- mind flayers, kuo-toa -ripped in half and charred.
  73. A priest's biretta with a secret compartment on the inside, holding a note in Thieves' Cant and a platinum piece.
  74. A scroll that holds commands for rebuilding the world, written carefully in Halfling. Several feet long.
  75. A dead man in soldier's armor, clutching a locket that holds a picture of a...medusa.
  76. A large, crude bear-hide sack, full to the brim with psychedelic mushrooms.
  77. A well-tailored suit, carefully hung on a pine branch, with a letter of acceptance to a nameless guild in the pocket.
  78. A swatted stirge, gorged with Empyrean blood. Still twitching when it's found.
  79. A prosthetic hand made of molten Modron metal, with the name "Henrietta" engraved on every gear and cog.
  80. The blueprints for a flintlock rifle, written enthusiastically in Gnomish and signed "Lily".
  81. A set of earrings, in exotic style, with a coded message carved into them in tiny Common print.
  82. A treatise on the properties of Mimics, laying abandoned on a table in a rough wooden shack, signed "Abe".
  83. A gentleman's frock coat, pierced through and stained with blood, with a vial of poison sewn into the lining.
  84. Two rapiers, clean as a whistle, lying abandoned in a clearing among two desiccated, mossy skeletons.
  85. A stuffed Hydra head whose teeth are hollow and removable, three holding a few coins inside them.
  86. A traveler's rucksack. If opened, it somehow has a campfire inside it, although this is undetectable from outside.
  87. A dented, nicked vambrace with a blue ribbon wrapped around it, carved with the name "Elise".
  88. A portrait of an adventuring party posing atop a slain dragon, with a dark figure lurking in the background.
  89. A Dwarvish-styled crown, inscribed with the name of a kingdom that doesn't exist.
  90. A table with paper, ink, quill and steaming fresh coffee, set up casually on a highway.
  91. A gold-leafed skeleton with a dagger through it's gilded cranium, sitting on a throne of stone.
  92. A beggar's bowl, a staff, a dagger, a whetstone and a small idol, lying in an unruly pile.
  93. A mouse in an iron cage with a strange sigil shaved into the fur of its back.
  94. An empty silver bird-cage hanging in the woods by the side of a highway. The door is locked.
  95. A carpenter's toolcase with an opened secret compartment holding tinder, oil, matches, and flint-'n'-steel.
  96. A bedroll with a shed viper skin in it.
  97. A heap of Halfling cooking utensils at the base of a shrine of Baalzebul.
  98. A coin that only ever lands on its side, with the two faces showing a dove pierced by an arrow and a clenched fist.
  99. An ancient idol of red quartz, carved in bad imitation of Dwarvish style.
  100. A small pentagram, made with fruit juice and rat skulls, in the back alley of a local schoolhouse.
submitted by Ross_Hollander to DnDBehindTheScreen [link] [comments]

MAME 0.211

MAME 0.211

As we pass the half-way point of 2019, it’s time for MAME 0.211, with all the excitement that brings. In this release, SGI Indy and MIPS RC2030 workstations have been promoted to working. This is a major milestone in RISC workstation emulation. If you’re feeling nostalgic, why not try one of them out, and install IRIX or RISC/os, respectively? This release also includes better support for the China Education Computer Apple II derivatives, along with a preliminary software list. This opens a window to Chinese classroom technology in the late ’80s and early ’90s. Speaking of software lists, we’ve added over five hundred cleanly cracked Apple II software titles, and imported a whole lot of ZX Spectrum cassette images.
Looking away from computer emulation for a moment, Game & Watch preservation keeps progressing, with the addition of Ball (the earliest Game & Watch release) and the panorama screen version of Donkey Kong Jr. The Gaelco/Salter Pro Cycle Tele Cardioline exercise system has been promoted to working, and the Pro Stepper system has been added. System 573 MP3 audio has been greatly improved in this release, and support has been added for more Bally pinball sound boards. ClawGrip added example programs from the V.R. Technologies VT03 software development kit. Gemcrush, a rare brick breaking arcade game, has been added in this release.
There are lots of other improvements, including a fix for the fatal error when switching away from MAME in Direct3D full-screen mode. You can get the source and Windows binary packages from the download page.

MAMETesters Bugs Fixed

New working machines

New working clones

Machines promoted to working

Clones promoted to working

New machines marked as NOT_WORKING

New clones marked as NOT_WORKING

New working software list additions

Software list items promoted to working

New NOT_WORKING software list additions

Source Changes

submitted by cuavas to emulation [link] [comments]

MAME 0.215

MAME 0.215

A wild MAME 0.215 appears! Yes, another month has gone by, and it’s time to check out what’s new. On the arcade side, Taito’s incredibly rare 4-screen top-down racer Super Dead Heat is now playable! Joining its ranks are other rarities, such as the European release of Capcom‘s 19XX: The War Against Destiny, and a bootleg of Jaleco’s P-47 – The Freedom Fighter using a different sound system. We’ve got three newly supported Game & Watch titles: Lion, Manhole, and Spitball Sparky, as well as the crystal screen version of Super Mario Bros. Two new JAKKS Pacific TV games, Capcom 3-in-1 and Disney Princesses, have also been added.
Other improvements include several more protection microcontrollers dumped and emulated, the NCR Decision Mate V working (now including hard disk controllers), graphics fixes for the 68k-based SNK and Alpha Denshi games, and some graphical updates to the Super A'Can driver.
We’ve updated bgfx, adding preliminary Vulkan support. There are some issues we’re aware of, so if you run into issues, check our GitHub issues page to see if it’s already known, and report it if it isn’t. We’ve also improved support for building and running on Linux systems without X11.
You can get the source and Windows binary packages from the download page.

MAMETesters Bugs Fixed

New working machines

New working clones

Machines promoted to working

New machines marked as NOT_WORKING

New clones marked as NOT_WORKING

New working software list additions

Software list items promoted to working

New NOT_WORKING software list additions

Source Changes

submitted by cuavas to MAME [link] [comments]

vintage poker chips in case video

DIY Best Poker Chip Case - YouTube Dirtiest scene in 1920s cinema - YouTube 2019 Poker Chip Buying Guide - YouTube The SICKEST feeling in poker! Aces CRACKED compilation ... TOP 6 MOST CRAZY POKER HANDS OF ALL TIME! - YouTube Eye splice in double braid polyester rope - YouTube NEW CASINO DLC - YouTube Judge had enough of woman in DUI case - YouTube TOP 4 MOST ICONIC POKER FIGHTS OF ALL TIME! - YouTube

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DIY Best Poker Chip Case - YouTube

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vintage poker chips in case

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