The Shockuation Room

From Scranton, PA I had roughly 120 miles left of my journey. It was 9:43 am and my flight left for Britain at 3:30 eastern time. In my mind I felt that even if I had a total meltdown in NYC I should be able to hitch a ride from Kramer pulling a rickshaw and get to JFK in time.

The ride from Scranton to NYC was dull, however with every approaching mile I felt the weight of NYC bearing down and I started to run anxious scenarios in my head about all the terrible things that could happen.

“What if I’m just driving down the street and some wild dog like CUJO jumps through the window and into my passenger seat and he like steals my pop!?”

“What if it’s a nice dog and he jumps through my window and he’s homeless and now I have to take him to an animal shelter?”

“What if a cat dive bombs me from a high rise and comes swooping into my car because he’s discovered Zoltan’s cat nip I forgot to take out!”

“And what about if a man is walking along the side walk stumbles out into the street and accidentally cleans my windows? What am I supposed to pay these people?!”

My brain was working overtime and beginning to fill with dread as it seemed every passing road sign mentioned NYC and I could not, even if I wanted to pull away from its gravitational pull. That in mind I started to realize that this was going to be a little different than driving around Liberty City in a . Suddenly I thought, maybe I wasn’t so prepared to handle NYC traffic with only 38 hours of GTA 3 under my belt. I should have never believed my neighbor ‘Grass Seed’ when he told me “Oliver, GTA 3 is used in classrooms for defensive driving to simulate real life driving situations. My cousin,, played GTA 3 for three days straight, recorded himself the entire time, sent it into one of those there schools, four hours later he had himself a certificate and everything talking about defensive driving and what not. Don’t let New York City scare you, you get on your PS2 and play your head off.”

And that’s just what I felt like, I felt like I had left my head next to a TV in Allegany, which in my opinion was not a benefit when it comes to driving.

Ted, had something to say about my anxiety and stress that was sky rocketing. At first it seemed he was trying to ease my worried mind by calling on a reserve of power, he had never seemed like a sports car, but suddenly he was the little car that could! He more responsive than he had ever been Ted was reading my mind and performing the traffic maneuvers before my brain had came up with the though. I felt like Ted had mysterious became and that made me feel pretty badass. No road was going to stop Ted/KIT and I, make way NYC, prepare to be owned.

That ended abruptly as Ted started to have some sort of a seizure while driving down I-678. I had a strong inclination that this could only end badly. Ted was performing the Merton Hanks chicken dance in car version. It would have been a sight to see if you were not the one behind the wheel. Finally, I was forced off the road to the shoulder. I popped the bonnet (Like I was going to be able to figure out why Ted had just jumped the shark) and what I found underneath lead me to believe that Subway’s newest ingredient was finely shredded Psilocybin mushroom sprinkled on the bread. Because what I saw didn’t add up.

Before I get to Somalia, I would like to describe the journey to get there. I have never left the town of Allegany, New York. When I say, never left, I mean I have never been out of the city limits. When my friends would go on vacations I would have them bring me over the video tapes and I would write stories as if I were there. Trust me, I had some great trips to Disneyland. However, this has left me a little green when it comes to traveling the globe, which appears to be a large component of my new occupation. My inexperience outside my home town, hopefully, will not be a factor as I will depend on the kindness of strangers.

I am 19 years old, almost to turn 20. I enjoy doing what typical college students do, you know, reading, researching, writing, investigating things that don’t add up, all in an attempt to gain as much academic success during my time at St. Bonaventure. I try to be in bed by 11:30 pm each night and up by 4:45 am. That gives me roughly nineteen hours or so of time to be productive. I have friends, but they feel like I work too hard and am trying to make them look bad in class. I can’t help it, that’s how much I love news! I am the President of Journalism at St. Bonaventure as well as Editor- In-Chief of our university’s paper known as: The Bona Venture.

The plan was simple enough, first I anticipated venturing out in my blue 1998 Fiat Multipla to New York City the trip is roughly 350 miles. Then I would hop on a plan to London, then hopefully, without too many stop offs land in Mogadishu, the Capitol and largest city in Somalia. So, yesterday I spent a great deal of time compiling an enormous collection of home made compact discs. I felt like I had some pretty decent stuff on there, I was excited and a little anxious, for the trip, to say the least.

At 5:21 am I said farewell to mom and my 19 year old cat named Zoltan and stepped out of the home that I hadn’t been away from for more than one day at a time. Let me tell you a little about Zoltan besides being 19 he is one of the biggest and weirdest cats I’ve ever met. On a daily basis he will drink either my mom or I’s beverage if it’s left unattended for more than three seconds. Along with that feature Zoltan likes to dive bomb you in your sleep, just to wake you up and then he walks away from you purring. The cat is heavily addicted to cat nip and if you even mention that word he loses his mind and goes on an all out search and rescue mission. It’s best to stay out of his way at that point, trust me. As for my mom, she raised me by herself working two or three jobs at a time and was always there for me and always told me to go after what I wanted. She’s a good mom and more worried than I am at this point.

Anyway, the Multipla started up like a beast. For being a ’98 it only had 37,000 miles on it. I imagined that it still operated the way it did when it came off the assembly line. Full tank of gas, cds and some junk food, “what’s the worst that could happen?” I thought.

And there was nothing to worry about as I merged onto I-86, the interstate that I will be on for almost 200 miles. Things were going swimmingly, even if I wasn’t swimming. I had my GPS sat to a female Brit, the music made the trip as if I were playing a video game, weaving in and out of traffic like GTA.

However, that’s where I happened upon a problem. The Multipla had never been driven like that before. It was only used to be driven at about 33 mph, no hurry when I was just fetching some milk for the mother unit. The Multipla, which a long time ago I had given the nickname Ted, started making one of the most unusual noises I had heard in my lifetime. The noise sounded like an automatic can opener and a blender fighting with a dog for its breakfast. I signaled my intention and pulled over to the shoulder. The worst that could happen did happen, there was an automatic can opener and a blender under my hood! Luckily, there was no dog. I removed the kitchen appliances and it started up like a champ, “way to go Ted,” I thought.

Kitchen appliances aside, Ted and I were back on the road. I still had over 200 miles to cover just to get to New York City, not to mention navigate traffic there. To prepare myself for this trip I played 38 hours of GTA 3 this week. The interstate drive had been easier than I had anticipated because I didn’t have any police, nor tanks, FBI, or helicopters after me . However, there were still the idiots that changed lanes without turn signals.

Call number four from my mom the conversation went like this:
“Hello”
“Hello”
“This is mom.”
“I know, mom”
“What are you doing?”
“Driving.”
“Are you checking your blind spots, the mirrors, are both hands on the wheel, is the GPS still working?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you?”
“On a road.”
“I know that, but where are you close to?”
“Pretty close to Binghamton, about to stop there I think.”
“Ok, be careful!”
“I will be.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”

That took some energy out of me so I stopped off in Binghamton, which is right off the interstate. I decided I would grab a bite to eat since my breakfast was a concoction of Skittles and Golden Graham Treats. To be honest, that version of breakfast was tasty, but I felt like I needed some perhaps, real food. That being said, I had to take Mcdonalds, Burger King, and so on. So, I chose Subway and prayed to God I wouldn’t choke on it.

Ted was gently guided from I-86 to I-81 and we would enter Pennsylvania very soon. Passing through Conklin then Hallstead then New Milford and so on, traveling through PA in the summer time is a beautiful experience. I would have to change roads again when I made it to Scranton, I-380/80 would lead me back into New York and to the biggest city in the USA.

Check Back In For Part II

Yesterday I received a request from a young man desiring a position at The Shockuation Room as an intern. Here is how the conversation went.
———————————————————————————————————————————————————————-

Dear Mr. Rush,

My name is Oliver Pepper, I would like to be considered for an internship at The Shockuation Room. I am 19 and currently a junior at St. Bonaventure University double majoring in Journalism and Communications. I became a member of NSPA when I was eleven years old. I have been the Journalism President at St. Bonaventure since I sat foot on campus. You have been an inspiration to me from my earliest memory. After reading your article called, “News! NEWS! News!” I was hooked. I have all of your articles and stories that I’ve been able to find in a binder and I read them often for motivation. Like yourself, I started my own weekly informational pamphlet for my town when I was a small boy.

Another reason that I want to become an important member of The Shockuation Room’s team is because I have never left Allegany, New York. I was born, grew up and am attending college in this town. I would love the opportunity to travel the world and report the news to the people of Earth.

Please give me this chance Mr. Rush! You can contact me at (716) 867-5309 anytime, or my return address is on the envelope, I am waiting in great anticipation for your correspondence.

Yours,

Oliver Pepper

P.S. News.
———————————————————–

Dear Oliver Pepper,

I am so excited to hear from a young individual that is as excited about news as you, Oliver! I believe you would make an outstanding member of our team here at The Shockuation Room. I have just the right assignment for our newest member, which I will be informing you of later in this letter.

Here at The Shockuation Room we take news seriously. It doesn’t matter if it seems as unimportant as what you or I had for breakfast or if the President of The United States of America just declared war on Britain, it’s all NEWS, Oliver! It appears to me that is your philosophy as well, and that is ecstasy to our ears here at The Shockuation Room.

Your first assignment, (after you come in to the office and meet the rest of the staff) is to travel to the beautiful country of Somalia. There is a lot of news coming from that country right now and it seems to me like a man of your age and lack of experience could use the travel!

Get ready for your big break as a member of The Shockuation team, Oliver!

Stay Tuned,

Coyote Rush

P.S. WELCOME TO THE TEAM OLIVER!
——————————-

I can’t wait to see what he finds in Somalia.

Stay Tuned,

Coyote Rush

My grandfather watches as many Detroit Tigers games he possibly can every summer. However, watching it with him it is at times, hard to decipher if he is a fan or watches the game because he hates them and enjoys to rant about poor performance and poor decisions. His hatred for their manager Jim Leyland is unmatched in the world.

At times my grandpa comes up with theories as to why Leyland is so stupid. Here is one:

“Leyland is so full of shit he has turnips growing out of his ears.”

Jim Leyland was ‘strategizing’ at his sheet doing the game and my grandpa opined:

“I hope you’re reading your will.”

Or more straightforward:

“God is he a terrible manager.”
“He surely isn’t going to win the division, he’s just not good enough.”
“He is not an inspiring manager.”

His hatred and frustration is not purely focused on the manager. It stems to the players and the broadcasters. This is what he said about the starting pitcher today:

“We should trade Brad Penny to Cleveland for a water boy.”

And one of the announcers, Rod Allen:
“Rod Allen knows so much about everything. Just listen to him. If I wanted to know where to get a car, I’d ask Rod Allen. If I wanted to know a good place to get a suit, I’d ask Rod Allen.”

He couldn’t even keep his words limited to the Tigers. He changed the channel to CNN and didn’t like something that was mentioned to which my grandpa said, “You’re so stupid, you’re almost as dumb as Leyland.”

My grandfather gets so upset with the commentating that he mutes the game at a rather impressive rate.

Finally, good words on a player:

“That’s a good pitcher.”

Ironically, his name is Al or Albert Albuquerque. Now, there is a little story that involves: my grandfather, my mother and me. A few years ago we were delivering all sorts of things to random places in the united states, on this trip I went with my uncle, we met up with my grandpa and my mom in Phoenix, Arizona at a Motel 6. They were on their own trip and my uncle and I decided to book a few more deliveries in Arizona so we could help them unload a very large lawnmower and then assist in loading a motorcycle. That’s not the real point of the story. The real point of the story is that for whatever reason we decided to stick together for a couple of days and we drove to Albuquerque, NM. My grandpa doesn’t like to get fast food and instead enjoys going into a restaurant and eating a decent meal. This goes against almost all of the U-SHIP codes. However, he gets what he wants 99% of the time. So, we’re in Albuquerque and my grandpa decides after the motel is booked that my mother, my uncle, he and I should all find a place to eat together. Pizza is brought up as an option. It is decided that we will drive down the road to see what there is as possibilities. Pizza is once again brought up and we see a Taco Bell/Pizza Hut Express.
“Well, hell there’s a Pizza Hut right there” my grandpa says.

I am not so sure of this decision and am quite suspicious of what sort of pizza there will be inside.
My uncle says “I’ll drop you off: I’m going to go across the street to KFC.”

My mom, grandpa and I wander inside. I look at the Pizza Hut side of the menu and see that there are only personal pizzas. I realize this will never fly with my grandpa and decide to stand over by the exit, leaning against the garbage container. My grandpa stares at the menu for a long time before finally speaking.
Gesturing with his hands he says, “Do you guys have any regular size pizzas back there?”
What I heard next brought about one of the most classic scenes that will live in infamy with my family. I had no idea what the 4’10” Hispanic employee said to my grandpa and my grandpa obviously didn’t either.
He looks directly at me for some reason and asks in a voice that is anything, but quiet, “Do you have any idea what the hell he just said to me?”
I couldn’t handle it: I put my arms up in the air, turned around and walked straight out the door, if I would have had my sunglasses there would have been instant deployment. A couple minutes pass, my mom and grandpa come out: my mom in a hysteric fit of laughter, my grandpa sputtering angrily. My grandpa stood and stared across the street at the KFC with fire in his eyes.

My mom sat next to me on the curb, my grandpa was not through being angry at all.
“Bill drops us off here at this Pizza Hut that doesn’t even have fucking real pizza. I don’t even know what they serve in that place. And he goes across the street and wheels himself into KFC for a chicken dinner, just to leave us sitting out here on the curb like the homeless.”
Now both my mom and I are laughing uncontrollably. My grandpa sputtering things about the importance of being able to speak English if you’re living in America and other related topics. I turn around and there are three more Hispanic workers looking at us through the doorway. About five seconds after I notice them my uncle pulls back into the parking lot to pick us up. My grandpa instantly berates my uncle about the whole fiasco that just occurred. The Hispanic workers still standing in the doorway and my grandpa starts screaming at them through the windshield. They look extremely confused and finally my grandpa flips them off and holds the bird for at least four seconds. We drive away in a hurry. My uncle going insane because he thinks they will hunt us down and trash the motorcycle we have in the back.

Back to the present:
Suddenly the bases were loaded with two outs for Cabrera, the best hitter on our team. The general mood in the crowd was hysteria. The general mood in my grandfather’s heart was doubt.
“There is no way that Cabrera will get a hit here, they are going to strike him out.”

Base hit for Cabrera. Base hit for Martinez. Base hit for Jhonny Peralta. Tigers have the lead and the Diamondbacks make another pitching change.

My grandpa philosophizing now:
“I believe that putting Albuquerque in the game is a psychological boost to this team with that Brad Penny in the game the hitters could care less about getting a hit.”

In the top of the ninth the Tigers tried to make the game a little more interesting, giving up base runners on first and second then giving up a base hit for another run for the Diamondbacks making the score 8-3 Tigers, before Leyland “got his head out of his ass.” according to Jerry and put the Big Potato in. He ends the game quickly and the Tigers win.

Hope you enjoyed a rare sports entry for The Shockuation Room.

Have A Great Day,

Coyote Rush

NEWSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

I can not believe that I have not brought this news to you sooner, but there is that quote that goes exactly like, “better late than never” or something like that. This news should have sent me into orbit, the look, the feel, of cotton, I mean news.

Months ago my laptop (crucial for NEWS!), suddenly had an annoying problem. Its screen was excruciatingly loose and wobbley. Honestly, it doesn’t cause that many problems, it actually has some advantages:

1. Extremely fast screen recline!
2. Scare a friend that doesn’t notice the problem!
C. The Detroit Pistons rule! (What’s the score? It’s zero zero. Who is winning? Cubs)
4. That’s really pushing it.

The disadvantages are:
!. I feel like somehow I am going to break the computer.
@. I feel like everyone else is going to break the computer.
#. It wobbles.
$. Extremely fast screen recline!

Anyway, the real reason I am bringing this news to your attention is, just how did the screen become loose?

I am glad you asked.

Upon further inspection (I am very, very, mechanical, ask anyone.) I found that one side had a minute screw hole that was filled and on the left side there was an opening like the Grand Canyon, except on a truly tiny scale. (So, more like a baby, baby, Grand Canyon.) You would think that with my exceptional mechanical ability that I have mentioned above I would just simply fix it. There is only one problem with what I said above, I lied.

Anyway, you can still believe most of what I say.

Now… Your question was, “How did this happen to your laptop, Coyote?” Thank God you asked.

There is no way that I, could have taken apart this apparatus, it’s just not going to happen. So, get that me being mechanically inclined notion straight out of your head!

The truth is that from the planet Lemme Go 7, a planet four million times smaller than Earth is a species that rule the planet and may in fact rule the Universe, whom am I to know? I hate the who/whom thing, and no matter how many times I hear the rule I am purposely not going to follow it, because why!?

Over here:

The species on Lemme Go 7, the tiny species, resemble small walking and talking phillip screwdrivers. They have a name, their name is also their claim to fame that name is: Build Me Here/Build Me There, but if you want to address the entire species it is Build Me. The Build Me Here are the females and the Build Me There are the males.

I have researched into Lemme Go 7 and the Build Me’s have a huge intergalactic space travel and information program known as the Build or Unbuild Union of Lemme Go 7. The space program describes its ability on their website, “The BUULG7 has made great progress in the last five years, no longer are the times in which we believe sending a Build Me Here to one of our moons as important. That being said, we no longer believe that our system of satellites or other equipment mindlessly sent off in space to die is any good at all. In the past five months we have made four successful flights to the planet Earth.”

At the sight of this news I lost it… I turned into a lamp post, then a glove box, then a ski slope, then a frying pan, then a can of tuna fish before finally becoming myself again. I started to have a thought of who could be responsible.

Anyway, the planet Earth! How absurd is that? Later the website exclaimed even more pertinent information.

“On these voyages we have met a creature known to the planet as Coyote Rush, he loves news!”

“Ok. That’s too much, those Build Me’s have to have something to do with my laptop” I thought.

The BUULG7 went on:

“In these visits we have learned a great deal of information on Earth and specifically on Coyote Rush. Coyote Rush, a male who seems to be on his computer all day besides when he leaves the dwelling or during his nightly hibernating. Instead of building something in the name of education we decided to unbuild and take out a singluar screw, which fit Lady Gaga of North Lemore’s head perfectly, just to see the reaction. Sadly, his reaction was limited. He was slightly taken back by the extremely fast screen recline of the screen of his laptop. Mainly that was it, maybe we should have built something in the name of science.”

SO! THAT WAS IT! The Build Me’s have dissected my laptop! What news.

Until Next Time,

Coyote Rush

In a shocking move a member of the Oregon House of Representatives has pushed a passing of a bill to ban the sale of suicide kits, like the do-it-yourself asphyxiation hood used by a man to kill himself late last year. It now must be passed in the Oregon state Senate. What a surprise! However, this would have not touch the touch the physician assisted suicides for the terminally ill that was passed in 1997. Washington is the only other state in the Union to have a similar law.

What brought this issue to the forefront was the acclaim of an elderly woman living in California sells the self-asphyxiation kits via mail order service. Mainly the suicide of a 29-year-old from Eugene, Oregon.

The 91 year old, great grandmother, retired science teacher sells the kits intending to ease the pain of incurable terminally ill individuals. The kits, which sell for $60 including shipping, consist of a plastic hood that closes around the neck and tubing that connects the hood to a tank of helium or other inert gas the patients supply themselves.

Federal agents have raided her home last month and seized documents and other items accusing her of conspiracy, mail fraud, tax evasion and the “sale of (an) adulterated or misbranded medical device.”

However, the federal agents never made it outside. After a couple hours of the agents missing other agents were called in to investigate, found thirteen agents sucking helium and speaking like chipmunks, mainly Alvin. They were having a blast. More surprising was the vampire they found in the basement. The agents became a buffet of the vampire. The undead immortal never had such a feast. Even though the 91 year old woman wasn’t there she is now being charged with blood sucking. The vampire has not been seen since.

Until Next Time,

Coyote Rush

I want to apologize for my inability to find important news. I recently was shot to the moon for over two weeks.

Listen:
I didn’t have any idea what was going on when I was there, so nothing important to report about. Plus, there were no pencils or pens on the moon.

Once again seriously listen:
The immigration agency believed it was necessary for me to go to the moon to check to see if there were any crazy alien plans to get across the border. However, the plan was not very well thought out. I was shot full of drugs to survive the trip to the moon. Sadly, the sedatives didn’t wear off when they planned they would and I was a mess for the entire time I sailed to the moon.

When I got to the moon they told me I didn’t need a space suit. This made sense to me because I was a bit sedated. Rumor had it that if you were in space without being pressurized properly then you would become space mush. For whatever reason that didn’t happen to me.

Anyway, I got out of the ship and there sure were aliens. And plenty of them, for whatever reason they didn’t appear to want to leave. They were creating a civilization on the moon. Full of whore houses, grocery stores, pet supply stores and mom and pop shops. It honestly looked like they had no reason to leave. I decided that leaving them alone was the best idea.

Suddenly, I woke up at home in my bed. Covered in newspapers. I had 3042 voice mails telling me not to ever plan on getting another call from the agency for another job after the mistakes I had made, how close I was to jeopardizing the mission and destroying America’s freedom! I had no clue.

Pay attention:
I wasn’t going to write about this, but I felt it was sorta news. (news??!?!)

Until next time

Coyote Rush