Question 19 The origins of seed…..

Hello Fans!

I’m not absolutely certain if you’re fans or not, however, I just want to extend you a friendly hello.

It would be really cool if you were fans - I promise to keep my ego in check.

Hopefully you’ve enjoyed: The Infinite Saga of Mr. X: Part 1 & 2. We promise to deliver Part 3 in the near future.

In the meantime we’ve decided to field a question regarding the origins of Seed’s nickname. Complete with a riveting story of suspense and violence. Scroll down to be entertained.

We also hope you’ve been enjoying the Photography & Art Work.

We’ve yet to announce a winner in our first contest. Check our website for contest details, just click on http://www.seedenterprises.com/ .

To help you along here are some clues:

1. It’s the countries' border crossing.
2. Look at a map.
3. Sitges and Paris.

Good luck!

Remember: you don’t have to send your address with your answer - we’ll request it if you’re the winner.

Question 19 The origins of seed…..

Why the seed?

I've only been to 3 countries. I haven't written any books, but I have written some pretty witty stuff in cards to my friends. I have been in 5 weddings, and I have 5 godchildren. I am fluent in two languages, but I know dirty words in a couple more.

Again...Why the seed?

Judi

Dear Judi

Construction Turf War

*Warning - Warning - Warning - Warning*

The following dialogue may be considered to be highly offensive. It is a profanity-laced ditty. The events detailed are 100% true with no embellishment at all. The story is not for the faint of heart and I recommend not reading it if you are offended by the F-Bomb, because it literally is in the story every couple of words.

The story is definitely NOT suitable for children.

F-bomb meter - 50.

Continue reading at your own risk. You’ve been warned.

The story was too fascinating to overlook as one simply could not write stuff this juicy.

Enjoy!

---------------

The Setting

The loading dock of a high-end furniture store on a dark, damp, overcast Thursday afternoon. Light drizzle was falling. A biting chill accompanied the constant breeze.

(this was not the day)

The loading dock had been rendered useless, as a luxury condo development was being erected behind the furniture store. The developer had closed off the road and was in the process of turning it into part of the development and a city street. Thus, no access for the delivery drivers. Creating a situation of frustration, as heavy pieces of furniture were now being hauled to the store from a block away. Which, by the way, really, really sucks.

The Cast

Me (the seed).

Devilishly handsome. Virile. Sexy in a saucy way. A combination of George Clooney, pre-nuts Tom Cruise, Mark Harmon and the Domino Pizza Noid. A true leading man. In this instance relegated to a bystander. An observer of the human condition.

Much more on Seed and his whimsy self later.

Construction Dude 1

Rugged, rough, gruff and unpolished. About 6’ 3”. 35 years of age. Packing all the tools of the trade. In the neighborhood of 200 lbs. Fit not fat. His voice was not angelic, instead, a bit like Kim Carnes with a notch or two of more edge to it. I’m positive that he’s smoked his fair share of Export A’s and when done with his fags, he likely eats the filters washing them down with scotch. He has definitely maimed before. Without question, he has been behind bars.

At one time he may have been a Momma’s boy; that is, until he buried her.

Construction Dude 2

Dude Number 1’s protégé. Silent and worshipping. 30 years old. Fantasizes about Dude 1’s tools. Around 5’ 11” when not on his knees. Fortunately he has knee pads. Would like to star in Brokeback Condo - Erecting High-rise. He just can’t quit Dude 1.

Delivery Driver 1

Stupid. Give him a chance and he’ll show you. Vocabulary limited. 6’ 2”, Persian and slight in stature, maybe 175 lbs. Confrontational to a fault. Basically doesn’t give a damn. Around 37, on his current program of angst he probably won’t make it to 40. Really annoying.

Delivery Driver 2

5’7, 160 lbs. Silent, however, he packs a verbal punch. May have an opportunity for an acting award. Despite his slight stature, he has a smooth calm convincing tone to his dialogue. Out of nowhere he becomes the star of this Off-Broadway production. Will be cast in the leading role in future productions. Brilliantly funny.

Site Superintendent - Kidder

Nuts. Very entertaining. Did I say nuts? About 5’ 7”, 220 lbs. Shaved head. Pointy Goatee. “Pointy birds, pointy birds, anoint my head anoity noity, I love those pointy birds.” Walks sort of like a penguin. Did I say very entertaining and nuts? He is of South African, Middle Eastern, Russian, Scottish, Irish, Norwegian, Thai and Egyptian descent. Or something like that. He explained it once and I found myself confused. His voice somewhat gruff with a cool Isaac Hayes quality to it only with a fresh South African professor feel to it. Starts sentences often with: “Sir, you must understand…."

A true character.

Act 1

Action….

I really just want to put this day behind me and close this chapter of my life. Moving furniture really sucks. I’ve been slugging away at it for 9 months now and constant exhaustion has become part of life’s equation for quite some time. The JOB recently entered the almost unbearable stage with the closure of the roadway and loading dock, as we were now being forced to haul oversized, overstuffed furniture from a block away. Don’t buy the propaganda, moving sofa beds really does lick rats' asses. And, not the upscale, sultry, sexy rats of Yaletown, but, instead the festering, diseased-laden rats of the Downtown Eastside.

I just want the last 4 hours of this day to end so I can bid farewell to my co-workers and hoist a few pints symbolizing the end of helping my friends move. I’ve actually been practicing: “No.”

The question: “Can you help me move?”

The rain was spitting down. I’ve got 4 chairs to saran wrap for delivery and 4 hours to kill and then: freedom. “Please no big deliveries. Please. Please. Pretty Please.”

A delivery truck has ignored the cordoned off street and started to back into the dock. “Damn it. Please don’t let the truck be for us. Please. Please. Please. Pretty Please.”

Construction Dude 1

(Ferociousness in his tone).

“Fuck! Hey you fucking idiots! You can’t park your fucking truck there! Move your fucking truck right fucking now morons!! Didn’t you see the fucking street is fucking cordoned off? You can’t fucking park there. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck………

Construction Dude 2

Attached to Dude 1’s hip pocket. Gazing into his eyes with a glimmer of love in his heart. Mystified by Dude 1’s intellectual dialogue. Thinks: “Where did I leave my knee pads?”

Delivery Driver 1

(Hands thrown in the air. Waves them around like he just don’t care).

“Fuck you! Fuck you! I’ve got to do this fucking delivery. How are we supposed to fucking deliver shit?"

Construction Dude 1.

“The fucking road is closed fuckhead. You can’t fucking be here.”

Delivery Driver 1

(Unfazed).

“We’re going to deliver this shit. You can’t fucking stop us. We need 5 fucking minutes.”

Delivery Driver 2

Silently exits truck and with Driver 1 picks up his end of a bed headboard and starts carrying it towards me.

Hello. What happened to hello? Is profanity the new way to greet people? It seems a tad aggressive.

“Hey, you can’t park there.” Or: “The road is closed off for now.”

Who am I kidding? A “fuck” tirade is way more civilized and pleasant. When you give it a little thought: “Hello” is really rude and vulgar.

So much for breezing through the end of my furniture career. So, what did I do? Nothing, I just listened. No fucking way was I going to get involved with this crew. Saran wrapping a chair had somehow become blissful and safe. I quickly deduced that taking the roll of Switzerland was the most prudent path. Could someone please bring me a soda and some popcorn, cause, if Act 2 is anything like Act 1, this stuff is gold. Reality is truly greater than fiction. All you have to do is watch and listen. Gems popping up from every direction.

Act 2

Action…….

Construction Dude 1.

(Anger intensified and somewhat more refined. How fun was that to type? REFINED):

“You lying piece of fucking shit. You said 5 fucking minutes. Fucking fuck! No really fucking fuck. Get your fucking piece of fucking shit fucking truck out of here right fucking now. Fuck."

Construction Dude 2.

Speechless, love gaze intensified, putting on his knee pads and complete with a tear forming in the corner of his eye. He drifts off into daydream land: "One day. One day we’ll cement our love. Dude 1 is a goddess. He’s so gentle. So dreamy. So latherable. One day he’ll be mine."

Construction Dude 1.

“Get your fucking truck out of here right fucking now!”

Moves closer to the delivery drivers. Invades their space, so to speak.

“I’m serious. Move your fucking truck now. Get your fucking truck and your $10 dollar an hour, pansy-assed fucking jobs out of here right the fuck now. I fucking mean it. You and your pansy assed jobs. We’ve got $150 per hour fucking machines that we need to get in here. RIGHT FUCKING NOW."

Good, it seems to be calming down. The combatants seem to have found tranquility and I’m certain they’ll be hanging out and laughing later. Really, don’t you think? I think I’ll saran wrap this chair for a wee bit longer. I love saran wrapping chairs. Where’s my popcorn?

I feel a plot twist coming. I can’t wait.

Delivery Driver 2

(Absolute confidence in his calm tone. No fear. No hesitation. Simply a beautiful delivery. Complete with Construction Dude 1 and Dude 2 glued to Dude 1’s ass. Surprise. Surprise. Dude 1 and 2 are now only a few feet from Driver 2):

“The only person I know who makes $10 an hour is your fucking cunt whore wife when she’s blowing me and other guys.”

Did I hear him correctly?

How cool is this? On my last day I’m going to witness a murder. "Fuck" just isn’t going to cut it anymore. Strangely, I’m not afraid. This certainly must be part of the play. More saran wrap for the chair. Where’s my popcorn? Somebody will be dying today. There is no other option. $10 per hour, seems cheap - I wonder if she’s hot? Hmmm. Maybe I’ll ask Dude 1 for her number when he’s being put into the police car.

Construction Dude 1

Words were eluding him now. Even "fuck" was absent. Temple veins were throbbing. Quite freaky actually. I was sure they were going to explode. The special effects crew were doing a stellar job. Seriously, pulse, pulse, pulse……PULSE. Explosion on the horizon.

He started to lunge towards Driver 2 reaching for the appropriate death-inflicting tool.

Dude 2 was also reaching for his tool. Thoughts of prison showers were dancing in his mind.

Confirming my earlier thoughts: Someone will be dying shortly.

Delivery Driver 2

(Either this guy has the biggest balls on the planet or he is the stupidest man ever born. With the same calmness in his voice. Placing his hands in his pockets. Construction Dude 1 is now only arms length away):

“What are you going to do about it: BITCH.”

The confrontation ended. Death averted. Somehow Driver 2 had found the combination for survival and his words defused the situation. Could Dude 1 really be a "bitch"? Did he suddenly realize that this 5’ 7” driver may actually be certifiable? The whole event was a thing of beauty. One can’t make shit like this up.

The participants were free to retreat back to their lives to likely boast of their fierce bravado. “I just about kicked his fucking ass. Those guys were lucky I didn’t kill them. They didn’t stand a fucking chance.”

The point: what a pathetic display of manhood. I was embarrassed for guys. Highly entertained, but embarrassed. I wonder if his wife is hot - $10 is very tempting.

The Aftermath

Enter Kidder

“Sir, you must understand that these guys are violent. Sir, most of them have done time. You see, the government encourages developers to hire criminals by giving them subsidies. The more violent the crime - the bigger the government grant. Some of these guys have murdered their wives. You don’t want to mess with them. If they sense weakness, they assume fag and they think fags have no right to live.”

Poor Dude 2.

Seed

“I must tell you, that was very entertaining, Dude 1 surprisingly didn’t fulfill his role and kill.”

“Did you script that scene? It was great.”

Kidder

“Sir, you must understand that I’ve got to keep my eyes on 500 of these hooligans. Often I’m required to mop up spilled blood and cover up violence. Criminal construction workers and the rich gay men who move into these developments are a toxic broth. Sir, you must understand, it is my job to hide the splatters of blood. We’re just lucky that sanity prevailed here today.”

Exit Kidder, penguin strides and all.

What a brilliant character he is. He always finds a way to bring a smile to my face. Not that I condone violence. I don’t. I’m just not sure that his stories hold water. They can’t: can they?

I once mentioned to Kidder that I saw him on the street at 2:30 am with a lady friend to which he replied:

“Sir, you must understand, several people on this planet would like to see me dead. If you ever see me on the street, stay clear, or you may become the victim of residual violence. Sir, you must understand, if you approach me and you are not hit by a stray bullet, I’ll likely take you out myself as my defenses are always up away from the site. Sir, you must understand, it’s nothing personal.”

Why the Seed?

To tell you the truth - I don’t really know.

Aren’t you relieved that I’ve chosen to tell you the truth as opposed to lying through my teeth.

Aren’t you even more relieved that I have teeth. I know I am. However, for some strange reason I periodically worry about them.

I’m going to assume that when you asked the question you were referring to how my nickname came to be.

I’m thrilled that you read the About the Authors information from my first book: Seed’s Sketchy Relationship Theories. Hopefully my life experiences have provided you with a touch of insight, laughter and snippets of where my wisdom comes from.

As for the nickname: I wasn’t the one who “coined” it. A dear friend Vern Balogh came up with it. Therefore, he is the only one who knows of its origins. All I know is that I like it and that it stuck. Since approximately 1986 I’ve been known as the Seed.

Vern on the other hand is lucky one of his nicknames didn’t stick. For awhile he was known as Vemmy J. Babah. Though catchy - it was unwanted. Regardless, of how it is said, Vemmy J. doesn’t have a sweet ring to it. The origin of his unwarranted name was the product of a typo on his Red Cross safety card. I know when being administered first-aid, if the attendant introduced himself as "Mr. Babah" I’d likely pee myself.

As for Seed - I can only speculate. I'd like it to remain a bit of a mystery. Allowing the readers to form their own opinions and conclusions. By reading little vignettes from my life and absorbing some of my hopefully sage advice and wisdom you’ll be able to speculate on my character and formulate your own verdict.

As for the speculation.

Well, perhaps it has something to do with sexual prowess and virility.

“One time at band camp……..”

Or maybe, it has a more of a horticultural feel.

“Planting the Seed.”

Wait - that may be sexual as well.

Could time and age be part of the mystery?

“Seeds of time.”

If it was, that would certainly be "way cool". Screaming of infinite wisdom and astonishing pleasure.

“Astonishing pleasure - what does that have to do with wisdom and time?”

Nothing really, I really just wanted to illustrate a point and that point is: 95% of all massages leads to sex.

“Ok - I’m having a tough time following you. Why are we talking about massage? I thought we were talking about your nickname and time. Weren’t we? And, what the hell does Construction Turf War have to do with your nickname?”

Again: nothing. It was simply a "way cool" story. Don’t you think? Well don’t you? As for the nickname: I don’t know. I do like it though.

If you really need to find out, ask Vemmy J. Babah.

Remember you asked

the seed

There you have it. Another installment of Ask Seed. We hope we’ve made you think and that we’ve brought a smile to your face.

We’d love to hear from you. Feel free to drop us a line at askseed@hotmail.com or by commenting below.

Don’t forget to enter our contest.

Most important: Treat the ones you love like gold and all others with kindness.

Let’s all do our part to make the world a better place!