From reddit WP: You are %90 sure your flight attendants are Michael Jackson and Joseph Stalin.

Now, usually I'm about three prescription grade sleeping pills deep before getting on any flight, including flights from New York to Boston It all started with a turbulence scare at 10,000 feet in a 747 just after take off. We must have dropped a few hundred feet and I shit myself. Literally. Since then flying has been terrible. Which is terrible when you're an international pet rock connesuire. That's right, people pay me to check the legitimacy of their pet rock collection. It's a blessed life other than the travel.

I know we're just two strangers on Reddit but what I'm about to tell you there is a 90% chance it's true. The other 10% or so is due to a lot of recreational psychedelic usage when I was a wee lad. But that's neither here nor there. Besides I can usually tell when I'm having a flashback. I don't think this was one of those times.

Well, there I was at the Reno Tahoe international Airport in semi beautiful Reno Nevada. I'd looked at a casino moguls collection of pet rocks, confirmed all but one of their legitimate stance as a pet rock and was paid in cash and was given a tip of few hundred in casino credit. I stayed up all night playing 25 cent video poker at the sports bar. I didn't win much... Actually didn't win anything but I had a good time smoking Marlboro Smooths, drinking fuzzy navels, and watching sports Center over and over again. Well anyways, I arrived at the airport on time but somehow forgot to get my prescription refilled beforehand.

After a bit of a panic I decided going drunk would probably be just as effective. Boy howdy... Was I wrong. The take off was fine but headed west over the Sierra Nevada's was bumpier than a Cajun catfishes intestines. Well, before the bumpiness I noticed two of the flight attendants looked familiar. I couldn't quite place them though. Like maybe they were famous or something.

Anyways after the turbulence I panicked and ran to the lavatory. The seatbelt sign was still on but it didn't matter. I wasn't a about to shit myself for a second time. After doing my business I heard a knock on the door accompanied by a high pitched voice, " Hee Hee! Are you ok in there sir? I just want you to know ...I'm happy to be alive, I'm happy to be who I am... Mm beat it"

I did what anyone else would do and said, "that's beautiful man. Thank you. Yes I'm fine I'll be right out." After exiting a man with a face of a melting angel greeted me with a sly smile and moonwalked me back to my seat. Of course I moon walked with him. It's not everyday your flight attendant is a Michael Jackson impersonator.

After we reached the other side of the Sierra Nevada's drink service was held. Of course I was looking forward to another adult beverage as my paranoia overcame the drunkenness of the evening before. As the cart pulled up beside me I took my eyes off of my Hustler magazine (not so much about Hustling for those of you who aren't avid readers) and who would have thought that on the same flight there'd be two impersonators?! The second one had a big friendly face, an enviable mustache, the staunch smell of 3 day old vodka emanating from his entire body (I know from experience... Professional research during my graduate studies I assure you), and was speaking to me completely in Russian. "пить водку" which from my time in Moscow means "drink vodka." So I did. That's when my memory gets a little fuzzy. Though to this day on my childhood dog's, rest your beautiful soul weenie, backyard grave I swear he told me to call him Comrade Stalin.

I exited the plane stumbling between the aisles I gave comrade Stalin a sloppy high five. The Michael Jackson impersonator met me at the door. He opened his arms for a hug and I willingly accepted his invitation. As we embraced he whispered into my ear, "Both Stalin and I are not impersonators. We're immortals and currently in the witness protection program on the run from Connor MacLeod. If you tell anyone about us we'll gut you like a porcupine." Then he loosened his embrace looked me in the eyes and shouted, "THERE CAN ONLY BE ONE! By the way.. THIS IS OAKLAND!" In an instant he had drop kicked me through the door and onto the tarmac.

Now here I am scared they are redditers. But secretly hoping they will make me immortal. By the way if you need your pet rock appraised you can reach me here

WP from Reddit: Instead of colonizing the New World in 1492, Europeans gave Native Americans modern knowledge and sailed away. They return 200 years later.

The men of the boat were eager for a chance to finally set foot on land. They'd lost several ships to the deep blue after encountering high seas. "Do ya think their women'll be purdy?" "If it walks I'll make it my wife!" 

Captain Leonardo Fetticini stood before his men. "It's been two hundred years since we last set foot here. We equipped them the best we could. In hindsight this may not have been such a good idea. The King, in his omnipotence, decreed that we must find a place to settle here by peace... or by war. Let's hope our "friends" are willing to give us a fair bargain. Regardless keep your weapons close to hand.

At the first sight of the shore the sailors were in awe of the strange metal statues lining the beaches. "What are they?" "They're beautiful! We should take one home!" 

The rowboats were filled with weapons, smelly men and a thick sense of fear. They arrived to the shore safely and rushed to take a closer look at the shiny statues. "This one's gold!" "Silver here!" "Grab the ropes were taking them!" 

---------------------------------------------------------------------

In the thick forest beyond the beach camouflage faces watched the every move of the aliens attempting to steal the precious statues. The leader of the group, a giant man by the name of Nahuel, whispered to his comrades, "Our ancestors were right. These foolish creatures love shiny things. They warned us they would be back to take it. These fools gave us their technology, shared with us their faults and in two hundred years they have yet to change. Tonight... Tonight we cut out the cancer of this world. Tonight we let the ocean fish feast on their flesh." Pearly white teeth flashed all around the thick foliage.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

That night the superior men of Europe feasted on the animals of their newest home. Camp fires were lit all along the beach, the smell of smoke and burning flesh wafted into the forest. "Yup, we'll be rich men! How long are we here for again?" "Just a few weeks. Enjoy the local fauna while it lasts. Soon we will be eating of gold plates!" 

Captain Fetticini stayed with the flag ship moored far offshore. "This has been too easy. Our predecessors spoke of people inhabiting these lands... and to leave something so precious so close to the ocean..." His first mate sat on the other end of the cabin half drunk and teetering on his stool. "Well maybe they all (hick) died? Maybe our wisdom was too much for em and (hick) their heads exploded?" The captain looked at him in disgust,  "Doubtful you fishcock of a fool. Don't underestimate mankind... It's the moment you think you are better than the tamed lion that it eats you."

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!! BOOOM! BOOOM!

The first mate fell of the chair and immediately back to sobriety. "What was that?!" The captain rushed to the decked to see a series of explosions on the beach. "What's happening? Where is that coming from?!"

---------------------------------------------------------------------

The sand beneath the sailors feet began to burst. Some explosions were small others enormous. Men were swallowed whole by the flames igniting around them. Smoke and burning flesh filled the air and wafted into the forest.

Men by the hundreds emerged from the woods. Arrows of iron came raining down onto the sailors below sparing none of their alien souls. The masts of the ships placed close to the shore ignited. Dozens of dark figures could be seen climbing the sides of the ships. The ships' sailors steel met with sharper blades and fiercer warriors. The wakes of the ships pooled with blood.

On the flagship the captain could do nothing but watch his sailors be pierced with steel, burned alive and thrown into the sea. "First mate Bacon! We need to raise the anchor now! It's time to go!... First mate Bacon you drunk buffoon do you hear me?!" The captain returned back to his cabin to find his first mates neck slit from ear to ear. A giant of a man sat in the captains chair with his feet on the desk. "You savage! That desk was given to me by the king himself! I'll have your skin for this!" In a blind fury the captain rushed toward the giant unsheathing his sword in the process and just as he was about the strike the giant spoke. "Stop." "What? Did you just say stop? Why in the world would I stop?" The giant smiled as a rope descended from the rafters and around Captain Fetticini's neck. 

In two hours time the night was as dark as it has even been. The smell of flesh and smoke filled the air. The stars and moon were still shining as the fish feasted. Hundreds of dark figures retreated back into the forest to fight another day. "Go home to your women tonight. Enjoy their embrace. Tonight we fought as men but there will be more... There will always be more..."

I Do, I Dew

Dew

The sun will rise soon

Yet for a little while longer it's just me and you. 

We've embraced all through the night. I grew in size as you bent under my weighted will.

My liquid touch caressed your smooth face. 

You asked for forever as the sun crested the mountains. 

I said i do, I do, I do

With one last kiss our grips began to slip. I fell from heaven to land at your feet. 

Alas you're grass I'm just a fool of a dew. 

We can't ask for forever but the nights I'll surely spend with you. 

Timmy Two Bits

 What is it that keeps us yearning in a world unattached to our whims? What's the essence of the fuel driving us mindlessly into oblivion? All the years spent pointlessly searching this wretched blue globe for meaning. We're hoping to create meaning from star dust. The left over parts of gaseous material burning for billions of years, then collapsing on itself, ultimately shooting its ejaculate into the void and impregnating it. And then some how gestating the bastard human race along the way. Why...

"Can I help you with anything sugar?" Francis was walking on sunshine as usual. "One more of these," Timmy mumbled. 

     She always does that. Always when I'm on the brink of solving it all. She takes a hammer and smashes it all to pieces. At least she is a giver and polite. Nothing much to look at but polite. Thin as a pole with legs like a spiders. Where were we... Ah fuck it.

Jimmy sipped he cheap black coffee until a small brown lake was all that remained at the bottom. Now, as always, he discretely poured it onto the floor.

     For the Gods

 The scent of coffee and pancakes clung to Timmy at all times. People around him found themselves relaxed with the comfort only a breakfast and the promise of a full stomach can bring. After all, these were hard times for many folks. If you had a full stomach before noon the rest of the day couldn't really be that bad.

     Before I'm snuffed out. Before deaths big black hand pulls me into my grave I need a standing ovation. I need the bright lights, their warmth and applause cascading over my face. I need the smiling faces and handshakes. No it needs to be deeper. I need love to enter my skull like a bullet to the brain making it burst from the inside out. 

Timmy Two bits was two blocks from where he started but no closer to his destination. Wherever he wandered he appeared lost. It wasn't the way he looked; it was his pace. A mix of wall street banker and a spider missing a leg or two from a chance encounter with a cruel child. His once pine green eyes turned nearly black, never expressed much of anything. The long nights, dirty deeds and tens of thousands of cigarettes had stained his teeth beyond repair. The only thing remarkable about him was his ability with numbers. He was a mathematical Olympian. This is what kept him alive and made him valuable.

     356 more steps. I can't wait for flying cars. I'm tired of this walking business. How far have I walked? Have I walked enough to make it to the Orient? Do China girls really look like dolls? I could use a new doll in my life. One with long black hair, slender hands and small feet.

Timmy wasn't what you'd call a ladies man. His small oval face, short stature and fast walking pace just gave off the wrong aura. He also preferred thin women at a time when thin was not in. After a few rounds of the newly illicit liquid his catchphrase would always come out, "The thinner is the winner!"

"Again..." Timmy mumbled under his breath. 

     They always just fucking leave their boots for everyone to smell and trip over. Give me some order! Give me some organisation, some control! This is shoe anarchy! They aren't even lined up straight! Even the shoes are against me. 39 pairs today. Mrs. Baker must be back at Gunther's place. They knock boots like rabbits in the springtime. Well maybe it's the horizontal mambo since their shoes are outside.

Shoes always lined the hallways of his apartment building. Their dirty soles and stinky innards were best left outside of the jail cell sized rooms some folks called apartments. His door was exactly 736 steps from the entrance of the diner. Timmy made sure to count them every time. 

     One day soon they'll all love me. I'll move out of this hell hole and into a villa on the Pacific. I'll invest and make millions. Al Capone will come to me for investment strategies. I'll drive fast cars. No, I'll be driven in fast cars by chauffeurs whose names will all be `speedy.` I'll be a made man. Just another few days.

The door creaked open. Timmy took a quick look around to make sure no surprises were waiting for him. He slipped a key back into his pocket. His key matched every key in the entire building. The owner thought it was good business tact to be able to sneak into their rooms and take things that wouldn't be missed. Quick creaking noises made their way across the room to the curtains. With a suuden swish they were closed leaving the apartment dark. He reached under his bed and pulled out a book with a false cover by the name of Cloud Nine. Inside was a few thousand dollars he had discretely tucked away. Below his feet dozens of books held up his bed. They were a safer stash than a bank and who the hell would steal old books? Timmy took a few moments each day to consider how clever he was. 

     Maybe I'll start my new life tomorrow. Just get a new car and drive. I can learn Spanish along the way. I can find my chauffeur  'Speedy Gonzales' on the streets of old Mexico and a new senorita in the sands along the ocean. Dos Cervezas por favor.

Timmy did his patented dos cervezas shuffle on top of his bed when he heard a jiggle coming from his door handle.

"Mob Racketeer Found Dead in Slums"

The paper read like a cheap suspense novel. Timmy Two Bits was a police accountant turned gangster. His death was no surprise to locals or cops. He had posted a ledger of black funds from the mob and the police to the Chicago Chronicle. It was never published.
Most people thought it was the mob who snuffed him, a few considered the police, no one considered his inept landlord who had found him while sneaking into his room.

"Poor Timmy," Patrick the landlord slowly hobbled to the diner to tell Francis, practicing what he'd say along the way. He arrived at 7 AM. The usual time for Timmy to get his coffee. He looked around in the empty diner but didn't see Francis. "Hey Bob!," he shouted in the direction of the kitchen, "Four eyed Frannie around?" A portly man with a thick Irish accent (though he'd never once been outside of the city) poked his head out into the diner. "No sir. She flat out quit yesterday! Rode off in a new Packard! She was cryin' and saying something bout her daddy dying and left her some money. Good for her."

A red Packard sped through the deserts of Nevada. The driver didn't know what the future held. She only knew the present was unexplored territory; the world waited only for her now. In the backseat pages of books never to be read fluttered.

Thoughts

It's not a person or some distant action but an idea. An amalgamation of some random piece of crystallized information highlighted by a random current of high grade cerebral electricity. Somehow this is what bubbles into consciousness amid the flood of the worlds current. Nothing more than energy nothing less than a dream.

The Crows and Me

Another older piece from 2011

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A crow named Kashikoi and his three crow friends stopped on a nearby branch to “caw” my attention. “What is it you want my black suited annoyance?” I unwittingly said. They “cawed” in unison once more and wisdom said:The Crows and Me
By: Josh Nieubuurt

"watching a bird in flight is worth more than gold. Walking within our domain you can free your soul. The earth’s humble soil is free but it can give you all you need. Away from the streets, cars, planes, lights and busy sounds we alone can offer you what must be found."

I thought for a moment, putting the notion of a talking crow aside and spoke:

"But how could this be? The world I know thrashes about conquering all. We mold the earth, build towers to pierce the sky. We capture imagination and ransom it’s genius by constructing our will! This is not your domain but ours."

Kashikoi shuffled it’s feathers -looked at me side to side- then spoke once more:

"All that you have is ours as well. It was ours before and it will be ours again. The air we breathe, the water we drink, the cold and heat we bear equally. You take from the ground and build into the sky…we simply fly.

Watching a bird in flight is worth more than inky black gold. Our songs are many and timeless. Yet we share them together both you and we. If you think you possess then you are a fool indeed. For life is an ocean of energy barely separating you and me. You should see nature is both you and me.”

At that he and his three comrades “cawed” one final time and took flight.

Whistles & Bells Inc.

whistles & Bells Inc.

A cyclical system, hell bent on confining the masses
Artfully using greed and self-satisfaction
Stealthed as weapons of abstraction
doing nothing more than distracting
the cattle to coddle all their eyes can fondle

Society is a slave
Slowly digging its own grave
to a of sounds, resounding whistles and bells
as we all take this stroll…

Using a plastic pasport to the dream of dreams
a white picket fence, double reverse fluctuated mortgage,
two jaw dropping candy painted cars in the drive,
all gained working a 9 to 5…

Society the simulacrum
slowly creates slavery
to a slew of sounds
resembling whistles and bells
as we all take this stroll…

A slave to a slave to a slave…
Oh tell me (please!) how much does a savory dollar pay…
is it worth life drifting away … It’s all credit anyways in these days…
No gold, silver or precious good in place (just in case!!)…
Slaves with no master, save themselves, to pay a debt with no price yet set..

Were all a slave
carving out our own grave
With all of the important “toys” we’ve saved
becoming ourselves those whistles and bells
as we all take this stroll down the wide lane
of capitalist hell.

"whistles & Bells Inc."
-Jneebs