Monday, November 26, 2012

The 12 Shots of Christmas

Wow, found this old thing too. I wrote this in 2005...what the hell was I thinking to write something like this???

For the first shot of Christmas,
my bartender gave to me
DeKuyper Harvest Pear schnapps.

For the second shot of Christmas,
my bartender gave to me
Two spiced rums
And DeKuyper Harvest Pear schnapps.

For the third shot of Christmas,
my bartender gave to me
Three French cognacs,
Two spiced rums
And DeKuyper Harvest Pear schnapps.

For the fourth shot of Christmas,
my bartender gave to me
Four Old Tom Gins,
Three French cognacs,
Two spiced rums
And DeKuyper Harvest Pear schnapps.

For tha’fiff shot of Chrissmas,
my bartender gave ta me
Five goldschlagers,
Four Old Tom Gins,
Three French cognacs,
Two spiced rums
And some Pear schnapps.

For tha’sis, sis, sixth shot of Chrissmas,
my bartender gave ta me
Six Irish whiskies,
Five goldschlagers,
Four Ole’ bastard gins,
Three French cognacs,
Two spiced rums
And the schnapps.

For tha’seventh shot of Chrissmas time,
my barftender gave ta me
Seven agave tequilas, 
Six Irish whiskies,
Five god damn schlagers,
Four Old Tom Gins,
Three Frenchy cognacs,
Two spiced rums
And schnapps!

For tha’eighth shot of Chrissmas,
Lemme tell ya what tha’barftender gave ta me
Eight Russian vodkaas,
The whiskies…tha’wuzz damn good whisky too, I tell ya, 
Five gol’schlagers,
Four Ole Tom Gins,
Fee French cognacs,
Two spiced rums
And schnapps!

For tha’ninth shot of Chrissmas,
my barften’er gave ta me 


Sunday, November 25, 2012

Turkey Pot Pie Recipe

I looked up a recipe for Chicken Pot Pie tonight because I wanted to have one more night of turkey for supper. After tonight, the leftover turkey went into the freezer.

My first thought was to to go the Bisquick site, because my box of Bisquick didn't have the Chicken Pot Pie recipe on it. I found out you need to have a username and password to see recipes at the Bisquick site and that irritated me. You haven't always needed one there.

So I kept looking and found the recipe here. But like most everything else in my life, I had to make changes, so here is how I made Turkey Pot Pie:

--2 cups cooked turkey, cut into bite sized pieces
--1 2/3 cups frozen vegetables, not thawed (the mix of corn, peas, carrots and beans already diced)
--About 10 oz leftover chicken gravy from Thanksgiving
--1 cup Bisquick baking mix
--3/4 cup 1% milk
--1 egg  (left out the egg because I didn't have any)

1. Preheat oven to 400°F.
2. Mix chicken, veggies and cream of chicken soup together and spread into bottom of non greased 9-inch round glass pie pan.
3. Mix remaining ingredients (Bisquick, milk and egg) and pour on top of chicken mixture.
4. Bake in oven for 50 minutes or until top turns golden brown. The original recipe called for 30 minutes, but that only cooked the top of the Bisquick mix. When I stuck in the serving spoon, the mix underneath was still doughy.

Came Across an Oldie But a Goodie

I was cleaning off an old hard drive, looking for something else, when I came across this old short story that I wrote in 1999. I think I actually wrote it right after high school, which would have sometime between 1992 and 1994, and I rewrote it in 1999.

Who knows anymore why I wrote it. The more I think about it, the more I think it was a high school writing assignment (pre-1992). It was back in the day when I thought I'd become a world famous writer.

Anyway, it's called "Two Weeks."
"We interrupt this program for an important news bulletin," announced a serious sounding, faceless deejay. The bulletin had come in the middle of "The Dr. Demento Show" during a chicken song by Ray Stevens.

Viktorya Morgan groaned. There were already too many damn commercials on the radio as it was. The announcement would probably be for some anniversary sale at an auto dealer or a furniture store. It interrupted her concentration on her physics assignment that was due the next morning.

She threw down her pencil in disgust and sat up from her stretched out position on the floor. Viktorya looked over at her radio, sitting next to her on the floor, as if it were a television set.

"FM HOTT, 95.6, bringing you this special news bulletin," intoned a new excited sounding deejay. "The Cheyenne Police Department has just issued an all points bulletin on Harold Bailey, a patient of the Wyoming State Mental Health Institute. Bailey was reported missing from his room earlier today. After an extensive search of the institute's premises, Bailey was still not found, and has since been reported missing. Police believe that he has escaped and warn all residents of Cheyenne that if you spot Bailey within the 10 mile radius of the Mental Health Institute to not take action or confront Bailey, but instead-"

Laughing, Vikky snapped off her radio with a turn of her wrist. What a hoax! The deejays at 95.6 FM were pretty well known for their April Fool's Day jokes. And the listeners always fell for them. They were always carried out so well. Year after year, people gullibly believed the different stories: bags of diamonds falling out of passing airplanes, famous singers giving impromptu concerts in farmers' fields, false and bizarre celebrity obituaries.

Vikky checked her bedside clock. But why wait until so late at night to pull off that joke? It 10 PM. Usually they played the jokes during the morning drive-time.

Vikky thought for a moment. Sure, those kinds of jokes were funny but provided only a minimal amount of inconvenience for those stuck in the middle. But a story about an escaped mental patient? In her silent bedroom, Vikky thought, People could take offense to something like that. Probably not a wise move on the radio station's part to do something like that.

She shrugged and went back to her physics without much more thought.

"Hey Vikky," her mother called from the downstairs, "Do you want some popcorn while you study, or did you go to bed already?"

"No, I'm still up. I'll be down in a sec," she called back. She closed her physics book and left her assignment unfinished for the time being, forgetting all about Harold Bailey until she read about him in the morning's newspaper.

* * * * * 

Carel ran up to Vikky's locker in the crowded hallway. "The cops still haven't found Harold Bailey yet," she announced. "Now how safe to you feel, all alone, just you and your mom, in that big farm house out in the middle of the sticks?" Carel Cox was Vikky's best friend. She was known, in their circle, as being somewhat gullible and very flighty.

When Vikky's parents divorced, Sarah and Vikky had more room than they knew what to do with. Sarah had gotten the house. It was located near Interstate 80, with the other older farm houses. 

"Don't tell me you actually believe that!" As she turned again to her locker, she gently jabbed an elbow into Carel's ribs. "It's just a joke! Yesterday was April Fool's."

Carel's face fell into a frown and she shook her head in disbelief. As she did so, her long black pony tail slapped her cheeks. "Oh no," she gasped, "You really haven't heard, have you?" She thrust a newspaper into Vikky's hands. A banner headline yelled, "Bailey still missing." Then, a sub-head advised, "Doc warns patient prone to violent acts."

As Vikky started to read the article, Carel told her, "I know what you mean. was listening to 'Dr. Demento' last night too when I heard the announcement. I thought it was just part of the show, but it was the first story on the local news this morning. You know the news is too serious for something like that, so it MUST be true!" There was a silence between the two girls, despite the yelling and slamming sounds of a typical high school going on around them. 

Vikky calculated the distance, in her head, between her house and the institute. Both were out in a sparsely populated farming area. It was about eight miles. The radius the police was watching was 10 miles. Sensibly, she pushed the idea from her head that Bailey would just happen to pick her if he decided to do something. The odds had to be astronomical. There were a few other people living between her and Mom and the institute.

Carel pointed to the black and white institute identification photo of Bailey on the front page. "Check out those eyes!" They stared blankly up from the paper. They were dull and stupid looking, as if there were no life in them. "He is one creepy lookin' dude!" He had long, shaggy, unkempt hair. "He makes Norman Bates look like a kitten." His lips looked cracked and chapped.

Before Vikky could say any more, the five minute bell rang. The halls were quickly emptying as stampeding students hurried to their classes; cattle going off to the slaughter. "Look," she said in a hurry, "I'm gonna be late. Can I read this during first hour?"

"Sure, but I need it back for third hour. I'm doing m y current events presentation today. My topic is mental patients ... can they be trusted?" 

* * * * * 

"No," exclaimed Vikky's mother, Sarah.

"But Mom," Vikky protested.

"I don't care! That freak could still be out there. You're not going camping with your friends tonight. It'll just have to wait."

"Awwwwwwww Ma! You already promised!" Vikky wailed like a pouting child. She had to go. The trip was important. Her and her girlfriends were going to meet some guys. If Sarah knew the real reason behind the trip, she'd probably call all their mothers, and the trip would be canceled: Bailey or no. "The police think he's probably out of Cheyenne already." He'd been missing for two weeks. "Besides, we won't be all alone. We're going to the campgrounds. We'd be safe!" 

"Oh, suuuuure you would!" Her mother wasn't convinced. "The police think he's gone, but they don't know for certain. I'm not taking any chances. I'm sorry, but you're more than welcome to invite your friends over here and spend the night. Won't that be just as much fun?" she asked, trying to compromise. She thought the girls just wanted to go camping to prove they could take care of themselves in the wilderness. 

"No." Vikky paused. "Just forget it, Mom." She was disappointed, and it showed. "I'll call Carel and the others and tell them I'm out."

"Alright. Suit yourself." Sarah sounded apologetic. But it was mostly just for show. She knew she wouldn't be able to convince Vikky it was for her own safety.

* * * * * 

"What?" Carel screeched in Vikky's ear. Wincing, Vikky moved the phone a few inches away. When the noise stopped, she moved it back into place.

"I told you. I'm not going," she repeated. Leave it to Carel to make the biggest fuss out of the group. That's why Vikky had chosen to call her last. The grating screeching quality of her voice was getting on Vikky's nerves.

"No, wait ... this can't be. That guy, Christopher ... no ... this god of maleness only wanted to meet you. There has to be some way around this, ya know?" Carel had an excuse and an angle for every situation. Vikky thought she'd make a pretty good politician.

"I don't think so," Vikky replied glumly. 

There was a long pause while Carel sat on her end of the phone line and thought of a plan. "Yes, there is," she yelled suddenly. More calmly, she continued. "Tell you mother there's been a change of plans. We've decided it's too cold out tonight to go camping, and so we're all coming to my house for the night. Then we can go meet the others at the camp ground. My mom thinks that weirdo is long gone, and since she's the only parent who knows the real reason we're going camping, she can cover for you in case your mom calls."

"Alright! This is too cool. I never even thought of that! Give me 20 minutes to get my stuff together, and I'll be ready to go!"
* * * * * 

Amity took a deep breath and said, "Smell that fresh, clean air. Better than that old city air." The air in the KOA Kampground was untarnished and pure, with the heady scent of pine all around them. In the air, their breath was only light puffs of steam.

Petra groaned and announced, "Well, Miss Girl Scout, one more time and I'm leaving," Ever since they had gotten to the camp, Amity had been reveling in stories of past camping trips she'd been on. But there was always one in every group, and then there was always one like Petra, who only went camping if she was forced. Amity wanted to be a conservationist. She got claustrophobic, she said, if she stayed indoors for too long.

Carel asked Petra, "I didn't know you don't like the outdoors. Why not? Don't tell me you're having second thoughts about coming to meet these guys! From what I heard, the guys from Horse Creek are really HOT, if you know what I mean!" The girls had met most of the guys after a football game between their two high schools, hitting it off right from the start.

"Look," Petra tried plaintively explaining, "This has got nothing to do with the guys. I don't like the woods at all, if you must know. There are bugs, creepy animals, no electricity, and strange sounds in the middle of the night!" Petra dreamed of a job indoors, something safe: she planned on being a cosmetologist.

Vikky stretched and looked around. The black night sky was cloudless and full of twinkling pin-pointed stars. It was the perfect night. The gossip of Harold Bailey had stopped days ago. No body believed there was a chance of him returning to Cheyenne. Vikky bet her mother before leaving for "Carel's" that he was out of the state already, if he hadn't gotten lost and died somewhere along the way.

To break up the bit of silence that had began, Amity asked her group, "Do any of you know what tomorrow is?" There was a strange smile on her face, and the flames from the campfire created ghostly shadows on her face. The effect was eerie: it was like watching a human chameleon change colors right before your eyes. Amity went from flesh-toned to orange from her seat in front of the campfire.

"Saturday, right?" Vikky answered the question with a question of her own. It was just plain old ordinary Saturday, no birthdays or holidays. Nothing special.

"Nope. Tommorow is Saturday, which made today Friday the 13th. That means anything can happen before midnight!" She cackled and said, "I'll get you my pretty ... you and your little dog too!" She cackled again.

Carel checked her watch as she ignored the various stories going on around her of Friday the 13th's of the past. It was 8:45. Damn, where were those guys? The girls had gotten to the campgrounds at 6:30. She had even called the guys right after that and talked to James. He'd said they might be a little late because of a hockey game they were playing. Carel didn't think they would be THAT late. She wondered if she and the others were going to be stood up.

Petra must have been reading Carel's thoughts. Shivering in the night breeze that was picking up, she commented somewhat sourly, "Man, I don't think those guys are ever going to show. In fact, I'm starting to think we never should have come ourselves. We probably should have waited until we found out for sure what happened to that Bailey dude." 

Vikky was surprised to hear Petra say that: it was the same way she was feeling. But she didn't say anything in agreement with Petra.

No one else commented on that either. Instead of playing it safe like they should have, they decided to act like a bunch of gutsy dames; something they weren't. The group could have easily returned to Carel's house, but they each knew that no one would want to suggest it. None of them wanted to lose face with the others.

It became silent again. Uncomfortably, Amity stretched her hands out to the fire, palms out. Her blonde hair turned gold in the light. Petra brought out a bag of marshmallows from her olive green backpack. "Does anybody want some?" she asked, holding the mallows out, her voice pinched sounding.

Only Amity replied. "Sure!" She even had enthusiasm in her voice. She was a bottomless pit. Nothing could ever spoil her appetite, yet her figure didn't show it. She eagerly took the mallows from Petra's purple gloved hands, and then began rummaging around in her own bag for the graham crackers and chocolate bars she brought along. After she had her small feast laid before her on the blanket, long tined fork for roasting included, she looked around the group and asked, "Does anyone want me to make them one?"

They just mumbled their "no's" in unison. 

"Ah, you guys are a bunch of sissies," she playfully admonished.

Amity was the tomboy of the group. She got serious for a moment and looked at each of them. "I just wanted to let you all know, I don't think there's any reason to worry. Nothing bad is going to happen tonight." Having said that, for the good of the group, Amity flipped her short cropped hair out of her eyes, and decided she no longer wanted to use the fork she brought from home. If she was camping, then she'd use a stick to make her s'mores. She got up silently, looked around their area. 

In the clearing they'd taken, there was only the fire, burning brightly in a circle of softball-sized stones. Their tents were nearby. Off in the near distance, the land was littered with similar scenery
of other campers, and two restroom/shower buildings.

The others looked around with her, wondering what she was searching for.

Finally, Vikky broke down and asked, "What exactly are you looking for, anyway?"

"Trees, for a good marshmallow roasting stick," came the answer. The girls looked around in confusion.

There they were, in the middle of a forest, and Amity thought she needed to look for trees. No one said anything, but Petra put her hand over her mouth and began to silently shake with laughter. The others followed suit. It was just the thing to lighten the tension. Even Petra seemed to forget about the miserable time she was having: her eyes were tightly closed and her entire body shook with laughter as she kept her hand tightly plastered against her mouth to keep in the soft choking sounds she made when she laughed. Nobody wanted Amity to know they were laughing at her when she was being serious.

"I need to find a decent tree," she explained. "I think white birch would be the best. That's what they make toothpicks out of, you know." Without another word, Amity began hiking off into the woods, hot on the trail of the perfect marshmallow roasting stick.

Rachel Meyers called after her. "Hey Mit!"


"Be careful!"

"Yeah, yeah." She undauntedly disappeared into the shadows made by the trees as they grew above together in the sky, their gnarled limbs entwining like snakes.

The remaining girls sat around the campfire, huddled in their down jackets. They looked like brightly colored fat canaries, plumped up in their feathers, ready to stick their heads under a wing and go to sleep on their perches. For April, the weather was cool, but no more so than what was usual for Wyoming. Vikky reached into a pocket and pulled her black earmuffs over her ears. She looked back up at the sky again. There were a few dark clouds blowing quickly into view from the west. It looked like rain was on the way.

Carel's stomach made a gurgling sound. She reached over to Amity's spot and grabbed one of her chocolatenbars. Embarrassed by the sound of her stomach growling again, she explained, "I haven't had anything to eat today."

There was no response from anyone. Still kind of uncomfortable, Carel pulled the brown wrapper and silver foil from the bar and threw them into the fire. She raised the candy bar to her lips, and suddenly an ear piercing scream filled the air. In fear and shock, Carel dropped the bar to the ground. Soon, a swarm of hungry ants would overtake it. All their heads snapped in attention to the way Amity had gone. The scream quickly turned into a short drawling whine, and dwindled away to nothing.

Carel's face had gone pale. Vikky jumped up and screamed back, "Amity?AMITY?! Are you alright?"

The only response came from the wind whispering through the trees around them. Rachel began whispering to herself. "Oh Mary, mother of God, please save us. Our Father, who art in Heaven-" She was a devout Catholic.

"Shut up Rachel, this instant!" snapped Vikky. Her head started to throb and she couldn't think with Rachel muttering to herself like that. Vikky ran from the group for a few short yards, the same way Amity had gone. She called out Amity's name again. Still, there was no answer. Anxiously, the eyes of the other girls were on her, wondering what Vikky would do. She returned to the group, and took charge. "Alright girls, listen up!" When she had everyone' attention, which didn't take long to get, she announced in a frightened voice despite the front she was putting on for their benefit, "That definitely was Amity, I'd recognize her voice anywhere. Something's happened to her: it may have been one of the guys playing a joke on us, or it may have been her by herself.
Remember how she mentioned tomorrow is Friday the 13th?"

The girls all nodded their heads in agreement. "Good. I'm gonna go out there and look for her, and I-"

Carel cut her off. "What? Look, you can't just go out there! What if that Bailey lunatic is still out there and got Amity?" As Carel said that, Rachel shrieked once in horror, her fist pressed tightly against her open mouth.

The others began a chorus of "Yeah, what if's" and "She's right's."

Their shared fear was finally admitted and, possibly, a reality. It looked as if they might not let her leave.

"Maybe it was just a loon," Petra suggested frantically, "I hear they sound like a woman screaming." No body seemed to buy it.

Carel grabbed Vikky's arm. Forcefully, she told Vikky, "You're not going back out there until we hear from Mit." She looked around the group. "Nobody leaves. We stay together!" Vikky shook her off.

"What if Amity can't answer?" she challenged. "Do you just want to leave her out there," Vikky demanded, pointing to the woods, "Or do you want to wait until the guys show up, or even until it's dawn?" She didn't give her friend a chance to answer. "I'm going out there, getting Amity, and then we're getting the hell out of here and going home!" Vikky wasn't afraid anymore of finding Bailey lurking around out there, but she knew she should be. "If I don't return in," she said, checking her watch, "10 minutes, I want all of you to go to the nearest ranger station." It was about a half mile away, lit by electric lanterns along the trail. Vikky knew they'd get there safely.

Without another word from anyone, Vikky took off running. As she ran, she heard Rachel call out, "Good luck, and God bless!"

She had been running about two minutes when she started to wonder how far Amity had gone. She must have been moving at a pretty steady pace. It was then Vikky tripped over a rock she didn't see, that she realized she'd forgotten to grab her flashlight. She stumbled forward, and caught herself from landing in her head.

The whole time, she'd been calling out Amity's name, over and over again, hoping for a reply. Her mind was racing with possibilities for the scream: Amity could have tripped, sprained her ankle and couldn't walk; she tripped, hit her head and was out cold; the guys showed up, found Amity alone in the woods and scared her; she was trying to play a joke on them. Well, Vikky didn't really believe the last one. Whatever it was, it just couldn't have been a joke on her part. That was a real scream, of pain.

Through the budding branches, the moon shone down as white ribbons on the ground below. Along the path, every shadow was illuminated. But of course, Amity being who she was, she didn't take the path. Instead, it looked like she had chosen to go the beaten path. Vikky could see her footprints in the mud as she'd left the path, and started to follow them. That area to hike must have been popular. Along with Amity's prints, Vikky could see others. 

Up ahead was a fallen log. Not thinking much about it, Vikky leapt over it as she ran, as graceful as a running doe. As she landed on the hard earth, her foot caught on a smaller log, and she rolled over. Her hands groped in the darkness for the same log to help herself up. She found it, and strangely enough, it was smooth and cool. Metal? Vikky picked it up and squinted at it in the dark. It was Amiy's flashlight. She saw the switch on the side and flicked it on.

As Vikky swept it over the ground, she wasn't prepared for what she'd find.

The log she'd so easily flown over was Amity, laying on the ground on a layer of leaves, on her stomach. Vikky figured she was just unconscious. Overjoyed and relieved, she turned Amity over, but then screamed louder than she ever had before.

There was a sharp branch plunged deep within her heart. The blood had seeped through her shirt and coat, and began to puddle on the ground beneath her. The earth couldn't drink in the scarlet liquid fast enough, taking life from Amity where she lay. Her face was frozen in a look of complete horror: her mouth still wide open in a silent scream, her eyes open so wide that she had to have seen everything, her hands layed out before her, trying to defend herself.

Amity's horrified eyes stared up at the cloud filled sky above. Her forehead had been crushed. Dirt was scattered across her face finely, like black freckles. It was even in her eyes, mixed with the blood that had poured from the wound. Bits of white and grey poked through the wound on her forehead, but it no longer bled. The blood was still moist on her skin. The bloodied rock that was used to do it was laying only scant inches away. In the cold night, Amity was already starting to turn a pale shade of blue, her lips and fingernails first.

Vikky's mind couldn't comprehend what she was seeing. As her cold tears began to spill from her eyes, Vikky turned away so she couldn't see Amity's face. But it was too late. The image stayed in her mind. Vikky's own heart pounded thunderously within her chest. Palpitations made her breath come in short quick gasps. Her chest hurt. She kneeled, not to pray, but to vomit, over and over again. Her throat burned, and she thought she would choke to death. It all came up, hot and acidic, food and emotions.

Vikky got up from the ground, trying to scream again to release the emotions that were building up inside her, stumbling backwards the entire time. She tried desperately to get away from Amity's dead eyes. They seemed to follow her where ever she went. She backed into a tree in her haste. Vikky turned around to grab at the trunk, but saw the eyes of Harold Bailey looking down upon her. His towering height of almost six and a half feet tall made him a giant, despite the narrow, bony shoulders. Had he been dressed in colonial garb, Harold Bailey would have looked a lot like Ichabod Crane from "The Headless Horseman." But instead, he still wore the mental institute's scrubs that all the patients were issued. After two weeks on the run, they were dirty and torn. He smelled like sour sweat and body odor. As he panted, looking down on Vikky, even his breath was heavy and putrid.

Vikky opened her mouth to scream again, her arms flailing wildly around her, trying to fight off an attack that hadn't happened yet. No sound came out of her windpipe. She was completely dry, already screaming her vocal cords and throat to the point of strain.

It was then Bailey seemed to come to life, but his eyes still seemed as lifeless and dull as Amity's. It was a totally animal-like reaction: the ' thrill of the hunt finally come to a climax' Harold smiled widely at her, showing his pink, toothless gums. He grunted almost happily, and spit ran down his heavily stubbled chin. His tongue licked over his chapped lips and wet gums hungrily.

Mortal fear overtook Vikky completely. Her body froze and her lungs locked up tight. She knew her air and her fate were sealed off completely. At his towering height, the last thing Vikky saw was another rock like the one Bailey used on Amity. He raised it high above his head, the night breeze picking up the flaps of his ragged Institute shirt, he didn't even seem to be cold without a jacket or decent shoes

Vikky continued to silently scream, her body shaking, close to the point of throwing up again. She was too far gone to even consider running away. She closed her eyes as the rock came crashing down above her by Bailey.

                                                               * * * * * 

From the Cheyenne Crier, Saturday, April 14, 1991: pictures of Vikky, Amity and Bailey accompanied the article

Bailey found, presumed killer of two
by Phil Edwards

Cheyenne--Harold Bailey, of the Wyoming State Mental Health Institute, was found last night by park rangers at the KOA Kampgrounds in Cheyenne. Instead of being returned to the Institute after being missing since April 1, Bailey was taken into police custody, for the alleged murders of Amity L. Mitchell, 17, and Viktorya Morgan, 18, both of Cheyenne.

The girls' bodies were found in the woods after being reported missing by friends. Bailey was found nearby, with the blood of both girls on his clothing and hands. A large bloody rock was found nearby with Bailey's fingerprints on it, presumed by police to be the murder weapon. Mitchell and Morgan were camping at KOA Kampgrounds with friends last night. When Bailey disappeared, the police department originally announced he'd been left in an unlocked room, judging it had been
accidental on the part of an orderly. That orderly has not been identified by the Institute. After his escape on April 1, police set a 10 mile radius around the Institute as a danger area.

"For the sake of the families, we will not be releasing any more information at this time," said Cheyenne Police Chief Michael Keene, after Bailey's apprehension just after midnight.

Bailey will not be readmitted to the Institute, despite requests by Bailey's doctor and lawyer.

"Right now, Mr. Bailey needs to be in a caring environment where he can be looked out for," said Dr. Kenneth Thoma. "He has the mind of an impaired child and doesn't know right from wrong. He'll surely suffer if he thinks he is being treated unfairly."

Bailey's Institute-appointed lawyer, Robert Smith, agreed. "Mr. Bailey's rights of freedom are being unjustly ignored. Right now, the murder charges are only alleged. Why should a suspect be taken into custody?" Smith asked.

Sarah Morgan, Viktorya's mother, was admitted to Grace Hospital last night following the police taking in Bailey. The parents of both girls declined to comment on the situation. The Institute reports Bailey has no known relatives. Chief Keene has set up a press conference for 9 AM, Monday morning at City Hall.

This Is A Real Movie

"Abraham Lincoln vs. Zombies" is a real movie. It's on Netflix right now. Go watch it.

No shit, in this scene, Lincoln whips open the switchblade scythe he carries and yells, "EMANCIPATE THIS!" as he starts whippin' zombie ass.
"While the Civil War rages on, President Abraham Lincoln must undertake an even more daunting task - destroying the Confederate Undead."

I haven't even watched "Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter" yet. One of the guys that works for my husband told me about this on Thanksgiving so I had to look for this one right away.

This is really not a bad movie. Don't let the budget or title throw you. The action isn't too bad and it has it's own take on the zombie genre and it twists history in order to get a really interesting cast. Bill Oberst Jr. is Abraham Lincoln. He kept reminding me of a young Lloyd Bridges. The only really bad things are the beards and mustaches...they look like Halloween party quality hair, but if you can get past them and just suspend belief, then you're all set.