I got this fun writerly thing from
When you’re finished, post this little paragraph on your blog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people DON’T ACTUALLY remember about you. Heh heh.
The Meme-Mandated, Semi-Regularly-Updated, Occasionally Coherent Thoughts of G.M. Skarka
Budapest, 1998. The incident with the briefcase and the bar afterwards. Good times man, good times.
What was the redhead’s name again?
Sam, amusingly enough.
There was the one time when I couldn’t get that zipper to work. Man, I’ll never forget the look on the Colonel’s face. And he said we’d never get the stains out. Boy, did we show him!
I remember the look on your face when the girl with the pierced neck laughed at you, and you tried explaining that “little Gareth” was an ironic euphemism, but she wasn’t having any, and just as you punched me for laughing at your lousy Cantonese, the woman with basket full of dolls shot the bus driver and we all went off the overpass.
I walk with a limp to this day.
Oh yeah. That’s right. She said it was short for Anyanka.
We had our back against the wall and they were coming for us. Nothing left to do but try and talk our way out. Unfortunately, you had laryngitis and I ain’t much of a talker so I had to shoot them all instead. Ruined a perfectly good pair of heals.
I remember when we were back to back, swords drawn, surrounded by those Ninja Nazi’s. It must have been when? 94…95? We were in that little dive bar in Sheboygan, the one that made those great Red Raspberry Spritzers. Not that we ever got any of them there, we were more interested in that old Star Wars video game (the one you could actually sit in, not the stand up model) in the back. So we were back to back, and I made the comment about the sweat glistening on my body. To which you turned and asked why I was naked from the waist down. All I said was oops, but all of these years later I can tell you this, there is a reason I was partially naked, and her name was Sharon. You remember her, she had those eyes, and well you know… To this day I still hate Wisconsin Nazi’s.
Throwing spit wads at JS during academy sure was fun! Remember when you stuck your tongue out at Portia and she screamed totally ran over and made out with you?
God, that was fun watching the look on your face as she came bounding over…
Laura and I laughed a lot =)
It was that time in Alabama…you were driving that old piece of shit Dodge Dart and I was popping off shots at the Klansmen who were chasing us. Every so often, I’d grab the wheel while you mooned them. Fuckers chased us halfway to Georgia.
We swore we’d never again speak of it.
Even now, I chafe.
Still, the fries were good, and Barbara looked hot in that corset. I just wished we could have kept some of the diamonds…
I’ll always remember the jealousy I felt when you walked in the club with Barbara Eden on your arm. I knew that you were a swinger, and that your book had sold like hotcakes, but man, she was a stunner.
It was too bad that I had to knife that lousy mouthy barkeep. Those were my good pants.
I’ll never forget it. It was the single-most boring day of my life. Not a damn thing happened, especially after you lost the remote to the tv.
My clearest memory begins with the smell of kerosene. Our madame was just outside the closet door. From inside, we could hear her clearly and calmly reassuring the police that no illicit activity was being had there. We giggled into our fists, trying desparately not to be heard. It was warm in that closet and the air was thick with the fumes of the lantern you were leaning against. Through the keyhole, you saw her escort the uniformed gentlemen out the front door. After their departure, our madame counted to thirty before opening the closet door.
“Quickly, boys, back to your ladies,” she patted us each on the bottom and we broke away. You went into your room; I into mine. Our fair lady clients were awaiting us.
We had been fleeing from the Spanish Armada across the Atlantic Ocean(who knew they were so persistent?) and had finally lots them when we sighted the mainland. All kinds of natives on the beach screaming and hollering and then the unmistakable sound of a giant catpault. I’ll never forget the look on your face when you realized the captain’s ship was gonna be sank by a flying llama. Nothing to do but jump ship and swim for the islands. Great people there. Lettin us lounge on the beach while they brought us rum bream and coconut milk… mmm, rum cream.
Friended you BTW. Hope to see you around the Manor at X-mas.
I remember when we first met. I was on the run from the underground ‘law’ in Marrakesh, and Ross Wynn told me that you had a car and were heading to Cairo to deliver a few gigabytes of RAM from an underground Japanese manufacturer to a team of Isreali hackers moving through to Frankfurt via Egypt.
So, I headed down to the warehouse district to meet up with some guy I had never heard of previously. Of course, he only refered to you as “Gare” which I misheard to be “Gear”, which seemed somehow appropriate coming from “Spyke”. We finally met in that sleazy little speakeasy that Edgar “Father Eddie” Bryce ran on Dawson street, behind the New Africa hotel. What a horrid place, but I was sure glad to see anyone who could get be out of town when I needed the ride. I didn’t care what you were like, as long as you had wheels.
Then we ended up talking RPGs and music for the entire ride, and it was great. I forgot my worries until that unexpected check-point on the road looking for illegal bootleg audio tapes of psychological study groups. You saw the checkpoint, looked at the rough lands around us, and took that beat up old Lada off road for eight grueling hours of the bumpiest, dustiest driving I’ve ever experienced.
Thanks for the lift. I fell in love with Cairo, and “worked” there for a year or so along with Blinky before we both picked up and moved back to Canada.