#motorized blinds miami

[growthengineseo]

Miami homeowners can enjoy their sunny outdoor spaces while staying cool and comfortable with outdoor blinds and shades from Miami Dade Shades. These stylish solutions not only protect against harsh UV rays but also enhance privacy and energy efficiency. With a variety of materials—such as durable PVC, breathable mesh, and elegant wood—there's an option to suit every aesthetic and functional need. Whether it’s roll-up shades for flexibility or fixed blinds for permanent coverage, Miami Dade Shades offers custom solutions tailored to each unique space. Ready to elevate your outdoor living? Contact them today to explore the perfect patio shades for your home!

[eastcoastboyos]

Awestruck

Assembing in the kitchen of our airBnB, the boyos scarfed down leftovers and cereal. Blake tackled last night's taco meat like a champ despite waking up with the snifffles. The disease has spread.

Zipping over to Kennedy Space Center, the boys hustled to the bus tour line having learned the night before that it is a must do according to Reddt. The tour takes you around the massive shuttle assembly building via roads lined with canals (where I saw my first gator!) and deposits you at the Saturn V rocket building.

Not really knowing what the Saturn V was, the boys and I went through an introductionary video and mock control room, which simulated the first launch of USA into space. Absolutely incredible. The windows chattering with the rocket launch, the lights flickering on the actual control panels as operator voices echoed simultaneously, you really did feel like you were there in the launch room on such of a historic moment.

Exiting this room with a horde of blind folk, the boys were gob smacked, rounding a corner and coming right up to the massive rear engine boosters of an actual Saturn V rocket above our heads. Jaws dropped as we marveled at the scale and complexity of the machine.

Exploring the area, we encountered another phenomenal theater simulating the moon landing and marveled at the moon rocks, space suits, and lunar buggys around us. Blake and I joked about the Apollo 11 error code 1202 with our own error codes: 8008 for boob and 9009 for making a poop.

Finishing our exploration of Saturn V, the boys bussed back to the main compound and headed into the Atlantis Space Shuttle Building. Representing the next phase of NASA spacecraft, we were treated to another informative video on the origin of the vessel and an appreciation for the decade of engineering to design the shuttle. To our awe once again, after the imerisve shuttle launch video finished, the video screens rolled up to reveal the actual Atlantis space shuttle behind. 🤯

If our brain chunks weren't already sxattered enough, beside the large space shuttle Atlantis was a small glass box containing the actual wood and paper concept model for the shuttle built ten years prior of the first shuttle launch. Having this massive machine and simple model side by side was such an incredible symbol of engineering design to creation. We all agreed how inspirational everything was.

Goofing around, the boys played with space toilets, I reviewed some employment contract details, and we discussed favourite roller coasters while in line for the cockpit launch simulator, another winner. Some somber moments were had looking at the Challenger and Discovery debris and Joel remarked how KSC had you like "Shittttttt" and then the next moment, a quiet and reflective "shit....".

Taking a quiet snooze in the car, some of the boys recuperated as we made the final stretch to Miami Beach: 2200km in total. Discussing the long term debt cycle, toll road uncertainty, the abundance palm trees and canals, and the worst traffic and drivers we've seen thus far, the boys made it to Miami as the sun was setting. Dylan remarked at the endless lawyer billbords such as "I heart my attorney, 300k" and noted: " Half this country's entire economy is lawyers sueing everone".

Our airBnB is in a cool Latin area, and after obtaining some missing sheets, the boys downed some Corona's, slapped each of with tortillas, placed Georgie on the mantel, and head out on the town. Miami Beach is saturated with art Deco and our heads swiveled as we looked at them lit up in the night with color. Miami Beach is bumping.

Sports cars, fancy outfits, mango strip clubs, gangs on ATVs and motor bikes, the place's energy seem to match New York. Things seem full circle. After resting on the grass for a moment to process everything, (#fiveIntroverts) the boys grabbed margaritas and nachos at Oh Mexico. Letting the night fall late to the sound sof Latin musc, we savored reminiscing about the trip while periodically singing Happy birthday in Spanish.

We miss you Ben.

Derek

[crazy-joes]

The Best Energy-Efficient Window Treatments As environmental concerns continue to rise, homeowners increasingly seek energy-efficient solutions. Window treatments are a prime area for improvement. By enhancing energy efficiency, drapery can reduce utility bills and enhance comfort. Crazy Joe's Drapery and Blinds stands out as a premier provider in this domain, offering a range of energy-efficient drapery options. Understanding Energy Efficiency in Drapery Energy-efficient drapery minimizes heat loss in winter and reduces heat gain in summer. Various drapery materials, styles, and technologies are available. Understanding these can help you make informed decisions, optimizing your home's energy consumption. Key Features of Energy-Efficient Drapery Effective energy-efficient drapery possesses several defining features. First, the material used can significantly impact energy efficiency. Heavy, densely woven fabrics can insulate better than lighter materials. According to a study by the U.S. Department of Energy, drapery can reduce heat loss by up to 25% when closed during winter (source: energy.gov). Moreover, drapery lining enhances the insulating properties of window treatments. Thermal or blackout linings add an extra layer of insulation, boosting energy efficiency. Multi-layered drapery, a feature available through Crazy Joe's, provides enhanced insulation and energy savings. Innovative Technologies in Energy-Efficient Drapery Technological advancements contribute greatly to the evolution of energy-efficient drapery. Smart drapery systems, equipped with sensors and motorized controls, optimize energy efficiency by adjusting drapery positions based on sunlight and temperature. According to a report by Home Energy Magazine, smart window treatments can save up to 30% on energy bills (source: homeenergy.org). Additionally, certain fabrics are designed to reflect heat, further enhancing energy efficiency. Studies show that reflective fabrics can reduce heat gain by as much as 33% (source: ncbi.nlm.nih.gov). Eco-Friendly Materials The demand for eco-friendly materials in drapery is steadily increasing. Renewable materials, such as bamboo and recycled fabrics, offer sustainability alongside energy efficiency. These materials not only provide insulation but also reduce environmental impact. Crazy Joe's offers a selection of eco-friendly drapery options, aligning with the values of environmentally conscious consumers. Choosing the Right Drapery for Your Home When selecting energy-efficient drapery, several factors should guide your decision. Consider the climate in your area and the specific needs of your home. For example, homeowners in Toronto may prioritize insulation to combat cold winters. Conversely, residents of Miami might focus on reducing heat gain. Consulting with experts, like those at Crazy Joe's Drapery and Blinds, can provide valuable insights. Their team can guide you in selecting the best drapery to meet your home's unique requirements. Finally, remember that energy-efficient drapery is an investment in your home's comfort and sustainability. By selecting the right options, you can enjoy reduced energy bills and an eco-friendlier living environment. In conclusion, energy-efficient drapery options offer numerous benefits for environmentally conscious homeowners. By choosing the right materials, technologies, and providers, such as Crazy Joe's Drapery and Blinds, you can enhance both your home's energy efficiency and aesthetic appeal. Read the full article

[alexrodes]

Effortless Elegance: Motorized Shades in Miami

Motorized Shades Miami creates the highest quality motorized shades and window treatments that are easy to install, do not require tools, and can be easily operated by just one person. They offer automated motorized blinds, double-pane glass, thermal blinds, and vinyl roller shades in Miami, FL. Visit them today

[castee-yel]

Destiel AU

| calm | soft | semi-canon | word count = 1,178 |

AU that occurs after Mary dies, Castiel distances himself by wiping the hunters' minds.

This is just one of the many random plot lines that formed in my head, this one just resides in my head im a warm setting, so enjoy.

preview:

Castiel hadn't spoken to dean or sam in months, ever since the incident, what had ruined it all, ever since Mary had died due to his actions, he had decided there was no going back for him.

If he was being honest it wasn't what he thought it would be, wiping his best friends minds of the memories he had alonside with them, from hunts to sharing his first beer(s), to watching over them as they slept in crappy motels. He thought throwing all that away would provoke some great unbearable emotion in him that would lead him frantically running back to the winchesters as soon as given the chance, but he was nothing more than just... empty.

Cas, after months of migrating country to country to distract himself, had given up on that idea and now worked at the nearest gas-n-sip 40 minutes from the bunker, where he spent hours restocking shelves and watching the clock tick every day, just hoping the boys would pop in on the way to one of their many hunts.

It was one of those days, where the temperature was just right and cool, the sun was bright enough to warm your skin but not overheat you, and the clouds complimented the the skys pretty blue. The store smelt fresh and the sunlight made it seem a much brighter and spacious place than it really was.

Castiel was refilling the beverage coolers with cans of soda, the rays of light coming from the blinds warming the back of his neck, just as he bent down to pick up another soda from the crate at his feet, the door chime started jingling.

He turned round to go towards the cashier, and said "How can I help you today?" as he looked up, to which he paused, eyes widened a little bit and gulped.

There it was, the rush of blood, his heart heavy, his head light, he felt, alive, it was impossible to keep himself standing up straight without feeling faint. Cas leant on the cold steel counter for support.

"He's here, he's really here" the angel thought to himself, he tried his best to not seem to overjoyed or terrified.

"Hi, my brother and I were wondering if you sell motor oil for that-" he flicked his index finger towards the sleek black impala outside the shop window, "pretty thing outside" he continued, raising his brows and smiling as if he told some form of joke, "I don't want to hurt her engine with any of that low quality crap" the man went on as he chuckled about how precious his "baby" was, practically oblivious of Castiel wincing at his voice and laughter.

Castiel was shut off, he'd been blankly staring into the mans eyes for the entirety of his car appreciation speech.

"So, the motor oil then?" he was brought back to reality.

"Agh, yes" Castiel walked out from behind the cashier leading the man towards an isle at the back of the store, "These are the finest we have, they're a bit expensive but worth the price, we also discount the changing charge if you purchase the oil here and get it changed here too."

He had said this speech so many times it had gotten flat and dull, but he did his best to put the energy back into the words. After all, it was him...

Cas waited as he watched the man pick up one of the containers while quickly skimming through the back, barely giving any attention despite his obvious excessive concern for the car.

"I'm assuming you'd like to purchase that one sir-?"

"Its Dean" He smiled, to which Castiel felt warmth he hadnt in ages, "and yeah, if its as friggin good as it says"

Castiel gave a laugh he had been practicing ever since he got the job, to seem human enough of course, but for the first time it didnt feel like a facade. It felt genuine, and he knew why.

Cas looked down as he he took the bottle from Deans hands and walked towards the cashier, Dean following not too far behind him. Castiel placed the bottle of motor oil on the countertop and started punching in numbers on the till, avoiding his every thought to take another glimpse at dean.

"Y'know, this might be crazy but-" Dean leant foward over the till and lifted a finger "I've seen that face before" now pointing directly at a shaky, half ecstatic half horrified Castiel.

"M-Me?", He chuckled nervously avoiding those eyes and looking towards the sanitary products aisle to his left. "No no I really doubt"

"Purgatory!" Dean exclaimed, mildly blushing, "Thats where right?" He was grinning at the thought.

Castiel froze, hand putting the motor oil bottle in a bag mid air, he was no longer smiling, "P-Purgatory?" he asked, squinting, trying his hardest to seem confused and not scared.

"Miami?" Dean straightened himself so that he was no longer bending towards the man, "Purgatory Miami right?" he asked again, the angel still completely oblivious to his reference.

"I-" Cas stuttered, "I don't think we've met" he finally shoved the motor oil into the plastic bag he was holding for what seemed like years.

"My bad," Dean shrugged, handing over the money for the motor oil with a subtle smirk towards Castiel. He thanked him and strutted towards the door and out into his car.

He was gone, that was it; Cas slumped back into the chair by the till, placing his elbows on the counter and letting his head rest upon his palms as he contemplated:

"He's not dead" he thought, "and he's happy?" now leaning back and looking up at the white plain ceiling. "Miami though, what was that about?" he scoffed to himself, "Guess i'll never find out".

He got up and walked back towards the beverage coolers and continued where he left off, restacking the sodas.

Castiel was relieved, Dean Winchester was somewhat happy, he was alive, and his plan had worked, leaving him to spend his days thinking about the man who had no memory of him.

Dean got into the car to which his brother whined "What took you so long?"

"I don't know man, weird guy," Dean replied, with less of the cheery tone he had from before.

"Weird how?" His brother asked, "our kind of weird?"

"No no Sammy," Dean mumbled as he looked to the back window of the car while backing out of the stores parking lot. "Pretty sure I'd seen him in a gay bar before, he denied it a bit too harshly"

"First off, what were you doing in a gay bar" Sam questioned looking confused but not concerned, "And second off why would you confront the guy?"

"It wasnt like that, I was on a case" Dean avoided his brother's assumption, "And I thought he'd find it funny, nothing serious"

They drove off into the road, and that was that, just silence all the way, the familiarity of the man was never really shaken off from Dean, it was almost like it was printed onto him.

[hitechshades]

Choosing Modern Window Treatments, Custom Blinds, Motorized Shades, Curtains & Drapes For Your Home

Are you looking for a trustworthy and professional custom window treatment or custom window drapery dealer in Aventura, FL? Serving residential and commercial clients throughout Aventura for more than 20 years, Hitech Shades are the experts when it comes to covering your windows with custom window shade, blind, curtain and drapery. Contact Hitech Shades at a location near you in Aventura, Boca Raton, Sunny Isels, Fort Lauderdale, Miami, Doral, and surrounding areas.

For the last 20 years, Hitech Shades has been offering the highest quality, contemporary window coverings and outstanding services to both residential and commercial customers in and around Aventura, FL. Our dedication to professional expertise, durable quality products, and affordable services has helped us to gain a reputation for rendering custom manual and motorized window shades, vertical blinds, and other window treatment solutions that add style, beauty and privacy to a wide range of interior places.

If you want to install modern and top-notch Modern Patio Door Blinds, and Drapes for Sliding Glass Doors in Miami, look no further than Hitech Shades. Hitech Shades is the best choice for custom window treatments such as manual and motorized roller shades, roman shades, vertical blinds, curtains and draperies. No matter what sizes of your windows, we have the perfect and affordable window covering solutions for the windows of all types and styles to make your commercial and residential remodeling project a success.

If you’re a homeowner looking for custom Modern Window Treatment in Aventura that add privacy, light control, and style to your space, or you’re a business owner eager in creating a gorgeous impression with custom motorized window shades or blinds, we’re glad to give a diverse range of top quality window covering products from popular manufacturers like Crestron, Graber, Lutron, Hunter Douglas, Somfy, and more. Contact us today at (305) -935-0886 for a free in home estimate!  

[blindsindays-blog]

Blinds in Days provides free estimates, financing options for your installation and chosen blinds, and quality blinds and shades. With over 8 years of experience in the South Florida Market, we realize what works and looks ideal for your home. We pride ourselves in providing the best possible quality in Aluminum Blinds, Motorized Shades, Zebra shades, Wooden and Faux-Wooden Blinds, and so much more. Reliability and Honesty delivered for you with each installation and quote. A Premium blinds and shutters company, We provide free blinds installation Miami and surroundings with a free of charge estimate at home. Financing available.

Keywords window blinds miami fl, vertical blinds miami, wood blinds miami, zebra blinds miami, zebra shades miami, motorized blinds miami fl, blinds to go miami, aluminum blinds miami, bamboo shades sliding glass doors, zebra roller window shades, window treatments miami, plantation shutters miami, plantation shutters south florida

Business Hours Mon - Sat : 8:00 am - 6:00 pm Sun Closed Payment Methods: All credit cards + We provide financing with affordable monthly payment options Business Since: 2012

Address: 2630 SW 28th St Apt 11, Miami, FL 33133, United States Phone: (305) 521-7775

Website: https://www.blindsindays.com/ Business Email: hello@blindsindays.com

[tabloidtoc]

Globe, February 10

You can buy a copy of this issue at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Meghan Markle’s reign of terror 

Page 2: Up Front & Personal -- unflattering pics of celebs -- Harry Hamlin carrying a lamp, Brian Wilson takes the stage in Miami with a walker, Kaley Cuoco 

Page 3: Lizzo in New Zealand, Jackie Chan, Vanessa Hudgens takes out the trash 

Page 4: Angelina Jolie explodes over Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston lovefest 

Page 5: Email stash reveals Lori Loughlin’s college scandal scheming, Susan Sarandon has persuaded fellow aging star Jane Fonda to join her as she prowls for love 

Page 6: Heartbroken Ryan O’Neal is fading fast and friends fear the sickly star may not survive 2020

Page 7: Ailing Tatum O’Neal revealed her agonizing six-year struggle with rheumatoid arthritis 

Page 8: Movie mogul Harvey Weinstein is facing life in prison at his New York trial for raping two women and superstars Charlize Theron and Salma Hayek are hoping their devastating testimony will put him away for keeps

Page 10: Ozzy Osbourne has finally come clean about his secret fight with Parkinson’s and confesses the crippling condition has caused him constant pain for the past year, tormented Lisa Marie Presley may need a new liver

Page 11: Kelly Ripa has stopped drinking and she can thank Ryan Seacrest

Page 12: Celebrity Buzz -- Pink at Disneyland, Gwyneth Paltrow’s newest weirdo product on her Goop website -- the This Smells Like My Vagina candle -- has reignited her feud with Martha Stewart who says the candle was spotlight-craving Gwyneth’s irritating attempt to get more attention, Amy Schumer has started grueling fertility treatments to have a second child, Gisele Bundchen thinks she’s living in the real world because she still has the jeans she wore three years ago, Penn Badgley wouldn’t want to reprise his role of Dan Humphrey on the reboot of Gossip Girl but he also hasn’t been asked 

Page 13: Chain-smoker Johnny Depp plays a charity gig in Anaheim, Regis Philbin, Bjork 

Page 14: Adam Sandler doesn’t want his daughters to see his love scene in the film Uncut Gems, Thirtysomething is coming back as Thirtysomething(else) and original stars Ken Olin and Mel Harris and Timothy Busfield and Patricia Wettig are set to reprise their roles, Fashion Verdict -- Kate Beckinsale 2/10, Eva Longoria 1/10, Natalia Dyer 3/10, Jane Seymour 9/10, Laura Dern 4/10 

Page 16: Furious Whoopi Goldberg is so fed up with rude motor-mouthed Meghan McCain on The View that she’s given ABC bigwigs an ultimatum: put a leash on Meghan or she’s walking 

Page 17: Matthew McConaughey and Hugh Grant set up a blind date for their parents

Page 19: 10 Things You Don’t Know About Lucas Till, less than a year after Chrissy Metz wowed the crowd at the ACM Awards the TV star has inked a country record deal, Jennifer Lopez considered becoming a stripper before hitting the big time 

Page 20: Jeffrey Epstein didn’t kill himself 

Page 21: True Crime 

Page 24: Meghan Markle’s ugly family feuds -- she’s fighting her own flesh and blood and is blamed for bringing the monarchy to it’s knees -- Prince Harry will do anything to keep her happy 

Page 26: Health Report 

Page 44: Straight Talk -- the real reason Wendy Williams is the queen of mean 

Page 45: Tom Cruise will no longer play Jack Reacher because he’s too short -- the writer Lee Child made Reacher six-foot-five in the books and in the new Amazon Prime series based on Child’s books the writer insisted on casting a taller actor, trapped in a toxic marriage with Justin Timberlake has made Jessica Biel miserable but she doesn’t have the guts to file for divorce 

[miamiplantation-blog]

Miami Plantation Shutter and Blinds Company; Reef Window Treatments

Reef Window Treatments is a Plantation Shutter, Blinds & Shading Customization, Motorization and Installation Company. We have over 16 years in the window covering business. We are a full service interiors company. We can help with any design project, from fabric selection to installation.

Address: 7165 SW 47th St, Unit 315, Miami, Florida 33155, USA Phone: 786-847-7933 Website: https://www.reefwindowtreatments.com

[growthengineseo]

Upgrade Your Home with Motorized Vertical Blinds from Miami Dade Shades: Convenience Meets Elegance

In today's busy world, motorized vertical blinds from Miami Dade Shades are the perfect addition for homeowners seeking both style and convenience. These advanced blinds allow effortless control over light and privacy with the touch of a button—no more tangled cords or chains. Whether you’re at home or away, adjust your blinds using a remote, smartphone, or even voice control through smart home integration.

Motorized vertical blinds offer numerous benefits, including enhanced safety for children and pets, energy efficiency, and versatile style options to match any decor. Plus, they’re customizable with various materials and colors to fit any room. Experience a blend of modern technology and classic design that transforms any space into a comfortable and stylish sanctuary.

Ready to enhance your home’s comfort and elegance? Discover the innovative motorized vertical blinds from Miami Dade Shades and elevate your lifestyle today. https://miamidadeshades.com/elevate-your-home-with-motorized-vertical-blinds/

[namesnot-rick]

Johnson and Gilligan’s “Two Weeks in Hell”

(And Other Strange Purchases from the Dream Marketplace)

“Excuse me, is that a Boeing-737?”  I say, shuffling my feet toward the sun-bathed creature at my direct far-left.  She looks puzzlingly; examiningly, I may say.  The hiss and growl of machinery crawl in my ear and scream me deaf.  I point the ample-titted Mary toward the hulking plane which soars just overhead and nearly rips my head in two.

“I said- is that a Boeing-737!”

“I can’t hear you over this Boeing-737!”

“What!”

“I said-”  Useless.  The woman-species has proven futile in the quest for a simple inquiry; not the first, nor the last time.  The beastly idiot-mother - she which has denied the relinquishment of her youth for twenty years beyond her prime - those which should sag, perpetuated unnecessarily by the vanity of the grotesque, obscene, leech-brained Mother of the illiterate and the neurotic.  I dream of heaving those mammaries-in-denial straight into the sky - sending them through a jet engine, shredded upon contact, clogging the deafening mechanical beast with silicon and sending it spiraling into the Atlantic abyss!  What a glorious lark, what a plunge, what a-

“Excuse me, is that a Boeing-737!” says a blind fellow, whose grasp encompasses my shoulder.

“What!”

“I said, is that a-”

“Is that a Boeing-737!”  He shrugs and falls away.  Signs read, ‘Florida Man mauled to death poking alligator with stick down in the bayou’, and then flash green, and bathe under the sunlight for two hours, and then melt away.  It is silent now except for the radiating humidity and a hose attached to an extinguisher, whirling in the air and spouting ocean-water until the water goes back in the ocean.  The ocean is next to the road and the road is next to a highway and the highway is next to three buildings; one looks like Miami and the other looks like an airplane and the other looks like a hit disco nightclub, in bright blue neon script, “Havana.”  Vehicles zip through the interstate route, six lanes of terrifying speed and inhumanity, the road threatening to jump up and and strike my elbow bloody and pull me down; litter-infested industrial non-sentient rats screaming by at eighty miles an hour and blowing down palm trees as they go by,

All standing between myself and the hit disco nightclub, “Havana.”  Threat levels rise as I inch forward with a single-toe, testing the dangerous and rabid white-foaming waves, biting back, and

I close my eyes and hold my breath and plunge into the polychromatic midnight-indigo entrance of the hit disco nightclub, “Havana”; there’s another doorway and I’m in a dimly-lit waiting room.  A bouncer stands before me, an immovable palm tree of a man with laser-show pink stealing through the cracks and reflecting against his massive white shoes.

“Tell me the business,” I say.  He nods and steps aside.  The beat rises like heat from the pavement, the funk pours in as the doorway proceeds open, lights dazzle epileptically across the purple-checkered dance floor, littered with inflatable tube men embracing and assaulting each other; simultaneous and communal and chaotic, stuck in their single inflatable spot and reaching across and then up and falling down, to repeat the process.

“A sight to behold,” a voice comes over the PA.  I nod.  Four non-inflatable men, apparently Puerto-Rican or Dominican, donning green-striped zoot suits, dart their eyes my way.  Two drop their shades, like Risky Business; one spills his drink all over himself and blushes; the other, long and handsome, hair slicked all the way back, pulls me forth on an invisible rope, stringing me toward the floor and dancing away.  I feel my bones give way to the liquid-

“Feel your bones melt into the radioactive beat, my sweet child,” says the PA.  I am amid the chaos of dozens of inflatable men and four zoot-suited Dominicans, shoulders and waist in unison; the disco-flavor is ingestible, and open my eyes to see that I, too, am donning the slick-sly-livin’ green-striped zoot suit.  This is the moment; I am the moment; I am not me; I am- I am- I am-

“You are the child of a new funk,” says the PA; euphoria emanates from my core, stings my extremities; I feel alive and dead and passed on to a higher groove.

“Florida Man mauled to death,” says the PA, and a beat drop.  “Poking alligator,” the voice melts into the music, “down in the bayou.”

* * *

“We may have to commit violent crimes,” says the slick green zoot to his friends, over a radioactive yellow drink that spills over the side and melts through the wood floor.

“I don’t think.”

“We could, but the logistical processes are immense.”

“Is she prepared for-”

“Of course she-”

“The island is a horrible dangerous venue, complete with razor blades on all corners of the mountain, and such a trek could not possibly be expected of a mere-”

“Are you in?”  The zoots pause their quibbling; they shoot expecting glances toward me.  “Are you in,” he repeats.  Anticipation motors overhead, lingers in the air like silicon-shredded tits behind a malfunctioned jet engine.  The inflatable tube men lean closer.  The music ceases; the frogs no longer croak; the world is at a stand still.  “Are you-”

“Well, is this Havana?” I reply.  It remains still for a moment; the men then throw their collective arms up with all the inflatable tube men, and a ‘huzzah’ the size of Tampa overtakes the “Havana.”  I relish briefly in the sweet moment and three of the zoots melt into the floor; the remaining one follows me toward the backroom.  There stands another palm-tree bouncer with huge white shoes.

“It is Tuesday,” he tells me.

“Now it is Thursday,” I reply as Christ himself, shattering the previously accepted bounds of time and space.  He complies.  The zoot hurries alongside my epochal steps, which surpass thousands of documents in a mere instant.  The room we enter is dark, noir-esque; my zoot suit turns monochromatic.  The room is heated, dry like baked ceramic.  It pervades my lungs.  It smells of vast conspiracy.

“We’re looking for a book,” he says.  I slant my eyes and light a cigarette, and look about the room.  A small office, blinds drawn, entirely black and white.  A coat rack in the corner is bare; papers are strewn hectically across the desk in front of dozens of filing cabinets.  The door reads, backwards, ‘FITZGERALD, M.D.’  I remember being here before; scheming of some sort, and the overwhelming existential dread of a plan gone awry.  I clear my throat, compose myself, exhale smoke from my nose, and speak from the far corner of my mouth:

“What kind of book… fiction?”  The zoot falls silent and looks suspiciously at the oncoming shadow; he hides behind the coat rack.  A dame staggers in and falls drunkenly across the desk, failing to notice me standing there with a cigarette frozen to my lips.  An incoherent tune passes through her messy red lipstick in heaving, inebriated sighs.  Some sort of old jazzy standard, mixed with a cheap perversion of the Star Spangled Banner.  Her sweeping, bare leg knocks a stapler across the floor, and she looks up with the expression of a junkie whose stove has caught fire.

“Who are-” she burps, the words falling from her slacken jaw.  “You’re not supposed- this isn’t your office.”

“Dammit, Johnson, get this whore out of here!” the zoot exclaims fiercely, storming out from behind the wall with a ‘FITZGERALD, M.D.’ nametag sewn to his shirt.  “This is no time for games; I, the owner of this fine establishment, have pressing matters to attend to.”

“I don’t understand-”  the zoot knocks her unconscious with a swift and gruesome blow to her painted cheek; the whore goes flying into the back wall, and the zoot turns away with the look of a prize fighter, shaking his hand painfully.  He rips off the nametag, crushes it beneath his foot, and spits on the remains.

“My name’s not Fitzgerald, anyway.”

“Who’s Johnson?”

“We’re in too deep now, Johnson.”

“What about the book,” I reply.

“Yes, of course; nonfiction.  Island based.  Look for the volcano with razors,” says the zoot.  I drag the befallen whore across the floor to get to the ‘I’ filing terminal.  Behind her is a pool of dried blood; her lipstick has turned a shade of grey.  Sunlight, peering through the drawn shades, strikes obliquely across her exposed cleavage.

“What a mess,” I comment.  The zoot spins his detective hat around and removes a magnifying glass from the front of his pocket.

“We’re in too deep now,” he says.

“We haven’t much time.”

“We’ve committed a violent crime, Johnson.  Barbaric, illegal, striking at the very core of man’s depraved soul.  The question is: whether you, a capable man but surely one of a decent moral fibre, maybe a tinge of childhood innocence lurking in your soul - whether you are willing to confront those demons when the inevitable day comes.”

“Volcano with razors,” I reply.

“This is not a game.  The stakes have been raised infinitely.  This poor woman, probably a mother, certainly a daughter - her blood is on our hands.”

“Volcano with razors.  Volcano with razors.  Volcano with”

“That is the owner’s daughter which you’ve so ruthlessly struck down, Johnson.  Notice the dark-grey appearance about her; lifeless! just as every other god-forsaken item in this room.  Gone.  Dead.  Sunken into the earth, receded into a dark and timeless void beyond our solar system.  She, whose demise is a mere infinitesimal speck on the blood-stained shirt of humanity’s graveyard!”

“Volcano with razors.”

“Murder, Johnson; goddammit, it’s murder!”

“Got it!  Volcano with razors.”

“Delightful!”  The zoot rubs his fingers across my cheek affectionately, burns my temple with a wet kiss, and removes the book from my grasp.  He rotates it thrice, and sifts through the pages hastily.

“Aha!” he exclaims.  “This is it.  You’ve done it again, Johnson!”

“Volcano with razors.”

“Yes, Johnson, very good.”

“Volcano with razors.”

“We must first attain a million dollar boat; inflatable, preferably.  And then we may proceed to the next step of our plan.”

“What is the next step,” I inquire.

“We may have to commit more violent crimes, Johnson.”

“It’s Tuesday now,” I reply five days later.  The zoot has crowded himself into the back corner, five o’clock shadow stuck indelibly to his chin.  He gnaws hungrily at the cuff of his suit, struck by the vanity of it all.

“Johnson, we’ve killed the owner’s daughter.”

“Have we yet attained the million dollar boat.”

“I cannot stand to look anymore at these grey walls.  A man needs color in his life, Johnson.  A man needs sexual gratification.  Will you make love to me, Johnson?”

“It is Wednesday now.”

“Have you any idea what it is like to starve oneself of physical intimacy and nutritional sustenance for nearly a week, Johnson?  I could eat my own suit.”

“You already have,” I reply.

“That is correct, yes.  I remember yesterday quite clearly.  The pain is immense, but my memory is still sharp.  I say, Johnson, the digestion of that seersucker cotton has certainly been something of a struggle.”

“Yes, it has.”

“Oh, the defecation, don’t mind that.  Merely the sign of a healthy and functioning digestive system.  In the black and white you cannot make out the entrails quite so clearly.”

“It is Sunday now.”

“The Lord’s day on Earth, Johnson.  Perhaps this time he shall save us from this noir-influenced hellhole.  Johnson, are you going to eat that suit anytime soon?”

“I am quite full, courtesy of the dinners brought to us by the owner’s secretary.”

“May I have that suit?”

“It is Thursday now.”

“One week and nine days, Johnson.  An insufferable experience, surely; but there is no man I would have rather spent it with than you.”

“I’m a woman.”  The phone rings.

“Yes,” the zoot says.  “Killed the owner’s daughter, yes.  Banned from the club, you say?  The most expected route of action, undoubtedly.  I am truly sorry for going through your things, sir.  Yes, I will let Johnson know.  Yes, yes.  No, no.  Perhaps.  Well, I would not say I was discourteous in refusing the secretary’s dinners, but I was quite full from the suit; you could understand.  Mmhm.  Repulsive, you say?  Well, I have not exactly kept my body in peak physical condition, but that seems a bit harsh.  Get the Hell out?  Surely, sir.  Thank you for the extended stay.”

“Johnson.”

“Yes?”

“Check the phone, please.”

“But you’re holding the phone.”

“Not this phone; the computer… no, not that computer; the printer.”  There is a letter, in color, designed much in the way of a diploma.  It reads: ‘We hereby grant the deed of  ONE ONE-MILLION DOLLAR INFLATABLE BOAT  to a Mr. D. Gilligan, courtesy of the Avalanche Holding Company.’

“Who is D. Gilligan,” I inquire.

“Avalanche Holding Company… where do I know that name?”

“Who is D. Gilligan?”

* * *

“I tell you, I’ve had plenty of fine meals in my lifetime, but nothing in life compares to the pop! of the reds and blues and yellows after two weeks and two days in that monotonous hellhole.”  Gilligan has one hand on the steering wheel of his classic convertible sportcar, and the other is chomping on the blunt end of a thicket of seersucker cotton.  His teeth gnash expertly through the various tightly-wound fibers, and sit dryly at the back of his throat.

“Johnson, grab me a glass of water, will you?”

“You haven’t any water in here.”

“Grab it from the ocean, Johnson!  The coastline is your proverbial oyster!  Nothing can stop us now; ‘tis but a dreamland!”  I do exactly so, and he thanks me kindly while removing his other hand from the wheel to suck down the musty ocean water.  “Doesn’t it feel good to be alive once more, my friend?”  Johnson throws the glass across the interstate pavement, and places a pair of sunglasses at the tip of his nose.  “Miami Vice, Johnson!”

“I suppose it feels positively enlivening to be alive, Gilligan.”

“You know, Johnson, I’ve grown quite fond of you over these past two weeks in Hell.  You’ve danced with the inflatable, committed violent crimes, graciously surrendered your suit to my digestive tract, and then watched me strain and yank that very suit from my bloody asshole.”

“I suppose I have, Gilligan.  I’d like to think of us as partners; quick-thinking, detective types.  Struggling immensely through the hard times, and, as of now, enjoying the fresh and colorful breaths of a life on the run.”

“Indeed, Johnson, a positively liberating lifestyle.  That was very well put; have you considered writing the next great American novel?”

“I fancy a working class tale myself, Gilligan.  One which speaks to the fiercest plights of our downtrodden peoples; the chilling battle cry of a hundred million in unison, calling upon Marx’s inevitable ascent and ushering in the calm and slumbering twilight of man’s existence.”

“Yes; yes!  That which shall tickle furiously at the very pudenda of the working man’s discontented soul!”

“A tale of sound and fury, Gilligan, though told by an idiot it shall not be!  I envision the vanguard of a new and permanent order, under which our people shall at last flourish in material and intellectual prosperity.”

“I have always desired the stately mustache of an absolute ruler, Johnson.”

Perhaps I shall entitle it: Gilligan and Johnson’s ‘Two Weeks in Hell.’”

“Try this on for size: Johnson and Gilligan’s ‘Two Weeks in Hell.’”  The flattering sentiment hangs in the air, accompanied by a coastline peace and the low whirring of a well-functioning motor vehicle.  Before us, the sunset twists into deep blues and reds, the palette of God’s own improvised brush for the enjoyment of a few appreciative mortals.  The highway breeze spindles delicately about my bonneted hair; I feel like Elizabeth Taylor from the movies.  No - Thelma and Louise.  No - Bonnie and Clyde.  Outlaws on the run, mired in chaos; forced by our respective low upbringings to commit violent crimes, and finding in the process that we love the thrill of it all.  And what better place

“What better place,” I look over at Gilligan, “than sunny Miami, Florida.”

“I tell you, Johnson, I am not set at ease by this whole Avalanche Holding Company thing.  It feels like a classic ploy from the movies.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, what the hell would an avalanche be doing all the way out here in the sun and bayou?”

* * *

Feeling several miles beyond the civilisation of the metropolis, Gilligan and I look about the shipping yard with squinted eyes.  Silent apprehension creeps toward and festers under our fingernails.  It is thick with flour.  It pervades like bacterial mud-soup.  It leeches at the sides of our matching leather platforms; unties our premium polyester shoelaces; discolors the bottoms of our four-hundred dollar green-striped zoot suits.

“Tragedy strikes,” says Gilligan, “in the muddiest of crevices.”

“Vanity is not a luxury afforded to the working class,” I reply.

“Even Tony Montana had to dirty his shoes every once in a while.”

“Montana, you say?”

“What about it?”

“Don’t they have avalanches in Montana?”

“My God, Johnson!  Where is our  MILLION DOLLAR INFLATABLE BOAT????”  In pure shock and revulsion, I turn to see a strange man charge Gilligan with a crowbar and strike him twice across the skull!

“The zoot man is dead!” he exclaims in an Eastern European accent to his charging accomplice, a table-sized pizza box with eight menacing legs extending well over a foot into the air.

“O zoot está morto!” responds the beastly creation, its pizza-box mouth flapping triumphantly.

“You fucking bastard!” I shout, pulling a four-inch dagger from my green-striped zoot suit and promptly jabbing it several times into the side of the wicked Bulgarian swine.  He falls to his side wheezing, splattering mud across my green-striped zoot suit; he convulses erratically in the desperate fashion of an inflatable tube man.

“It is the tube man!” I respond horrifically, the full weight of this conspiracy before my disbelieving eyes.

“Ah, veja, ele é o cara do metrô, mas eu sou o Avalanche!”  The arachnid pizza box rears his back toward me, and reveals the letters upon it, spelled across the cardboard in faded ink: ‘COURTESY OF THE AVALANCHE HOLDING COMPANY.’

“It cannot- no, it cannot be!”  I fall back several steps as the table-board-eight-legged-freak inches toward me, cackling heinously, deafeningly, each leg stabbing inexorably into my predestined fate.  I hold to my dagger in trembling fear; the beast’s shrills grow nearer.

“A avalanche atinge o pior ao amanhecer!”  With a single crow-barred blow, the revived Gilligan collapses the monster in the stew-thickened mud.  The beasts transmutes immediately into a vile, Portuguese conquistador, whose twirling facial hair and fragile, South European frame are caked in the bayou earth.

“O sofrimento; O sofrimento,” he whispers despairingly.  Stimulated by the violent crime and the near death of my closest companion, I throw myself onto the useless conquistador and jab my dagger into his belly repeatedly.  Entrails spill out onto the tip, which I promptly wipe across his teary, dirt-plastered cheek.

The imperialist cunt cries aloud, pleading for mercy, claiming his innocence in the vain last breaths of the desperate and pathetic; in his infantile hysterics, I derive a cold and unfeeling pride, that of the unchallenged victor, forgetting the presence of my faithful companion for the briefest moment.  With a swift one-two, I pull his blood-suffocated tongue from his throat and cut horizontally, leaving a long gash which flows exceptionally across quivering lips.  Pulling the tongue apart, I peer in as one might at a piece of seared pork, to make sure it is of an acceptable internal temperature.

“O, ye sweet red-milk of the soon deceased, ye tender flesh of the befallen conquistador!”

“Johnson.”

“O, ye convulsing body of the sick Portuguese whore!  O, ye bloody triumph and arousal!”

“Johnson!”

“My Lord, Gilligan; when did you arrive?”

“Johnson, we must make it to the sea; the great pangs of our journey lie ahead yet.”

“A volcano with razors?”

“Indeed, my dearest friend.  Now, that  MILLION DOLLAR INFLATABLE BOAT has got to be around here somewhere.”

“Could it be near the sea?”

“Genius, Johnson!  Simply stupendous, on the ball, on top of one’s feet, thinking on the balls of your feet, Johnson!”

“It is Friday now.”

“That it is, Johnson, and the shallow Everglades are nearly behind us.  Phone for you, Johnson.”

“Hello?”

“This is your mother; when will you be coming back home to Nebraska?”

“Whenever; I have new a new friend now.”

“The meatloaf is almost cold,” she responds in a heaving sigh.

“I’ve committed serious violent crimes, Mother.”

“You’ve what?”

“And I’ll commit them against you if you’re not careful, you crustaceous, obscene, darling bovine cunt.”  I drop the phone in the water, and a stillness permeates the air.  Gilligan continues chewing on the sopping ends of a thin slice of seersucker cotton, stabbed through on the end by a wooden prod.

“Easier for bayou dipping,” Gilligan explains, to which I nod agreeably.

“Say, Gilligan?”

“What’s the word, Johnson.”

“I’ve been thinking.  We haven’t quite confronted the nature of our violent crimes, have we?”

“Death toll of three, Johnson.  Such is the life of crime-detectives on the run; we who’ve lived an extensive two weeks through the fiery plight of Hell, endured hardship and near starvation in the depths of a noir-influenced catatonia.”

“Well… what will I tell my kids?”

“Have you any children, Johnson?  This is pertinent information, you should’ve warned me sooner.  Kids carry diseases, Johnson.  Swampy diseases.  Dysentery, chlamydia, influenza, schizophrenia, the like.  Have you dysentery?”

“No; nothing of the sort.”

“Then get to the point, you sentimental bastard.”

“Well, provided I do.  How do I look them in the eye and tell them I murdered a table-sized, pizza-box, Portuguese, arachnid conquistador in cold blood?  That I truly enjoyed slicing open his tongue like a pan-seared pork fillet?”  Gilligan mulls over the question pensively for several moments, seeming quite perplexed by the potential moral quandary of our actions.  Looking ahead toward our destination, he responds:

“That is something you’ve got to confront, my dearest amigo.  In the meantime, we’ve a volcano with razors on our mind.”  Gilligan, finishing his piece of seersucker, looks about himself, and has tragically run dry of the digestible fabric.  He clutches impatiently at his stick, slaps it against the side of his boat to the tune of Smoke on the Water.  Smoke rises from the water; something sinister stirs beneath the surface.  “Say, could I get a slice of your shirt, Johnson?”

“Why, you’ve ate it all alread-”

“Johnson, look - a beastly gator; a dirty swamp-toothed reptilian of the sea!  Perhaps I shall poke it with this handy stick!”

“Gilligan, no!”

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