Stephen Pimley | Uncategorized | Thursday, July 31st, 2003

There are more people in these eyelids than I would care to count.


Stephen Pimley | Random | Wednesday, July 30th, 2003

My new tagline is, “As smooth with the womenz as the flypaper condomz.”

Game of Life

Stephen Pimley | Thoughts | Monday, July 21st, 2003

The game of life has been called off due to inclement weather. Sorry, no refunds.

Doug, Larry, and the Clone Gang

Stephen Pimley | Dreams,Memories | Sunday, July 20th, 2003

It all started out with some sort of heist. Two fellow thieves and I stole a very expensive secret from some farmers and were forced to kill them in the process. It was some breakthrough in manufacturing that would allow ten times the production in the maple syrup business. Although not extremely lucrative it was perfect because it such an innocuous area of industry would never attract attention from authorities. Thus begins our time on the run. We were in a warehouse near a forest taking some time to relax when a rival gang crept up on us. I fought back with an old double barreled twelve-gauge driving the enemies out from behind stacks of barrels. The tactic allowed my contemporaries take them out with their handguns. Three or so of this gang had fallen when they hastily fell back and retreated. The leader of our group, let’s call him Larry, jumped in the old four door getaway car and sped over to the hiding places of myself and the other who we’ll call Doug. Doug got in the front passenger seat while I dived into the back right seat with Larry screaming at me to hurry the fuck up. He started to gun the acceleration with my body hanging half in and half out of the vehicle. The sound of a motorcycle starting up grabbed our attention and as it circled past us Larry evasively twisted the car into a turn throwing me further inside and slamming the door closed just as I got free. I loaded two shells in the shotgun and waited for the motorcycle to circle past the right side. Just as it got within ten feet of my window I squeezed on the trigger to no effect. The motorcyclist saw this and escaped into the distance. Taking the respite to check the shotgun I realized that I had jammed multiple shells into each barrel in my haste. Then I discovered the tips of the barrels had been bent slightly while beating someone over the head earlier in the fight. I asked Larry if there were any more shells in the car and replied that we were all out. Handing me his prized handgun he instructed me, “Don’t fire it until its silent.” “When is it silent?” I inquired. “When it’s out of rounds”, was his confusing answer. “But how can it run out if I can’t even shoot it?!?” I asked, trying to make some sense of the conversation. Larry grinned back at me from the driver’s seat and responded, “I know, just don’t use it unless you absolutely have to”. Our drive was mostly uneventful and only occupied by idle chatter in an attempt to avoid the task at hand. All was fine until we heard sirens coming from road behind us. I looked back to see a police cruiser and above that a helicopter chasing us. The cruiser overcame us and slammed into the left side trying to knock us off the road. Doug reached over Larry’s shoulder and unloaded a few rounds into the cruiser’s passenger window causing it to lose control. We enjoyed the success until a loud thump struck the roof followed by a grinding sound. A hole was torn in the metal roof above my head and I looked up to see a cop trying to attach something to the vehicle. Doug shot the officer in the right side of his gut just before I struck him in the left thigh with my own weapon. Blood spraying backwards in the wind the cop toppled off the roof. Immediately a wrenching shook our car and the majority of the roof exploded away as the helicopter pulled the line taut. I laughed at Larry and yelled over the wind, “At least you got the sunroof you always wanted!” Larry knew we had to find cover from the helicopter that would draw further cops on our tail. We pulled into the best place to hide a few scruffy outlaws with guns…a trailer park. Quickly dumped the car behind a trailer and began to run from “house” to house keeping the buildings between ourselves and the helicopter. Soon it became apparent we had lost them by the erratic pattern they flew in. Larry led us to a particular trailer and we were greeted by a lady at the door. We entered and it became apparent she was a woman of the sex trade that had known Larry for some time. We hid out in a back room while she masterfully performed for the searching cops leading them to believe she had never seen us around. This period is a little hazy and I remember little. There was talk and money exchanged for a big rig and a pickup truck. I drove in the pickup following Larry and Doug, who played the part of truckers. The caravan neared the destination where I had been told we would receive payment from our employer. Abruptly the big rig took a turn off the decided path into some sort of arena. There was a circuit track around the grass field and thousands of empty stands. I drove up next to where Larry and Doug had parked to ask them what was going on. As soon as we got close they opened fire on my truck causing me to veer away. It was now obvious I wasn’t supposed to share in the loot with the others. They started chasing me around the track trying to smash my smaller truck under the brunt of their own. For several minutes this continued as a struggled to keep my distance despite the horrible traction I was getting on the gravel track. As suddenly as it all started they cut off the pursuit and returned to the arena entrance. I stopped the truck and noticed now that in my fear of survival I was oblivious to the chopper noises coming closer. My eyes scanned the seating around the arena until I found a ladder going over the top of the concrete wall and hopefully leading outside. Aiming my truck in that direction I drove as far as the track took me until I had to go off into the soft grass. Soon it became apparent I was going nowhere fast as my tires were flinging more mud and grass than they were finding purchase. I grabbed a tire iron and got out on foot to make a break for it. Taking the time to look to where the big rig had been parked I saw Larry and Doug disappear through a doorway. Shortly thereafter came the sounds of a gunfight and struggle. I ran as quickly as I could towards the ladder but soon a yelping police dog was bounding after me in the grass. To my dismay I looked back to find the dog closing faster to myself than I was to the ladder.   I gave up and slowed down, dropped the tire iron, and I waited for my fate to reach me. I braced for the expected tearing of muscle by fangs but opened my eyes to find the dog merely barking right in front of me. Behind him came several cops running in my direction. The first officer slowed to walk and greeted me holding up a piece of paper. Curious, I began to scan the contents. There was a header in large letters saying, “Dear Dave, Larry, and the prostitute”. (Note: Dave is my father’s name but I felt no reason to point this out to the cop right away) It went on to explain we had all been hired to steal the plans to raise money for the writer’s devious objectives. I was mentioned in the letter and it was revealed that I was in fact a cloned human and my father was one as well. Although the letter wasn’t signed I immediately broke down sobbing on realization of what was going on. The cop inquired of me why I was upset having apparently not read it himself. Exclaiming, “It’s one of my father’s fathers…he’s back from the dead”

Then…I woke up. Yes, woke up. Thought that was a story? A shitty one if that. If I was going to write a story I would certainly make it better than that piece of crap. It was merely a dream I woke up from and decided to write down while it was still fresh. Countless details have been lost…such is the nature of dreams as hard as you may grasp at the memory. Amusing? Perhaps. I don’t know; make what of it that you will.


Stephen Pimley | Thoughts | Thursday, July 17th, 2003

[. . .section edited out. . .]

You just can’t win them all can you? Wait…can you ever win? I am under the distinct impression the entire point of my dreams is to prove to me how futile hope is in a reality that’s controlled by ONE mind let alone by many. Even within a single mind there are always those forces whose sole intent is to bring down the structure and produce a guffaw amid the ruins. I’d like to point out that I have discovered the mind to be much more fractional than most realize. The only real collaboration comes from either dependance or force. Certain regions of the brain will perform specific functions as is their role. But when it comes to general thought….a teeming multi-faceted debate is the image coming to mind. The rowdy thoughts often break through, I’m not sure why though. I get some pretty freaky impulses if I must say so. At this moment I am wondering if every mind has these same thoughts and they are filtered out before reaching the “consciousness” or if I merely have a defective brain at all levels. One that both creates and harbors these plans up to the point the *logic* kicks in. Which is usually when I think to myself, “What the fuck? Why would I do that?” Yet…somewhere deep in my mind there must have been a reason right? Can a brain truly come up with an idea that has absolutely no basis on reality and that is random and ignorant of consequences? I would like to think not but the possibility of such would imply that deep down all of us are actually insane, most just have really good 24 hour shrinks to filter out to flesh eating babble. The remaining small percentage like myself would actually be expressing their true feelings. Nah, that’s too chilling to be true. Would it not make a great horror flick though? Don’t you agree ‘oh faithful quivering salad bowl I fashioned from a living uterus? Thought you would, my pet. *grins and tosses you a marrow crouton*

Chilled Whine

Stephen Pimley | Daily Life,Memories | Thursday, July 10th, 2003

I woke up today with the chills and shakes. Temperature of 96 degrees. I’ve got “Healthy” tattooed on my subdermal tissue.

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