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Single Serving Stories Series- ‘Of Pipers and Pigs’

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Under the Green Desk Lamp…

Green DesklampIn addition to regular blog articles and my published novels, I’ve also written several Single Serving Stories over the years. Some have been published in anthologies like ‘Between the Shelves’, ‘Edmonton: Unbound’, and ‘All Mapped Out’. Others have been shared exclusively on this blog via the publication platform Smashwords.

Recent changes to the Smashwords platform has made it a less reliable option however, and therefore an exciting change has come to Brad OH Inc.

I will be re-sharing in full—un-edited and un-abridged—all Single Serving Stories previously published on Smashwords with Brad OH Inc. as the new, exclusive provider. All text will be provided in full, with no download necessary. If Smashwords don’t like that, they can message our complaints department.

This project will culminate in a couple of heretofore unpublished Single Serving Stories, so even the most dedicated of readers will have something to look forward to.

Today we share our third Single Serving Story, ‘Of Pipers and Pigs’. This one was always a favourite of my father’s. I was very proud of that.

The thin metal barricades were all that separated us from them. Judging by the press of people facing us, it was anybody’s guess how long that alone would be sufficient. I gazed down the line—right and left—to the determined men and women by my side. They stood resolutely shoulder to shoulder, as was their duty, and the resolve on their faces did much to conceal the doubt in their eyes.

I saw my own uncertainty mirrored in theirs. It wasn’t so much a question of whether the barricade would hold—such tides had an inconceivable ability to lay waste to even the most thorough plans of men—but how they would react when it did give. The answer would be different for each of them.

With a turn of my head, I brought my attention to the people before me. They were a mixed lot. They wore all manner of clothing, having come here from every walk of life. I saw furious men in fancy suits, raving college kids with gaudy t-shirts, topless folk with body paint…and cameras—so many cameras all aimed at me and my colleagues. They were as eager to judge our course of action as we were to settle upon it.  

The railing, which reached to my midsection, swayed violently against the upheaval. It threatened now to collapse in against us, then to topple over upon them. Many of the onlookers were angry—the sort of anger that occurs only in those who have known great comfort, and now perceive it being denied to them. I felt their breath against my face.

One man loomed up right before me, pushing and shoving as if vying for position on the floor of some mad rock show. Jerking and wheeling, he made his way to the fence, holding up a blindingly bright sign and seeming to scream in tongues. The letters were too close to form words, but danced before me like the disjointed stars of some unfamiliar constellation. What does he want?

A sudden surge brought the mass forward, and the metal joints of the fence screeched in distress. Instinctively, I threw my weight forward to counter the assault, and felt my efforts validated by those beside me working in perfect unison.

Amongst the crowd, some fought harder. Like dogs chasing cars, their desire for action far exceeded their comprehension of the potential results. Others retreated quickly, slipping backwards and leaving in their wake only curses, insults, and more of their kind to fill their place.

Accusations flared in their eyes, confusing me, as I was usually looked to for comfort. Wasn’t that the idea?

Upon my left breast, my fingers drifted absently across my badge, as they did so often in moments like this. It felt the same as ever—the familiar surface that read like brail ever since the day it was first given to me. Each bump and scratch brought back the words of the oath I’d taken so long ago. They would never be forgotten.

So much has changed since then.

Shouts clawed at me from beyond the barricade, but were muffled by voices resounding in my head from much, much further away in time and space.

“What are you going to do about it?” my father had asked me.

I didn’t know, and kept my silence.

“Are you afraid?”

Yes, I knew. “No.”

There was blood on my face, my shirt…my hands.

“It’s all right to be,” he said, leaning down. He was a large man, and wore a rough old wool sweater as he set me upon his lap. “Smart men know when to be afraid.” He always knew how to comfort me.

“But everybody’s blaming someone else. Evan even blames me.” My whining was piteous, but at that age the strength of another is the surest route to vulnerability in yourself.

“That’s the way of the world,” he replied with a knowing sigh. Even in my hardest days, he expected me to find the answers for myself. There was no learning in being told what to do.

“But if no one really knows what happened, how can I know what’s right?” I pleaded, hoping for any bit of inspiration to help me resolve the insignificant playground conflicts which then seemed to be the focal point of all the world’s stress.

Then I saw it. Looking up over my shoulder, I watched the wisdom fade away. The certainty and resolve I’d come to depend on flowed like ice melting in spring, and the sun of confusion shone upon his face, illuminating the deep lines and off-coloured spots of the long years he’d seen. His eyes glassed over, as with a deep recollection he would not share. “I don’t know.” He’d answered.

“I’ll figure it out,” I’d assured him, wrapping my small arms around his shoulders, and losing myself in his familiar scent.

My fingers moved back down from my badge as my gaze wandered out to my left, chasing the sudden sounds of struggle. Farther down the fence, I saw a large throbbing black shape as several officers pushed together. A shouted chant was rising up and spreading from the area, but the words were lost to me.

At the heart of the mob, I could make out Jason, my oldest friend on the force. His uniform was splashed with paint, and he was yelling loudly, pointing at one of the men in front.

Ahead of me the crowd continued to heave and push, frantic to go someplace they didn’t know, and perhaps had only dreamed of. A sudden yell brought me back to the struggle, and I saw them dragging away the protestor Jason had indicated. The man kicked and lashed out; fighting desperately to be free from what he’d so passionately sought mere moments before.

“Just hold your position,” directed one of the other uniformed men beside me. “They’ve got it under control.” I’d never met him before.

The scene was dispersing now—most officers returning to their former positions as Jason and three others carried the man away. He was docile now, smiling innocently at the flashing cameras as my friends dragged his dead weight along. Passing behind me as they went, Jason whispered, “’Right and true’, buddy.”

I felt a subtle smile force its way across my lips. “Right and true,” I mouthed, but he was beyond hearing now. With the departure of my three colleagues, the line shifted as the remaining officers spread out, widening their stances to cover the gaps. I followed suit.

“Fucking pigs!” someone yelled. It made no difference who. Tension stiffened the limbs of those standing beside me as my own spine straightened with indignation. Did they come here today just to pick fights? Many looked as if they had.

But anger was not the only emotion worn by the people before me. They yelled and chanted. They shook the railing and they held up crude signs with uncertain meanings. But as they looked back at us, I could see in them the same fear I concealed in myself, the brooding question as to how this situation would end—what an ending to it would even mean.

The anxiety on their brows told me they knew their danger as well as I did, and were entirely aware that their absent friend was not the exception—that the same could happen as easily to any one of them. Gazing upon their strange looks of apprehension stiffened with resolution, I found myself wondering if their greatest fear was not that they might be arrested today, or that the barricade would break and their flood sweep over our breakwaters. It struck me that perhaps their real concern was that nothing at all would happen; that the tide would pass, and things would remain unchanged, and that they’d need to be back here again some other day.

Each face held a secret judgement, and again my fingers flashed briefly over my cold metal badge, assuring me that I was on the right side of the line. But ‘right’ is a funny word, and with my experience, I knew how to read its presence. Beyond all the anger, beyond the anxieties and fears, beyond the trepidation and dissent, I saw the ‘right’ in every one of them—an absolute certainty, as if they held some truth which I lacked. They believed in their cause absolutely.

It’s a strange thing, that two sides can line up so neatly, and stand in opposition to men who they may have peacefully passed on the street only a day before, yet both be so thoroughly convinced of the sole truth of their own position.

Right and true… I reflected, and I remembered Jason standing proud beside me the day we’d been given our badges. He beamed as the applause took hold of him, while I stood straight and calm by his side. We’d finally made it.

Later that night, we’d sat together in solemn reflection—drinking beers and speaking of the future.

“So, now what?” I’d wondered.

“Now we finally get to begin.” Jason responded as if the path we’d been seeking was laid out before us—forever free of forks or detours.

“Yeah… begin.” I acquiesced.

“Listen,” Jason put his hand on my shoulder. He was three years older than I, and had been a mentor to me as we’d come up through training together. “We’re officers of the law now. No matter where we find ourselves, we’ve got to remember that ‘right’ is on our side.”

I smiled, certain he was correct. Still, there was unease in me, remembering conversations from long ago… people long gone. “What if ‘right’ isn’t always clear?”

Jason took a long pull from his pint glass, emptying it down to suds as he rolled his eyes. “Jesus,” he’d said. “It’s your first day as a cop, and you’re already having doubts about yourself? Shape up man; you’ve reached the Promised Land. That badge you got today—that means ‘right’. If you’re honest with yourself, you’ll remember that. What’s got you so down anyway?”

It wasn’t an easy thing to describe, especially in the face of my friend’s confidence. I sat awkwardly, taking noncommittal sips from my glass as Jason stared straight through me. His focus was astounding when he was intent on a subject. “I guess the whole time I was fighting for this, I felt like it would come with some solution. They got me ready for the job, trained me physically and mentally. Yet today, when they pinned it to my shirt, it seemed so heavy.

“Now all the expectations are on me, but I’m still the same person. The same doubts, the same uncertainties, the same ability to see different sides of an argument. I thought it would come with answers…I don’t know—I just expected to be more sure of the truth is all.”

“You’re never going to find any truth outside yourself buddy,” Jason grinned as he spoke, revelling in his perceived wisdom. “But you’ve come this far because you know enough truth already. You wouldn’t be here otherwise. Remember all those clowns who started with us. Where are they now? You have a great honour here man; your duty is to serve the people, to do what’s right. That’s the only truth you need.”

“You’re right,” I agreed, finishing my beer.

“Right and true!” Jason smiled.

A deep roar shattered my reverie, returning me to my post. The crowd was shifting, as if the masses were a single great beast breathing in for the charge. It swelled, pushing against the fence, testing it…seeking the breaking point.

Again I threw my shoulder against it, and again my fellow officers were there in unison. We stood as one resolute blockade, convincing ourselves together that the direction of the few could outweigh the determination of the many. Then the beast exhaled, the chants rose up again, and the moment had passed.

Straightening up, I gazed about me—the instant of reprieve allowing me to look out over the sea of humanity and take in the entirety of the scene.

They stretched back as far as I could see. There were people of every imaginable ethnicity, all ages and backgrounds. They all stood packed together in a sprawling, sweaty mass. Some were pressed so close to others they seemed barely able to speak or move, but remained as a number—one amongst many—and that was enough for them.

The square was packed from end to end; the traffic had been redirected well in advance. Somewhere in the distance I heard the beating of drums and tambourines, banging and clanging not with the heavy rhythm of an army on the move, but sounding more like a folk festival; a strange, displaced cultural jamboree tearing down the ritualistic order of our city.

In odd corners and assorted empty pockets amid the human sea, tents had been erected, and here and there circles of protestors danced with looks of joy on their faces, as if oblivious to the chaos around them.

Many held signs, each made by hand and bearing its own unique interpretation of the mob’s intent. I read them skeptically, trying to glean some idea of what exactly that intention was.

Some bore only curt slogans about change, while others featured well known logos and images of public figures, each altered and contorted to share their intended messages.

One logo I spied was instantly familiar. It came attached to my family’s healthcare receipts—the ones which got accepted at any rate. Another one, though it was partially covered with bright red lettering, I recognized to represent the corporation in charge of my pension. I’d heard they weren’t doing so well.

High up all around the square, the same logos—pristine and fresh—looked down accusingly at the scene. Each promised its own deliverance from the daily grind: ‘Fresh Food at Cheap Prices’, ‘Cars to Suit Your Class’… special offers to ‘Buy $100 Now for $120 Later’. Many of the biggest billboards bore bank logos so common amongst the signs of the crowd that it was easy to forget their actual origins.

A scuffle to the right stole my attention, and looking, I saw a ragged protestor in a dull fleece sweater trying to wrestle his sign back from the hands of two of my colleagues. Though torn and bent, on it I could distinguish the defaced countenance of the man who signed my paycheques.

Right and true. The words echoed in my ears, seeming as naturally fitted to one another as polar ends of a magnet…as ‘Us and Them’. I was surprised to feel my fists wrapping themselves around the metal railing before me. It had none of the old etchings of my badge, yet still my fingers clung to its sleek bars as my mind raced.

The uncertainty in the faces squaring off against each other was the only visible balance. I stared at the people beside me, then at those in front of me. Each group stood upon their respective side of the metal barricade, looking to one another as if to ensure the plan hadn’t changed.  Everyone had come here with some expectation, but all stood patiently now, just wondering how it was going to end.

The railing jerked under my hands.

Right and true were sundered by doubt, and the smooth surface of the shifting rail assured me that I was as guideless as the rest—left to draw my own conclusions…though there was still the badge. All lined up beside me, my fellow officers remained strong, doing their duty. Each had undoubtedly reached this position with intentions similar to my own. What are they thinking now?

A sudden urge took me, and I felt my body turn. There was a hand upon my shoulder, though I couldn’t tell if it belonged to an officer or protestor as my vision turned away from the bustling mass behind me and settled upon the ornate building now in front. It stood on our side of the barricade, fenced entirely by my friends and colleagues as suited men passed in and out unhindered.

Your duty is to serve the people, to do what’s right. That’s the only truth you need. Jason’s words rang through my mind as a tremor passed down my spine. I turned back around, and set my shoulders squarely in line with the fence.

The chants and screams were growing louder now, and the heads of the people beyond me drifted side to side wildly as the crowd surged about like boats unmoored against a rising storm.

My right hand drifted towards my chest once more, closing around the cold metal over my heart. My left remained upon the railing as it jockeyed wildly about, threatening to fail at any moment. Which way will I face when it does?

Right and true. I felt all things at once now: the barricade before me, the badge upon me, the gun at my side, and the surging mob pushing towards me. The fence bounced and jostled—the frail division line between us ready at any moment to collapse upon itself. Then we’ll all stand together.

I imagined the protestors struggling over the wreckage of the barricade, pondered the responses of my fellow officers…and of myself. ‘Right’ was a hollow spot in my chest, and ‘true’ was but a taunting memory. There was a lump in my throat I could not swallow, and I found my thoughts settling ultimately upon my own family at home, wondering what they’d expect of me.

Still the fence held, though I knew that whether here and now, or later and elsewhere, it had to break in the end. There were questions to be answered, and when the tides of society shifted, there was no barrier sufficient to stand against the flood.

I straightened my back and waited, knowing I had a decision to make.

-Brad OH Inc.

Single Serving Stories Series- ‘A Conversation of Inconclusive Results’

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Under the Green Desk Lamp…

Green Desklamp

In addition to regular blog articles and my published novels, I’ve also written several Single Serving Stories over the years. Some have been published in anthologies like ‘Between the Shelves’, ‘Edmonton: Unbound’, and ‘All Mapped Out’. Others have been shared exclusively on this blog via the publication platform Smashwords.

Recent changes to the Smashwords platform has made it a less reliable option however, and therefore an exciting change has come to Brad OH Inc.

Starting today, I will be re-sharing in full—un-edited and un-abridged—all Single Serving Stories previously published on Smashwords with Brad OH Inc. as the new, exclusive provider. All text will be provided in full, with no download necessary. If Smashwords don’t like that, they can message our complaints department.

This project will culminate in a couple of heretofore unpublished Single Serving Stories, so even the most dedicated of readers will have something to look forward to.

Today we share our second story, ‘A Conversation of Inconclusive Results’, which the sharp-eyed among you may note was a heavy inspiration for my first novel, ‘Edgar’s Worst Sunday’.

The events of that Saturday night were ultimately a complete waste. Ethan had gone out with the sole intention of finding some means of distraction from the stress of his impending graduation, and failing that, had chosen to get exceptionally drunk. Sadly, his fixation on the future had accompanied him into his intoxicated state, rather than being alleviated by it.

With these distractions playing through his head, Ethan had chosen a bar far off campus, one seldom frequented by his academic peers.

So now he sat, absentmindedly spinning his beer around in the golden puddle spreading slowly out from beneath it as the small speakers mounted in each corner churned out muffled approximations of songs he’d never heard. It was an hour from closing time, but only minutes before everything really began going to hell.

“Everything’s fucked,” Ethan groaned.

Ethan was unhappy.

“Pretty much,” replied Desmond, seated comfortably to Ethan’s right.

“It’s not that bad,” Andrew chimed in to his left.

The room was mostly vacant- the dim light cast by the two battered old chandeliers barely reaching its furthest edges. Ethan’s table sat, somewhat lopsided, at the far right corner beyond the thick metal door leading outside. With his back to an old grey wall decorated with a strange variety of oddities and memorabilia, Ethan faced the bar at the other end of the room.

Made of polished redwood, the bar stretched from just beyond the entrance all the way to the far wall. A lone man walked back and forth behind it, alternatingly polishing glasses and running a sloppy grey dishrag over his workspace.

The tables were low and heavy- big wooden structures whose shine had worn off long ago. Each was lined with long scars and crags from years of drunken abuse, with small illegible etchings carved into many of them- forgotten declarations of eternal love, announcements of specific patronage, and assorted obscenities.

Few of these were populated, though one lone man sat near the entryway at a single table wedged awkwardly between a worn pool table and the hallway leading to the dilapidated restrooms.

An old disco ball sent a shower of light twirling around the empty space opposite the stranger- likely the only activity the dance floor had seen in a good while. The entire room reeked of stale beer and old eggs, though the source of only one was immediately identifiable.

“What’s left now?” asked Ethan, sprawling across the table as his brown and green striped polo shirt drank deeply of the beer still remaining from a spill hours prior.

“Nothing,” Desmond flipped a toothpick into his mouth with a grin.

“Everything!” insisted Andrew, casting an irritated glance across the table. Desmond took no notice.

Ethan peeled himself up slowly from the mess of cloth and booze, a long wet slurp accompanying his efforts. He glanced over briefly as a small group entered the bar and took one of the many empty tables near the dance floor. To Ethan’s chagrin, they seemed in fine spirits. “I don’t even know what I’m meant to be doing.”

“Isn’t that up to you?” Andrew leaned over the table, unconcerned about his elbow, which drifted precariously close Ethan’s little lake of wasted but unforsaken beer.

“Isn’t that the essence of his problem?” Desmond’s expression of innocent intrigue fit him as naturally as empathy on an alligator.

“It really is!” Ethan nodded his head enthusiastically, then let it roll in a long looping circle before finally bringing it to rest facing no one in particular as he resumed his woeful diatribe. “What do I have to look forward to? Now I’ll just get some job I’ll hate, raise kids who won’t appreciate me, and finally I’ll accept the cold embrace of death.”

“Well at least there’s that death part then,” quipped Desmond, leaning back in his chair and interlacing his hands behind his head. Desmond was tall and lean, and wore his shock of dark hair mussed up with intricate apathy.

“Don’t be morbid,” Andrew said with a sigh. He shifted in his seat, rotating to better face Ethan, or perhaps to better avoid facing Desmond. Andrew wore a vibrant t-shirt depicting a wizard riding a wild boar. No one really understood his affection for such irreverence, nor did it ever seem to fit his stoic demeanour. The shirt did fit his strong arms particularly well however, and was therefore seldom the cause of significant chastising. “I’m sure when you sober up you’ll look back and realise how rewarding your life has been so far.”

“I thought looking back at your life was exactly what death was for,” mused Desmond before taking a long swallow of his thick red ale.

Ethan laughed despite himself- a sloppy, frantic sound that sent a pale trickle of beer running down his lightly stubbled chin. “That’s just what I’d need- to endure a rerun of my sorry fucking life before I died. Do you think there’s any option to skip that whole to-do?”

Andrew pushed his chair against the wall with a long screech, leaning his large frame back and crossing his legs. On his face was fixed a baleful, disappointed expression. “Are you really going to sit here and lament everything you’ve ever accomplished Ethan? You’re being ridiculous. You’re a great guy, and have plenty to be thrilled about going forward. Can’t you think of anything you’re proud of?”

“Do keg-stands and courtesans count?” Desmond asked, but went ignored.

“I’m not trying to be an asshole here.” Ethan answered the first question put to him. Perhaps trying to mimic Andrews’s adjustment, he slid back in his seat, and then downward, slouching like a wax sculpture left in the sun. “I know I’m lucky.  I have a lot to be thankful for, I’m not arguing that. But right now, all that only makes it tougher. I know who I am, what I was given, and what I’m capable of. I know all the expectations on me, all the different opinions of what I might be. It’s just that I have no clue what I really want.

“It’s a lot to handle- I don’t know how you guys are so calm about it,” he finished.

“Well that’s what good company is for, isn’t it?” Andrew reassured, swallowing back the last of his beer.

“No, that’s what beer is for. Happily, good company serves good beer. Isn’t it your round Andy?” Desmond asked with a smirk.

“I told you not to call me that. And no- in fact it’s your round Desmond, if you’d be so kind.” Andrew slid his empty cup across the table.

“Damn.” Desmond rolled his eyes back and placed the back of his hand to his forehead in a faux expression of grief. Standing, he spat his gnawed toothpick into an empty glass and turned to make his way to the bar with a merry declaration- “Be right back Drew!”

With a chuckle, Ethan stared down into his empty cup, sighed, and began to drag his finger back and forth through the spilled beer in front of him, leaving little yellow lightning bolts zagging towards him and dripping down onto his legs. “I know what you’re gonna to say Andrew. ‘This is only the beginning- an exciting new chapter in my life.’ You’re right too. But all that talk about having your life flash before your eyes- that ending point really gets to me. It’s been pretty great, I’ve had a lot of laughs and experienced nothing but success. But I’m not sure how much of that was me and how much was predetermined. I’ve been on a direct path for so long- now I have to begin making my own decisions. Now it’s all up to me to fuck up. ”

“Well maybe you need to consider this flashback differently. You’re not dying tonight to the best of my knowledge. You’ll die a long time from now, and this choice will just be another one of the many events you look back on then. The question is, how will you feel when you look back on it?”

“Hopefully better than he did when we reminded him what he did last time he got this drunk… What are we talking about?” Desmond interrupted, speaking primarily for his own amusement, as usual. Sitting back at the table, he divided out the drinks. A short, stout glass filled with thick red ale for himself. For Ethan there was a tall glass of pale beer, and for Andrew, a thin, colourful drink with a melon wedge sticking out of it like the mast of a sunken galleon.

“You’re such a fucking dick Desmond.” Andrew complained, dredging out the melon and tossing it at Desmond, just missing his shining white grin.

“That’s a pretty mean thing to say to your friend Andrew.” Desmond stared across at the bigger man, holding his gaze until he saw the expected blush creeping up his neck and reddening his cheeks. Andrew could never hold his ground if he felt someone else may have been hurt by his actions. “… Christ you’re a pussy.”

“I guess that’s one way to look at it.” Ethan refocused the conversation, taking a small sip of his new beer. “It certainly doesn’t take the pressure off it though- if I fuck up this decision, not only will it ruin the rest of my life, but I’ll have to reflect on how it all went wrong before I kick it. Jesus, would time ever drag looking back on that!”

“You’re focussing on the negatives again Ethan. Maybe we should switch drinks- this one seems a bit more… fun?” Ethan laughed again, while Desmond cast a cautionary glance to ward against any unforeseen drink switching. “Take your time with this decision, do what’s right for you, and time will fly by. Think of how amazing it would feel to look back at that, and all the other times where you just kicked ass in life. It sounds like a pretty good way to go!”

The smile that spread across Desmond’s face now was not one of mocking insincerity. His lips curled into a self-satisfied sickle as he leaned over the table, examining each of his companions in turn. “Happy memories or not Ethan, time is hardly going to fly. It’s your fucking deathbed we’re talking about here. Death! The one, absolute thing humans are evolved to avoid. That’s the pinnacle of unpleasant right there.”

“He’s right.” Ethan slouched back down in his chair and took a long pull from his cup. “Shit… if time slows down when we’re having a bad time, and death is the worst thing that can happen- wouldn’t time stand still when we die? I mean, think of it graphically- wouldn’t death form an asymptote where the experience of time is infinite in that one single instant?”

“You know why you’re always so down Ethan?” asked Andrew.

“Because he’s the kind of asshole who goes to a bar with his friends and uses words like ‘asymptote’?” Desmond smirked momentarily, but caught himself at the severity of the topic, and bit his lip to fight off the temptation of further heckling.

“No!” Andrew was getting frustrated. “Because when he looks back on his life, he only looks for negatives and regrets. It’s no use living with your mind fixed on what’s already done. You need to look ahead.”

“At the very least, it’s a helpful perspective on life.” Ethan mused absently.

“What?” Andrew asked.

Desmond smiled in silence.

“Think about what we have here,” Ethan’s voice rose in excitement, his hand grasping tightly about the stem of his half empty glass. “Here we are, imagining me at the second of my untimely demise. In that moment I’m granted, mercifully no doubt, an opportunity to look back on my life- all my successes and regrets.”

“So what will you see?” Andrew asked, sipping slowly from his long black straw and leaning forward in his seat.

“A close-up of the floor, smeared in your own vomit?” offered Desmond, leaving his sense of propriety where he’d found it.

“Shut up you idiots. Not only that, but we’ve agreed that time slows down when you’re having a bad experience, and that death is the worst possible experience. That means this event would theoretically- and certainly in the graphical sense- last forever.

“So, I lie dying- my experience of which is eternal- and look back at my life, reflecting on my decisions.”

“Heaven,” promised Andrew.

“Hell,” Desmond chided simultaneously.

“Jesus…” Ethan lamented, sliding further down in his chair as his eyes grew distant and glassy.

“Well does that help you make your decision?” Andrew swallowed the last of his drink, wiped his mouth with a napkin he’d had folded in his pocket, and leaned his weight onto his elbow.

“Or just further terrify you as to its magnitude?” Desmond asked, smiling as he held his glass up, tipped it skyward, and held it until the deep amber liquid disappeared down his throat. He belched loudly.

“What decision? Let’s get more beer.” A thin trace of saliva dropped from Ethan’s chin, down onto his polo.

“Last call is done buddy, but you can owe me for next time.” Desmond mumbled, stretching as he rose from the table.

“Oh leave him alone, he’s had a long night,” cautioned Andrew, rising and circling around the table. Evening off with Desmond, he stood patiently. Ethan leaned to one side, and then the other as his legs began to straighten in turns under the old wooden table. Leaning forward, he placed one hand heavily onto its surface for support, and slowly worked to elevate his midsection as he wavered back and forth under the effort.

Just as his ascension was all but achieved, Ethan’s hand slipped in the puddle of beer on the table, sending his mass careening forward onto its surface, taking it off balance and sending him pouring over its far end. He was left buried beneath the tables upturned frame.

“Holy shit! Are you ok Ethan?” Andrew shot around to one side, hooking his arm under Ethan’s as he heaved the table off of him.

Laughing hysterically, and entirely unable to catch his breath, Desmond did the same on the other side.

“Get out, you damned idiots!” bellowed the bartender.

Working together, Andrew and Desmond managed to hoist Ethan up, and began their way across the bar on the long trek for home. “What were we talking about just now?” Ethan’s voice was slurred, and came in fits and halts.

“You were doing some real soul searching Ethan, I’ll tell you about it in the morning,” Andrew assured him as he held the door open with one large hand.

Helping guide the human tangle over the threshold, Desmond could feel the cool night air against his face. “Now won’t that be a treat. Don’t worry Ethan, I’ll be there too. Wouldn’t want it to take too long, would we?” he asked, rolling his eyes.

Together the three friends made their way down the quiet streets. Ethan sagged heavily between them, but supported at each shoulder he continued to trudge along. A dying streetlight flickered above them, its efforts supported only by the dim light of the moon, hidden between buildings.

Ethan’s feet caught and dragged on the broken cement of the roadway, finally ceasing to move at all, causing the procession to halt long enough for him to empty the contents of his stomach down onto his shoes. Then, after a short bout of weary laughter, they continued on.

“Oh Ethan my wayward friend, why do we always need to carry you?” asked Desmond.

-Brad OH Inc.

Single Serving Stories Series- ‘As It Happened’

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Under the Green Desk Lamp…

Green DesklampIn addition to regular blog articles and my published novels, I’ve also written several Single Serving Stories over the years. Some have been published in anthologies like ‘Between the Shelves’, ‘Edmonton: Unbound’, and ‘All Mapped Out’. Others have been shared exclusively on this blog via the publication platform Smashwords.

Recent changes to the Smashwords platform has made it a less reliable option however, and therefore an exciting change has come to Brad OH Inc.

Starting today, I will be re-sharing in full—un-edited and un-abridged—all Single Serving Stories previously published on Smashwords with Brad OH Inc. as the new, exclusive provider. All text will be provided in full, with no download necessary. If Smashwords don’t like that, they can message our complaints department.

Starting with the first story, ‘As It Happened’, all the way through the most recent, this project will culminate in a couple of heretofore unpublished Single Serving Stories, so even the most dedicated of readers will have something to look forward to.

So, without further ado, let us revisit my first completed Single Serving Story under the Brad OH Inc. banner, the strange and unsettling 2012 classic, ‘As It Happened’.

They sat together on the couch, the glow of the newscasters face from their small TV lighting up the room. How long had it been growing?

At the centre of the divide between them, their hands just grazed one another. It was a seemingly insignificant space, but through it blew the winds of change, howling with the desperate voice of a day that would not come. The woman on the TV was beautiful— even while telling them it was all true, and things would never be the same.

Soft cushions cradled each of them delicately, betraying their discomfort. The sun shone brightly behind the reporter, who delivered the news with an unrelenting drawl. Stone faced and tenacious, there was an understated bravery there.

The room was cold.

Repeatedly, the woman onscreen reassured the viewers that the events were isolated incidents, and there was no cause for speculation beyond the facts. Yet the camera showed another truth, clear as day. There was no reference made to the people running in the background. They weren’t doing it for the audience.

The images changed like the flickering of a dwindling candle as more and more reports came in. They all said the same thing. On the couch, nestled deeply in her cushion, she wondered what she’d say— how to express all the things she needed to, yet not reach what she knew to be the inevitable result.

She remained silent.

Before them, the screen pulsed with movement— the picture at times was clear as glass, depicting beyond doubt the finest details of all that transpired. At other times it jumped and crackled, the signal interrupted and the image distorted, leaving only the muffled voices and brief glances of scenery to tell the story.

With each change of the scene, their faces were illuminated— white, orange, blue, crimson. Occasionally the sound would rise up, pinning them in place with the force of its message. Then it would dip, and they could hear the gentle rumours of each other’s breathing in the cloying calm of the room.

She thought about the start, and how it had sounded like the promise she’d been waiting for. Her stomach groaned with hunger, but she remained quiet as she stared at the box of glowing light in front of her. The busy people on the TV only served to accentuate how terribly still she sat.

At the farthest reach of his periphery, he could see her, a dim evening star dancing heedlessly upon the razor’s edge of perception. It was a safe distance. Watch and record, note changes and variances, try to learn without direct intervention.

They both listened and learned— there was nothing else to do. They remembered the rumours passed about so long ago— all going ignored amidst the milieu of suspicion and doubt that peppered common conversation these days. Sometimes the greatest betrayal was the failure to see what was right before you.

What now remained to be done?

His eyes were fixed forward; dying lanterns passing down a dark trail. In times such as these, people had to keep their focus, lest the distractions and deceits of the woods lure them forever from their courses.

Everybody had their theories about how things got to this point: little narratives that tied the confusions together, small offerings of guilt— what might have been different if only this hadn’t been said, if only that hadn’t been done? But they all knew the source— the drive all people felt towards unity. People were born to love. They could love each other, love ideas; even love their country.

They used to tell each other that love was enough.

But when does something like that begin and end? How is the line drawn? It’s only a scratch that appears one day along the vinyl, and grows slowly until it’s impossible to distinguish the tune beneath the tumult.

There’s no fanfare at first, not until it’s already too far gone. Some will deny, rationalize, or accept. Others may reframe their entire perspective to accommodate the changes of the world around them, but that only goes so far. They stretch the lens; contort the picture until the blur seems normal.

It’s almost cute at first. But then there are things that cannot be explained away. Call them unbelievable mathematical improbabilities, divine signs, psychological decay—call them whatever fits.

Yet there comes a point when they just can’t be ignored.

None of that mattered any longer. This wasn’t science, and understanding the start wasn’t always a sure way to predict the future. Here they were, and as the lady on the TV continued to update— now listing chronologically the events speculated to have led them all to this terrible precipice— he already knew it was on the way out.

Fighting had never done any good. Some sorts of alliances cannot be fought for, with one side flitting away while the other chases, only to reverse roles at some point, all the while braving the pitfalls and sabotages of circumstance and society. Rather should any true alliance be pursued with undying ferocity, both sides defying or ignoring any odds with continual movement towards connection— for one approach is based in courtship, the other grounded in partnership.

Sometimes it almost seemed that it was truly attainable— that it was a tangible thing to grasp and hold. But hearts are not moved through the simple occupation of space.

The voices on the TV were quiet now, and he could hear his heartbeat clawing desperately at the safety screen of silence between them.

The scene was shocking. All they’d ever known had been stripped of the robes of artifice they’d helped in sewing. A sudden cacophony of competing cheers and jeers was the haunting dirge that led the gruesome parade through their home, and they couldn’t say now what part of the clamour was theirs to play.

A man was speaking on the TV, insisting in practiced homilies that people were only doing the jobs set to them, and that it was not the viewer’s part to judge.

The steel of the words was betrayed by the waver of the voice. It was ever the case.

They recognized many of the faces flashing past— each had made some promise, offered some hope. Looking back, every last one of them had claimed it was coming. Some for one reason, some for another. One claimed it was because of the first. But they all agreed— without change, this was inevitable.

Why had they all ignored it? How could so many people, with such a wealth of knowledge at their finger-tips, collectively fall into the lie?

Of course they had their ideas now. One could speculate, another hypothesize. They could chase each other in circles as the world fell out from under them. It made no difference.

The TV showed a blur, static scraping itself over cityscapes, and the words came pouring on, now muffled, now crystalline. A fire flickered from an alley, and a man in a suit was gesticulating furiously at the camera while ducking into a black car. A preacher stood in the street calling for apologies, and all around the crowd stared expectantly one to the other.

If she looked closely enough, she could almost make it out. Beyond the static, past the distortion of years were all the things she’d once held dear. With a squint of the eye and a trick of the brain the major details were all there— but it hadn’t been the big things that had changed. She could cradle the image in her mind, and nearly believe that it could still be. It flowed before her, a reflection in the river of time until some distraction shattered it like the ripples of a thrown stone. Then it was gone, relegated to its proper place on the shelf of her memory, with all the other things whose beauty was now remembered only by the light of a sun long set.

Still, everyone seemed to be missing it, all fixated upon their own illusive ideal.

The ideal never came.

They were left instead to wander blindly through mazes of ambiguous promises, seeing their own loss and confusion mirrored back in the eyes of those they’d looked to for guidance. Concepts like honour and loyalty— when the sources that defined them have dissipated like blood in water— quickly lose their meaning.

He remembered the first time the thought had entered his mind— that maybe all the things he’d grown to expect would never come. It had darted in one day unbidden and never left. When finally he’d heard the words, the doubts had been soothed. But they lingered like embers in the morning dew— forgotten fears smouldering patiently amongst the tinder’s of trust.

Even now the ideas would still spring up in his mind on occasion, hopes like secret castles in a child’s tale, which only existed as long as they were believed in.

He started to speak, and she opened her mouth. A bulletin blared across the screen, and they both sat quietly with their mouths agape.

How long had they sat back, waiting for that one perfect moment to find them; the flawless solution that would wash over them and assure them that everything would be ok? They were still waiting, as every other opportunity slipped by. Sitting and staring. Starry eyed and terrified.

Now a crowd was gathered on the TV. Someone was dying in the streets. They didn’t recognize the face shown, nor catch amidst the fury of the mob the narrator’s explanation of the dying man’s significance. It would’ve been irrelevant— all titles were equal once blood had been shed.

His eyes carved across the room, settling upon and holding hers. Not long enough at first, then suddenly, self-consciously far too long. He jerked his gaze away frantically, as if to avoid further rejection. His arms interlaced across his chest, leaving nothing but the still, cold air as her hand reached across the barren space between them, grasping only the ghost of what had been a moment before.

Lights were flashing on the TV, and packed tightly around a statue was a throng of cheering people. Through the crackling picture it was impossible to determine if they were truly deluded into happiness, or merely too afraid to take up the song that curled submissively at the backs of their throats.

They twitched in unison with the shared recognition of a building that appeared on screen, but the men entering it were strangers to them. Faint noises came from the window across the room— another jarring reminder that the world before them was the very one in which they now sat. Yet outside were only passing cars, filled with people going wherever they were needed most. The more significant events were smeared across the glass right in front of them, and that’s where their attention remained.

It wasn’t how they might have imagined it. The news was constantly changing, the truth of the events sorting itself out from the falsities like straining oil from water. They knew the facts would be blurred for a long time— but what they could see was sufficiently telling. Short clips played, sometimes repeated in increasingly close approximations to their entirety, at other times discarded indefinitely for developments of more immediate relevance. With every scene, the chill of the room grew more difficult to bear.

There were no bombs dropping. It wasn’t that kind of a revolution. There weren’t even any clear sides— just a big, bleeding divide.

Signal flare reasons filled the air— reaching out for certainty through the impenetrable fog of its absence. Time passed as they sat, still and quiet. The hours seemed of small account now— many things they’d come to rely on would lose their worth in the days to follow.

On the couch, their focus was inexorable. Ever as they watched, the despair cut deeper, as every misgiving they’d ever pushed aside was dredged up from the darkest corners of their psyches. Still, they couldn’t look away, as if the jagged rocks ahead were their salvation from the siren’s song behind.

In every other direction dangerous visions laid in wait— the home they had, the things they shared, and the memories held in each. Both of them could feel how the fabric of the seat was pulled by the weight of the other beside them, and photos decorated the walls on all sides with reminders of what wouldn’t be.

The distraction of the television offered little succour. The revelations being shown told them that things were unravelling fast. The mystery of the cause had been forgotten— searches for responsibility cast aside. Now the focus was single-minded— the rats had already left the ship, and solution was no longer part of the vernacular.

No one claimed to understand. No one even offered false assurances that everything would be ok. Things would be different— that’s all that could be said. Knowledge was a ghost remembered from childhood— its former certainty fading into doubt, and none remained so bold as to claim they still believed.

Thoughtlessly, instinctively, they allowed their eyes to drift together, repelling that same second like bullets off battered brick walls. The men on the TV were flopping about like beached fish; excuses and justifications the sand that came splattering out beneath them.

Everywhere, people were arguing— building skyscrapers out of conjecture, and then blasting them down to prove their point. The footage rolled on, endless as smoke billowing from the ashes of their aspirations.

Still, upon the couch silence reigned, and from the TV so far across the room, the newscaster returned to explain the choices that remained to them.

-Brad OH Inc.

Re-Share: Humanity vs. the Corporate Mindset

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Of all the unfortunate ills in this world, the Corporate mindset may be the chief. It is this idea which keeps society unbalanced and desperate, which controls our information and divides us against one another. Laws are changed, rules are broken, people are robbed of their potential, and the world at large is injured by this idea that more is better, and that the ability to take more is self-justifying.

It’s often preached about as ‘freedom’, or ‘capitalism’, or even ‘fairness’—all hair-brained explanations for one of the greatest con’s ever. The system supports only itself and those at it’s very top, while actively trying to quash out any popular movement attempting to return to the people some semblance of the power which is theirs by right.

Let’s look briefly at two examples to illustrate this point.

The first is the idea of a universal basic income. The concept here is that if the highest earners paid a higher level of taxes than the pittance they currently do (if they pay at all), then a universal basic income could be provided to each citizen, raising them out of poverty, and allowing them to participate in the economy and society in a meaningful way. This would reduce suffering, and build up communities across the nation, and the world.

To the Corporate mindset, this is the highest of heresies.

They would argue that having successful people pay taxes for less successful people discourages big ideas, and that if the ability to lord unimaginable wealth over the rest of the population wasn’t available, then any incentive to be productive would go with it.

What unimaginable hogwash.

The true reason for such objections is a little more obvious, and far more believable. It’s greed, of course…good old number three.

The truth is that at some point, the motivation of money is no longer about providing for you and yours—Maslow’s hierarchy and such. It ceases to be the calculated pursuit of betterment or provision, and becomes instead the reckless pursuit of an addict. Wealth fast becomes an addiction, and like most addictions, people resort to increasingly terrible extremes to feed it. A Corporation, in essence, is this wealth addiction made manifest. Pursuit of money as a drug in this way breaks the market, the chain of trust, the social contract, and capitalism in general.

Another fine example of the destructive nature of this Corporate mindset can be found in the realm of art and creativity. Corporations have no interest in creating thought-provoking materials or fresh ideas—the very opposite in fact. Their goal is to create easily consumed, content devoid filler. They rehash the same tropes and keep people clapping along to the same tired old ideas. It’s about placation and distraction, never enrichment.

The end result can be seen in the relentless struggle before any true artist—in their need to cut through these quagmires of idiocy to ever have a chance at being heard by the desperate ears of people starving for original content. Examples can be found in free-speech warriors such as Howard Stern or the Insane Clown Posse, who have struggled through great adversity and opposition from the Corporate market, despite having a product which many people desired.

If something’s not in line with a Corporation’s vapid tripe, and especially if it’s not making an obscene amount of money for people who already hold far too much, it has little chance of significant exposure without amassing a devoted underground following in spite of Corporate adversity.

More about the negative impacts of the Corporate mindset on the entertainment industry can be found in our article, ‘The Disgraceful Suicide of ‘Old’ Media’.

In the end, the crux of the issue is that the Corporate mindset influences our society—making us callous and suspicious of one another, rather than supportive and loving. Indeed, it can easily be argued that the Corporate mindset is the very antithesis of the human spirit, and yet it holds us tightly in its sway; controlling our media, our art, our economy, and our very perspectives on life.

What would it take to break free of this influence, and begin to live like the compassionate and caring society we are undoubtedly capable of being? We look forward to hearing your thoughts in the comments below.

-Brad OH Inc.

Re-Share- Project FearNaught: ‘Welcome to Project FearNaught’

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Project FearNaught is still alive, and more news is coming sooner than you think…

‘Project FearNaught’ is a very simple idea. I want to start the conversation that changes the world.

This needs to be clear right up front—for I make no denial of my intentions, nor do I intend to play coy. I am an idealist, who believes without a doubt that humanity can and will be better. To this end, I hope not to be a solution, but a catalyst for the surge of decency so needed in this tired world.

My intention is to create a fitting code for the future of humanity. I seek to address the corruption that surrounds us daily, but more important still, the moral impotence which has allowed it to do so.

No doubt, you may think this sounds like an overly high ambition, but not I. The long-term goal of ‘Project FearNaught’—which starts right here, today—is to compile an ultimate ‘Book of Truth’. I want to discuss, explore, and finally settle upon the fundamental precepts which drive humanity—a moral code to which we can all subscribe and from which we all may benefit.

But high-minded discussions like these are better suited—I am aware—to beer halls and dorm rooms than they are to internet forums and personal blogs. So why start such a seemingly naive endeavour? Why strive to create unity in spite of the history books, and Corporate officials, and media outlets which constantly tell us that division is the natural way, and that economic control is the only power which can ever bring humanity to heel?

The proposition is not an easy sell, so let’s consider the reality of our situation. It’s rare to meet anyone these days who will sincerely claim to be optimistic—or even comfortable—about the current direction of our society. This isn’t an inspiring thought in a nation which still claims to be democratic. Every aspect of our lives is controlled by corporations and brutes. Even our elected officials are simple amalgams of surface-level popular opinion, designed to pacify the public while furthering the goals of those with real power.

We are divided on all fronts. We are separated by civil parties that have little impact, by religions that sedate while offering nothing in the way of solution—by every imaginable difference! But that’s just what they are—imagined. They are products of fear, and they keep us blinded to our potential.

Fear itself—that is the enemy. It turns one against another, and keeps us from realizing our true nature. Fear has subdued us, and daily we struggle simply to get by, rather than to grow or thrive. Fear breaks our spirits, and divides our intentions.

But united toward one purpose, humanity is an unstoppable force, and that’s just the reason why such a coalition of hope is the most contested and embattled notion of our times. It is a simple fact that systemic change cannot occur without its ideals first taking root within the hearts of all people. Personal change comes first, and that is the purpose of ‘Project FearNaught’.

My intention is to create an understanding of the universal and immutable human dignities—to remind us of all that fosters hope in mankind. In so doing, we may turn the tides of despair we are now faced with, and work together towards a better future for all.

So now I ask of you, my readers, to continue this discussion. Speak among yourselves—your friends and your enemies. What drives you? What do you hold as the core tenets of decency? Of humanity? What concerns do you have with the present direction of our world?

Consider these things, and then return to me. Challenge me. Push me to be better, and together, we may all be. I want to show you that we can be more than what we’ve been told.

So, come you nihilists and fanatics, you theists and you skeptics. Bring me your hearts, your minds, your input, and together we will find that higher ground. For I promise you this, as I set out upon this great and final task of mine: so long as there is a will towards improving our world, so long as there is a dream for greater virtue, there is a light to guide us. No doubt the days are dark, and the shadows of old terrors once again hold us in their sway. But we are capable of better, and we must remember this now more than ever.

Talk, think, explore. For when we work as one, with common purpose and with righteousness on our sides, there is truly nothing to fear.

 Be part of the debate: ‘Project FearNaught’ is an effort to start the conversation that changes the world. As such, your voice is key to our ambition. To add your input, questions, or comments, click here.

-Jeremy Arthur

‘Truth Ink.’

The Bushido of Bogney, Part VI- The Final Chapter

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Under the Green Desk Lamp…

Green DesklampBushido: (武士道) literally meaning “the way of the warrior”, is a Japanese word for the way of the samurai life, loosely analogous to the concept of chivalry in Europe. (Source)

 Bogney: A tiny dog, wise for his years.

Today, we once again combine the old and the new for a fresh perspective on life through the eyes of our classy canine friend. This is the daily living of a small dog. This is the extrapolated wisdom of the ages…This is the Bushido of Bogney.

-Click Here for Part I-

-Click Here for Part II-

-Click Here for Part III-

-Click Here for Part IV-

-Click Here for Part V-

Lesson 1:

One quiet winter night, Bogney was sleeping peacefully on the carpet by the door when he was taken by a sudden fit of shakes. Terribly concerned, I took him to the emergency vet. Waiting with terrible trepidation, I thought of the countless memories we had spent over the 15 years we’d known each other. I could not control my tears.

I hoped for the best, but the best did not come. When returned to me, Bogney kissed me happily and wagged his tail with unrestrained joy, heeding no words even as his Doctor described to me the tumour growing in his brain, and the pittance of time he had left. Still in my arms he wiggled and squirmed, eager to leave this boring place.

The years left had become weeks, or months if we were lucky. I thought again of the many moments behind us, and the sparse few we might have left. Somehow, they seemed all the more valuable.

At Bogney’s insistence, we went to the park. True wisdom is often found not in fearing the future, but in living the present.

Lesson 2:

Bogney struggles to move at times these days. He is old and stiff, sometimes disoriented. Rolling over is a struggle now, but when the treats come out, he is instead all the more eager to shake a paw. Undeterred, he finds a way to get what he needs.

We could all learn something from this tenacity.

Lesson 3:

Good days come, and good days pass. Without warning one night, Bogney was taken again by seizures, and was forced to spend a day and a night at the vet. When I was finally allowed to visit him, I found him confused, and his senses dulled. He could not see what was before him, and set his shaking chin in my hands.

Finally, he fell asleep, and his snore was a song of relief. For this moment, he is content.

This is my place. But it is not yet his time.

Lesson 4:

In these days of decline, Bogney and I sleep together on a mattress set on the living room floor. We cannot risk a jump up to any higher bed.

One evening, lying on the mattress, I heard his feet creeping towards me. With his tail wagging and a grin on his face, he happily approached for a kiss, when suddenly his expression changed, and his lips curled in a strange way. His tumour sprang to my mind, and a wave of fear overtook me. Then, Bogney’s mouth gaped open, and he belched loudly in my face. It was long and loud. Both of us stood shocked for a moment, then I laughed, and he resumed with his kisses.

There is great value in a moment such as this.

Lesson 5:

Many months have passed, and the dreaded time has come. Bogney left this world with grace and courage. He kissed me goodbye, then fell asleep in my arms.

For 15 years we walked beside each other. Now our paths are sundered, and I am alone. Alone with everything he gave me.

All these ancient alarms are still going off in my head. Walks to take, food to give, meds to provide. Now to no purpose. Klaxon reminders of a battle with no winning. I am undone, and bereft of battlefields.

The way of the warrior is beyond us now. There is only peace for him now, and in time, myself as well. With his final battle behind him, the wise old dog has taught me who I always was. His final lesson.

I always will remember.

I love you Bogney.

-Brad OH Inc.

Re-Share: On Laughing Too Much

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Under the Green Desk Lamp…

Green Desklamp

This is an older article, from back in good old 2016. It’s always been a favorite of mine.

I’ve often been accused of laughing too much. It’s a charge I can scarcely deny. No matter what situation I find myself in, laughter tends to be my most ubiquitous means of communication. Sometimes, it may even be my own jokes I’m laughing at, which I’ve been told is especially distasteful. I’ve always argued that it’s just a matter of having good taste in comedy, but I’m not sure that’s really it.

The fact is, laughter is my favourite thing to do with pretty much anyone. To be fair, I may often claim that my favourite activity is drinking with good friends, or more simply enjoying a lively conversation, but the real crux of it is the laughter. Many of my closest friends and I will often exchange very few full words in the course of a long shared laugh. That’s bliss to me, that’s a connection, and I believe that it’s worth celebrating.

Sure, it can be construed as insincere. When the length of a conversation is marked by incessant joking and laughter—or sarcasm, most dreaded of deceptions—there are many who consider this to be a lack of honesty. ‘Why can’t you ever be serious,’ may come the cry from a pleading compatriot who feels that anything honest must be a solemn and stoic exchange.

But what could possibly be more honest than laughter?

You see, when a good joke lands, and your eyes meet to recognize the subtle meanings as they light up with laughter, there is a fulfilling moment of meta-communication similar to emotional intimacies like love. It’s a shortcut to bonding—an innate reliance on subtle body language to confirm even subtler understandings. More often than not, these understandings rely on past experiences and shared double meanings understood only by those involved. It’s a secret—and the laughter which arises from it is the sweetest of payoffs.

It’s communication and connection in its purest form!

Whenever people share a hearty laugh, their eyes open up to show a brief yet transcendent glimpse into the soul. This is a large part of why I always try to find the humour in everything; that, and the fact that life is just funnier that way.

Ultimately, I expect it’s a flaw I will always maintain—if it is a flaw indeed. To the chagrin of many, I will continue to laugh my way through conversations ranging from the frivolous to the solemn. I will hunt down the double meanings, call back to the shared experiences, and twist words in wonderful and weird ways—in constant pursuit of that glorious moment when the lips crack apart and the eyes shine like stars—confirming that some understanding beyond mere words has occurred, and that two minds have been momentarily linked in the thrill of this shared knowledge.

So I confess it, I am not likely to ever ‘grow up’ as so many call it. I will grow old, but if I have it my way, I’ll laugh right to the grave. A morbidly humorous epitaph would be ideal now that I think about it—preferably heavy on alliteration and innuendo.

Some may never understand this odd compulsion, but for that I offer no apologies. For those that find laughter an inherent roadblock to clear communication, I offer my condolences. For myself, I can only pray to someday be 100 years old, sitting in a wheel chair, hopefully next to a little old lady—laughing boisterously to ourselves. They’ll probably call us crazy. But who would I be to argue?

-Brad OH Inc.

Re-Share: The New Corporate Religion of Brad OH Inc.

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Today, we here at Brad OH Inc. thought it prudent to share this timely reminder of some of the key inner workings behind Brad OH Inc.

This article was first published back in 2014, but I think the content still rings true today. Anyways, I’m working on something else right now, so this is all your getting.

Here at Brad OH Inc, we cherish the indelible right to Freedom of Religion for all people, and this is especially important when that person happens to be a Corporation. Corporations clearly have a right to religion, just as any citizen of this marvelous country must if we are to continue to earnestly support the timeless and indelibly pertinent values of our ancient forefathers.

But it’s important that we not be unreasonable with the application of such essential considerations. While there can be no coherent argument made against the notion that humongous, international monetary entities are entirely interchangeable with living, breathing individuals, certainly there must be some concession made in regards to how those rights are enforced.

While an individual person must be allowed the right to choose and practice their religion in their own way (so long as that practice does not affect any other person in a manner otherwise illegal…especially a Corporate one!), the Corporate right to Freedom of Religion must be exercised in a somewhat different manner. Specifically, if we are to respect the Religious Sovereignty of a Corporation such as ours, it is essential that the given Corporate Religion and its implied doctrines be extended to anyone working for or affected by (or even in distant contact with) said Corporation.

This may seem like a stretch, but the recent ruling by the Supreme Court of the U.S of A. confirms that these aspirations are entirely within our reach (Source). Call it a Brad OH’men!

Given this new precedent, we here at Brad OH Inc. feel it would be utterly obtuse of us—disrespectful to the constitution even—to not take full advantage of this god given right. Therefore, it is with careful consideration and great anticipation that we announce the new Corporate Religion of Brad OH Inc.

Now, the religions of old share a variety of key traits: a unified mythology, a concept of good and evil, a calling to a higher purpose, the promise of salvation. But to be honest, it’s pretty hard to deny these things are utterly boring, to say nothing of having been covered ad nauseum by other religions. So if that’s what you’re looking for, pick a church and take a seat, you’ll find plenty of stories there.

Here at Brad OH Inc., we are far more concerned with practicality, after all, pragmatism is one of the core tenets of Brad OH Inc.

Therefore, without further ado, we are pleased to present the 5 Central Commandments of the Corporate Religion of Brad OH Inc.:

  1. Thou Shalt Share: This one should be easy people. Sharing is nice, plain and simple. It’s so nice in fact, that we hold it to be sacrosanct. Therefore, henceforth, all patrons of Brad OH Inc. should consider themselves divinely mandated to share all content created here. To do otherwise would be a sin.
  1. Divine Duty of Discourse: If there is one key ingredient to any good society, it’s the free flow of public discourse. Don’t bother arguing—any contrary thought is wrong, plain and simple. To read an article here at Brad OH Inc. and fail to express yourself in the comments section is not only inconsiderate, henceforth it shall be considered an infringement on the Freedom of Religion of Brad OH Inc.
  1. Fundamental Freedom of Expression: We don’t think anyone can argue that the right to free expression is a fundamentally good concept. So good in fact, that we here at Brad OH Inc. consider it a moral imperative. That’s why we are so entirely dedicated to expounding erratically extreme philosophic tenets. Don’t believe us? Just check our banner! Therefore, if at any point you feel that some idea expressed on the site is contradictory to the nature of our Corporation, please remember that any such thought is a blatant violation of our religious right to free expression. If you have any further problem with it, kindly refer to Commandment #2.
  1. Functional Faithfulness and Loyalty: What can be said of any person who doesn’t hold dear the invaluable trait of loyalty? ‘False Hearted’, ‘Fly by Night’, ‘Insidious’, ‘Recreant’, ‘Craven’… and that’s just to name a few. Without loyalty, people just flit around all willy-nilly, doing what they will and going where they please. It’s certainly no way to run an empire. Therefore, Brad OH Inc. considers loyalty to be one of the most essential values a Corporation could ever hope for in a religion. So don’t forget about us, or you can expect a civil-suit for violation of our right to Freedom of Religion.
  1. Sacramental Self-Determination: Beyond the shadow of a doubt, self-determination is one of the most important traits any Corporation can have. After all, if left to the vile volitions of the common people, we’d be out there paying taxes, showing restraint in our environmental impact, and feigning sympathy for issues of social justice. Clearly, that’s no way to operate. So if at any point you find that the hearts and minds of us here at Brad OH Inc. have shifted, or that we’ve decided to go in a direction that doesn’t suit your selfish personal agenda, please remind yourself that we are simply following our Constitutionally Protected right to Freedom of Religion.

There you have it, the 5 Central Commandments of the Corporate Religion of Brad OH Inc. It is with a great sense of relief that we are able to share this with you today, and we know that you’ll surreptitiously revel in our joy as we celebrate our devotion to Freedom of Religion. After all, if a Corporation can’t profit off the liberties of the people who populate them, then what’s the point?

Your Sincere Friends and Mentors of Freedom,

-Brad OH Inc.

Re-Share: Rhapsody

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Under the Green Desk Lamp…

Civil discourse these days has become pretty uncommon. You’ll rarely hear a debate that doesn’t soon slip into name calling and paranoid wailing.

It’s both sides.

Everyone is simply too afraid. Afraid of everything, yet somehow afraid of all the wrong things.

That fear is the problem, and it stunts any level of intelligent discourse by wheeling us into knee-jerk reactions and assumptions—making our conclusions for us. When angry and afraid, you go with what you know: Red or Blue.

That’s the thing about political thought however, it never quite fits into a single definition. Try as they may, there is no binary option that can capture the nuance of human belief—of our values.

Values, now there’s a word that’s thrown around a lot in politics, yet never really utilized the way it should be. Values, after all, are what it really comes down to. The truth of it is, I strongly suspect that a measure of fundamental values would show a far less divided picture of humanity than a typical measure of political preferences.

Behind the rhetoric and uproar, there do remain basic rights and wrongs, and obvious decencies which I still believe the vast majority of people can agree upon. These are values which go beyond culture and language.

They are innate to us, and are denied only by the most wretched of deviants, or those desperate souls who by poverty or avarice have found themselves denied entirely of their moral compass.

What would happen then, if people were to put aside their labels and colours—the brand names of political philosophy—and turn away from their hot button issues to discuss instead the basic values they hold dear.

No loose terms like freedom here. Tell me what that really means.

What do you love?

What do you fear?

What do you hate?

Do you realize the last answer is most likely the twisted spawn of some unknowable combination of the former two?

Or that the second closely follows the first?

Really though. If the world at large could manage such civil debate for a while—I mean really keep it going, get deep, and avoid falling back into the ‘yeah but’ type thinking which somehow convinces us that the forces of reality must in the end overwhelm the deepest of truths—what might be the result?

And what would you have to say?

-Brad OH Inc.

The Bushido of Bogney, Part V

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Under the Green Desk Lamp…

Green DesklampBushido: (武士道) literally meaning “the way of the warrior”, is a Japanese word for the way of the samurai life, loosely analogous to the concept of chivalry in Europe. (Source)

Bogney: A tiny dog, wise for his years.

Today, we once again combine the old and the new for a fresh perspective on life through the eyes of our classy canine friend. This is the daily living of a small dog. This is the extrapolated wisdom of the ages…This is the Bushido of Bogney.

-Click Here for Part I-

-Click Here for Part II-

-Click Here for Part III-

-Click Here for Part IV-

Lesson 1:

When out for a walk, Bogney will occasionally get something stuck in his fur or paw. A thorn, a bur, or the like. Sometimes it may even be a clump of snow knotted painfully in his fur.

When this happens, he will limp, and look up to me for help. Finding the offending item, I will work to disentangle it from his fur. This increases the discomfort, and Bogney will pull away and struggle, which only hurts him more. If he could submit to the moment and be still, it would be over much quicker.

We all act this way sometimes in life.

Lesson 2:

Recently, Bogney had a painful stomach issue, and needed a tightly controlled diet. He needed to eat lots of fibre to get it under control, but because his stomach was hurting, he did not want to eat. Worse, when he did eat, he tried to choose soft, fatty items which were more tempting, but would only worsen his condition.

Often, our what we need and what we desire are very different.

Lesson 3:

Bogney loves to cuddle together with his parents, often ensuring at least part of him is touching each one. However, there are many occasions where his parents will be in different rooms. At these times, he will leave his bed or couch, and lay himself on the floor at the centre-point between their locations.

He sacrifices personal comfort to be as close as possible to both of his loved ones. We all stretch ourselves thin sometimes. This is the way with love.

Now however, the snow flakes are falling, and Bogney is sitting warm in his bed, watching them through the window. The pain of the past is forgotten, and he is content in his present moment.

This perhaps, is his greatest lesson to us. At least for today.

-Brad OH Inc.