In the Beginning

Ok, whether you know me as M.G. Shuggs (math nerds wut wut), The Wheat Thin (yes I am in fact a dark skinned cracker), The Papa Bear (of House SB fame), or even such names as Ogre, The Fro, and Bud, it's me Houston Schuerger coming to you with a blog for the first time in years. The last time I wrote one of these I was interested in Katie, was still living with Frasher and James, still had my right knee, and had yet to graduate from college. So a lot has changed since then, but we'll get to that later on. As far as the new blog goes you'll notice I've done away with the old sign off and the disclaimer (although those will occasionally be in a section I like to call "One from the Vaults"), as much as I still think they are classic the disclaimer was a little self-deprecating and the sign off although sometimes hilarious was starting to get stretched thin on ideas. This time around things are however just as formatted. I've got three sections "Life and Times," "One from the Vaults," and "Currently Developing."
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"Life and Times"
This section is devoted to any interesting current events.
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Rugby season has just ended. We didn't make it to the playoffs as the team everyone expected to come in third (Scott Air Force Base) surprised both us and the Royals. Well, surprised might not be the best word for our game with them. We arrived with thirteen players (fifteen are supposed to be on the field at a time) the ref suggested we forfeit, but knowing what that could mean to our season and determined to fight against the odds we still insisted on the match. We held them quite well through the first half, and luckily 20 minutes into the first half our fourteenth man showed up and 35 minutes into the first half our fifteenth player showed up. However those first 20 minutes had taken their toll on the players who had experienced them and we were quite worn out. In the end we lost a hard fought game. On a brighter note we just beat the last two teams we played by a combined margin of over 100 points (which is damn near unheard of).
As far as social developments go, there isn't much to report except for a congratulations to a pair of friends of mine who just got married, so congrats to Adam and Shvetha Gohn.
As far as school goes I'm taking the year off to get some teaching experience. This does not mean that I'm missing out on the college experience, as currently I'm finally getting through studying for the GRE. Now all that is left is taking the practice tests, cleaning up any areas that seem to be lacking, and finally taking the real thing. Afterwards I will finally have the chance to start applying to grad-schools. As far as teaching goes I can't begin to describe how much of a change it has caused in my life. I have now forced myself to get what sleep I can, and acclimate myself to a schedule that involves being awake at polarly opposed times during the day over the course of the week. My wardrobe around town has completely shifted and I'm more careful when describing where I work. These however are insignificant when compared to the change which has come over my thought process and social belief structure. I’ve started to go through my day with a sense of purpose I haven’t had in years. It has helped me to regain my confidence and remove some insecurity as well. It has really reaffirmed my belief that I belong in education. Most importantly though is the feeling I get from it, I really feel like I’m connecting with these kids and even getting through to the ones who are at high risk for falling through the cracks. I really believe that who I am and the kinds of things I’ve done in my life help me understand them better than most teachers and hence I can achieve their respect while still taking the time to show them avenues in life they hadn’t thought of or were unsure of. I really feel like I’m doing some good, what’s more is that I still think I can do more. To say the least my experience thus far has truly lit a fire in my heart and I really want to do whatever I can to help these kids succeed. So far I’ve taught in four different school districts (Cape, Scott City, Kelso, and Jackson) and taught science, math, social studies, business, gym, art, and the general education involved in elementary school. Teaching upper level mathematics is where I feel most comfortable (which could have been easily predicted) and I feel like I have really accomplished a lot and have succeeded in making a difference already, but teaching elementary school has had just as profound of an effect on me. Teaching elementary school I really feel like I’m giving back, being around the little kids is really heartwarming and has given me a new sense of hope, and due to how different it is from anything I’ve ever done in my life it gives me the sense that I can do anything I put my mind to.
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"One from the Vaults"
This section is dedicated to stories that at one time were huge or at least hugely entertaining moments in my life. It also has an occasional sub-section I like to call "Year at a Glance." "Year at a Glance" is an extremely abbreviated sort of autobiography. I've actually got a set limit on how much I'm willing to put into one of these which I believe will force me to put anything that can't be quickly summed up into "One from the Vaults" as a stand alone piece.
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"Year at a Glance"
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Disclaimer: I hope these entries do not offend anyone; I am simply trying to recreate the situation as best I can from what memories I have. If anything I write down could use some correction please let me know, as I am sure my memory is far from perfect (especially in the really early entries).
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July 8, 1984-July 8, 1985
A young couple named Fred and Lisa has recently moved from Amarillo, TX to Fairview, PA, a small town outside of Erie. They have brought along with them their daughter Alexi who is currently about to turn 4. The move was inspired by a job opportunity which Fred landed at The Erie Times News, a job which means a promotion and a raise. The one downside is that every member of both Fred’s and Lisa’s respective immediate families lives in either Texas or New Mexico.
On July 8th, 1984 Houston the couple’s son is born. He is a cute little blond haired cracker. Despite the distance, once Houston is old enough to travel the family occasionally makes its way back to its roots in Amarillo. Here awaiting them are Fred’s sister Norma and her husband Jim Houston (a descendant of Sam Houston) after whom Houston has been named, Fred’s parents Anna and Otto (originally named Attila after another famous general that “supposedly” has ties to the family), Lisa’s parents Marilyn and Gene Rudisill (spelling questionable), close friends of the family Dennis and Tony, (along with their respective families) and occasional visits from other random family members.

July 8, 1985-July 8, 1986
Houston’s hair gets wilder and woollier as time goes on turning into quite the little Jew-fro. This year Alexi, Houston’s older sister starts grade school, leaving behind her pre-school days at St. Stephens. It is also during this year which Houston becomes deathly ill and his parents find out he is as of currently allergic to many things including Ketchup.

July 8, 1986-July 8, 1987
Houston’s hair continues to get bigger, but starts to show signs of darkening, which is to be expected since as of currently he is the only blond in his immediate family. It is this hair which shall set him apart for years in numerous different ways. One of which that is prevalent at this current place in time are the constant “You have such a pretty daughter,” remarks his parents receive in reference to him (clearly such fools forgot about the 70’s and have not managed to keep that funk alive).
The family soon moves to Girard a small town just a couple of miles from Fairview and sets up at 331 Boothby Dr, right next door to the Antolik family (Merle, Debbie, and Krissy). Accordingly Alexi now starts going to Elk Valley Elementary School. Alexi also becomes a Brownie. This would cause a problem with what to do with Houston, but luckily three of the other girls in the troop also have little brothers of the same age and so the mothers set up a daycare-esque situation with the troop and take turns taking care of the boys on site. It is by this way which Houston becomes a “Girl Scout” and meets Hans Lunser, Nate Harpst, and Brian Frasher. The four boys quickly become friends and to a reasonable extent have stayed in touch to recent days.
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"Currently Developing"
This section is dedicated to whatever piece of literature I'm working on composing at the time. Currently I'm working on the storyline behind a comic book I call "Hell Force." Although this is not my usual medium and the subject matter tends to get a little over the top at times, I still enjoy working within it and I hope you'll enjoy reading it. Another important thing to note in this section is that these are works in progress, hence there will most likely be imperfections, and it is very likely that they won't completely mirror the finished piece; however my friends and family often ask if they could read some of what I've been writing so here's that chance.
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A ghostly haze of smoke drifts through the corner of a dimly lit room as a man in a business suit sits smoking an imported cigar. On the table in front of him sits a briefcase and a steadily warming beer, neither of which concerns the man very much, they are but mere props in the day’s events. His gaze is fixed casually attentive on the B&W Bank across the street and down a story from where he sits. His large associate has already finished most of his beer and is pensively turning a coaster over in his hand. The two are clearly waiting for something, but as far as the bartender down on the main floor of Mulligan’s Tavern can figure the two are most likely talking business over a couple of beers.

The pistol slides neatly into Peter Solovsky’s left shoulder holster as does yet another on the right side two seconds later. Peter slips on his black trench coat, checks the pockets, grabs up a black duffel bag, and heads out of his second story bedroom. From his end of the hall he walks to the first door on his right. It is his son Michael’s room. Michael never realizes his father is kissing his fevered forehead nor does he notice when his father has left the room. Katherine Solovsky is still in their son’s room as she has been for almost an hour. Reluctantly she stands up from the chair which has been beside Michael’s bed for two months leans over her son tucking the blankets in around him and kissing him on the forehead. She makes her way slowly from the room and down the stairs to where Peter is waiting. Peter notices the slowness in her step and when Katherine has made her way down the stairs he goes to her, putting his arm around her and pulling her in close.
“I… I just don’t like leaving him like this….”
“We’ve discussed this. We won’t be gone long and this is the best way we can help him, when we get back things will be better; but without the money he’ll never be admitted to the clinic, and you know what that means…”
At that she collapses to his chest and begins to sob. He gently grabs her and holds her back by her shoulders creating just enough room for her to look him in the eyes. When she does not, he lovingly places the side of his forefinger below her chin and raises her head until their eyes meet.
“You know I need you on this, so be strong, if not for me or for yourself, then for him.” As he finishes this he closes his eyes, nods his head, and looks at her waiting for a response.
She returns the gesture; they kiss, clasp hands, and head for the door. On her way out she uses the time she spends closing the door to take one last long look towards the stairs. She makes sure the door latches, pauses for a second to gather some internal strength, and heads for the driver side of their station wagon.
The twenty minutes it takes to drive to the garage seems to last hours. Peter works his way through every step in the plan checking each for mistakes and making sure that every possibility leaves them on top. There are but a couple places where incidents are possible and despite how unlikely he knows they are his analytical mind is stuck on them refusing to accept the risk that it has so rarely had to take in its existence. Every aspect of his adult life has been laid out, planned, and evaluated at zero chance for failure prior to proceeding. Only his proposal to Katherine had had a risk for failure and he had had to leave to throw up in the men’s restroom three times during that dinner before he could manage to pop the question. He hadn’t even heard himself saying the words when he had finally found the guts. He had just kept repeating the words “The risk is acceptable in relation to the potential gain, the risk is acceptable in relation to the potential gain…” in his head, just as he was now doing in the car. Making the connection he begins to giggle to himself, but that doesn’t last long. A slideshow of old memories is popping through his mind‘s eye: he sees Kat walking down the aisle beautiful and elegant in her flowing white dress, he sees Kat glowing the first time she held Michael, then he sees Michael sick in bed, and finally that prick Benjamin smiling in court; and with that the giggle turns to a moan which gives way to a growling shout as he strikes out at the dashboard dinting it and bloodying his fist. Kat gives him a slight sideways glance, but goes right back to driving; she knows what he is going through, she is there herself.
As they approach the garage Kat becomes worried that the blowing sand may have completely buried it, but as they get closer she begins to make out the tarp blowing in the wind. The carefully painted tarp is only perceptible if you know what to look for and where to look for it, just as Peter had said it would be. She pulls up to the tarp and Peter gets out pulling the tarp up just enough to allow her to drive the station wagon inside the wooden garage. She gets out walks around the station wagon and gets into the charger sitting next to it. She pulls out of the garage. Peter carefully checks the charges he has strapped to the support beams of the garage, grabs his duffel bag out of the station wagon, pulls the tarp back down and jumps into the charger.
The realization that they are now on their way to the bank hits Peter like a ton of bricks. At first it causes butterflies, but his adrenaline has already started to flow and the nervousness soon gives way to a determined anger driven anxiousness, a feeling he has not had in years. For the remainder of the drive his mind flips back and forth randomly between three things, Benjamin’s laughing face, smashing his way through defensive line after defensive line in high school, and the current task at hand; all the while in the background he hears Coach Vaughn yelling “THERE IS WORK TO BE DONE BOYS!”
He feels the car come to a stop and realizes they are now at the bank. He looks to his left and nods to Kat she nods back, they kiss, he reaches in the back grabs the duffel bag pulls out a gas mask straps it on and steps out of the car. Running up the stairs he sees himself running out of the locker room and onto the field slapping the inspirational sign the coach has hung on the door on his way out; but this sign no longer reads off “There is work to be done,” instead it is a thank you to the bank’s founding fathers Charles Weston and Lance Benjamin.
Upon entering the bank he reaches into the pockets of his trench coat pulling out two canisters. He pulls the lever located at the top of each canister and a small waft of smoke starts to snake its way out. He then lofts one canister to where one of the tellers is impatiently assisting an elderly woman who so recently was placing pennies one at a time onto the counter, and the other to where the graying security guard is lazily leaned up against a wall. As the canisters cut their path through the air they leave an ever widening trail of smoke. It is at this time that the screams begin and the artfully twisting and yet perfect trail left by the canisters seems to be framed by the chaos that looms on the air. By the time they have hit the ground both the chaos and the smoke have become an immense cloud. Peter then draws his guns and yells that if anyone moves they will be shot. At this a woman in line screams, but her husband quickly throws a hand over her mouth muffling the noise, the rest of the room has fallen silent. Afterwards he reaches down to where his duffel bag lies on the floor and removes four more canisters, opening them and tossing them to any spots which are not clouded to his liking. He then scans the room noting with satisfaction that the entire room seems to be filled with the smoke.
However his vision has not been impaired, the gas mask he brought today was one of his own patented devices. It was, but one of the many items he had created during his time working for the classified subsidiary of Incredicorp known as the Alliance Corporation. The gas mask was fitted with a pair of sonar translating goggles which allow the user to see the shapes and forms of objects around them even in dark or extremely smoky rooms, and with these the smoke is nothing more than a translucent gray haze.
Peter then reaches back into his duffel bag, pulls out a boom box, hits play, and whispers to himself, “Time to work your magic boys.”
One second later the radio emits the sound of the bank door opening followed by the thudding of two pairs of boots. Soon after, a voice yells, “The man said not to move bitch,” and punctuating the statement is a single shot and the sound of a body falling to the floor. At that the screaming returns, but soon after another voice yells, “Someone shut that dumb cunt up!” When the screaming does not stop the sound of machine gun fire is the rebuttal. Following this is the sound of someone moaning in pain. At the so easily predicted silence Peter thanks himself for the magic he can work with a tape recorder and for having married a woman with so convincing a scream.
By now Peter has made his way back to the vault. He reaches into the duffel bag and pulls out a large disc shaped object and places it onto the vault’s dial. Seconds later the door swings open. Peter instantly goes to work and within seconds has placed several hundred thousand dollars into a sack he removed from the duffel bag. Peter heads back out into the bank’s lobby having returned his guns to their respective holsters, removes the disc from the vault door, places it back into the duffel bag, locates the four canisters putting them back in the duffel bag, and finally returns to the bank door, hitting the stop button on the radio, placing it back into the duffel bag and exiting.
Once outside he runs down the stairs to where the charger is still running, throws the duffel bag and the sack into the back seat, and jumps in the car.

Vincent Angelo sits watching the B&W Bank across the street, just as he has for the last two hours. His beer is almost empty and his colleague, Jason Schmidt, having grown tired of his coaster has fallen asleep with his elbow on the table and the side of his face on his fist. In his sleep Jason has shifted his legs and one foot now lies out and away from the table.
Tracy Jones a waitress at Mulligan’s Tavern has just clocked in, been assigned to Vincent and Jason’s table by the day manager Marcus, and is now bringing a pair of fresh beers to their table. As usual the bartender has filled the pints all the way to the top, which is quite generous in the eyes of the patrons, but has always been frustrating to Tracy who must struggle not to spill them on her way up the stairs. She is focused intently on the beers and is almost to the table when suddenly her left foot refuses to go forward and she falls to the table. She has tripped over Mr. Schmidt’s foot. She manages to catch herself on the table with one elbow, still has control of the tray, and has actually caught one of the two pint glasses; however the other glass has crashed to the table, shattered, and spilled a large portion of its contents over both Jason and Vincent.
Jason is startled awake and in his momentary panic waves his arms and ends up cutting himself on the broken pint glass.
“Wha…what the, what the fuck did you do, you …” Jason stammers, but is cut off by an angry Vincent.
“You stupid clumsy bitch, I didn’t even order a beer how the hell is it that I end up with one spilled on me? You know, don’t even bother answering that, clearly you are incompetent and so whatever excuse you came up with would be utter gibberish, so just give me some napkins and get the hell away from my table.”
Tracy was back with towel, broom, and dustpan just moments later. She cleaned up the mess and went to look for Marcus to see what could be done to help make up for what had happened at the table, but Marcus was nowhere to be found, and in fact the bartender told her he hadn’t seen Marcus at all that day.
When Vincent returned his attention back across the street he noticed there was a purple charger idling in front of the bank. He then checked his watch. It was only 2:26, and to this he thought to himself, “You better have that piece of crap moved in 4 minutes or we’re gonna have trouble.”
Moments later Vincent sees a man wearing a gas mask and carrying two bags run down the front stairs of the bank and jump into the charger. The car takes off instantly.
“Holy Shit!”
Vincent’s words are still hanging on the air as he and his colleague bolt for the stairs. The bartender looks up in surprise as the two men sprint through the tavern and out the front door, and says to himself “Well, I guess it’s a good thing we already comped their drinks.”

Suddenly there is a loud crash and the sound of breaking glass. An immense force propels the back of the charger wildly right. The car pulls a 180 and the rear passenger side slams into the B&W ATM. The charger is now sitting beside a black ’57 Chevy, and as Kat looks to her left she sees the driver, a clean shaven man in his mid twenties wink at her and smile. Kat is still motionlessly confused by the gesture when the man ducks down and to the side covering his ears and a double barreled shotgun is pointing from the spot vacated by his smiling face.
“Shhhiiiitttt!” Kat yells as she shifts into first and slams her foot down on the gas sending the charger barreling towards one of the parking lot’s grassy medians. The blast misses its intended target, but leaves the rear windshield of the charger shattered and obliterates the sad remains of the ATM. As the charger pulls away a sheet of metal falls off of its side panel revealing a candy apple red paint job. The charger is launched over the median and scrapes by the right side of the tree planted in its center, covering Kat with leaves. As soon as the car lands Peter draws his guns. The car is not grounded for long however as it is sent airborne once more over the curb and into the street.
“What the f…” Peter mouths to himself as he sees flashing lights approaching quickly from less than a block away. He knows no one pulled the alarm while he was in the bank and this is far too speedy a response time otherwise.
Seeing the cop car reminds Kat that she is actually headed in the wrong direction at this point and she spins the car around. As the car begins to spin Peter has his gun aimed at the cop car’s front driver side tire. The change in direction causes him to miss and the car’s headlight blinks out in a tiny shower of glass. He shoots again, but the shot goes wild taking out the tire of a minivan which barrels into the cruiser. Kat has righted the charger just as the Chevy goes hurtling past. Peter’s third shot hits home landing squarely in the shoulder of a wild haired man in the back passenger side of the Chevy.
The charger speeds down the road, followed closely by the police cruiser and the Chevy which has turned itself back around. A black Cadillac is now in hot pursuit of the trio of cars. The front windshield of the charger explodes and Peter looks over his shoulder to see that their friend with the shotgun has returned. An absurdly large man is leaning out the passenger side window of the Chevy pointing a shotgun and smiling. As he fires once more Peter notices that the Chevy actually seems to be weighted down on its passenger side even as it drives. Luckily the man with the shotgun is a horrible shot and the next blast hits mainly blacktop just barely peppering the charger’s bumper. Peter leans out the window and returns fire putting a hole in the Chevy’s windshield which becomes a spider web of cracks.
Kat pulls a hard left down a two lane one way street. Cars honk and careen onto the sidewalk as the charger hurtles down the street followed by the Chevy, the cruiser, the Cadillac and the approaching sound of an entire squad of sirens.
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