Intelligence Team by Ryan Fu



“I’m never drinking again,” said Seth.

As we tried to get our shit together after another night of debauchery with the crew inside C.I.C (Combat Intelligence Central) still pretty drunk from the night before. Good thing C.I.C was a dark place with the latest high tech gadgets monitoring terrorist activities around the world but I was just super glad there wasn’t any bright lights to show any incriminating evidence on our faces.

“Seth, do you have a black eye?”

 “What? When the hell did that happen.”

“It was probably when you got punch by that gay Arabian guy at that super gay club,” said Skuba. 

“What?” from a very confused Seth.

“Listen. I did want tell you but when you get black out drunk you kinda turn gay, which is cool, I mean we don’t ask but don’t tell anyone.”

“Yeah, you pulled us into this real dark club with bunch of Arabian dudes making out then you got into fight with this really hairy dude with his shirt off talking about marrying his camel or something,” said Skuba as he was eating a bag of tuna.

“What the fuck?” said Seth. 

“Oh yeah, I remember now it was right after we got kicked out of our hotel because we trashed our whole floor.” 

“Are you sure it wasn’t after we started a fight with those Army cunts at Planet Hollywood,” asking Skuba.

“Wild Turkey should be banned from public consumption,” said Seth having a look of regret.

“Why the hell are you eating that bag of tuna?” Looking at Skuba.

“Because dolphins are smart and it’s making me smarter,” confidently said by Skuba.

 “You do realize Dolphins don’t eat themselves,” as Seth eats a bag of oats trying to put some kinda of food down his stomach.

 “Is that why you’re eating that bag of oats?” I ask Seth.

“Of course not. I’m a thoroughbred. I need oats to feel strong,” stuffing half a bag of oats without water down his mouth.

“Duh asshole. I’m a dolphin, Seth is a horse and you’re an asshole,” said Skuba eating his bag of tuna.

What the fuck is the matter with us as I thought looking my crew inside Combat Intelligence Central, which at the current moment the most intelligent thing about the room was all those expensive machines and certainly not the monkeys working on them.

“Alright stop with the tomfoolery,” shouted the Captain as he stepped into C.I.C as we stand in attention. Our cap was a former linebacker for “The” Ohio State University, which he was still big as a fridge and still aggressive as fuck. I respected him a lot but I could not shake off his Tom Selleck mustache. I was drawn to it like a moth to a flame, which I kept thinking what he would like in a Hawaiian shirt?

“Listen boys, these men are our high target priorities for this month. Please study these faces because they are Axes of Evil.”

As the Captain put up America’s Most Wanted on the War Board, I just kept thinking he’s perfect man for this post because we are a bunch of babies, who need a spanking but I just wished Steve Guttenberg was here to help us out. Fuck Ted Danson! 

“Your job men is explore, identity, evaluate, implement then execute. We are the architects that plan out the master plan then we execute putting the hammer down!”

We stand in attention again after that motivating speech as the Captain leaves C.I.C.

“You guys know what the hell Her Alibi was talking about,” asking Skuba.

“I think he was telling us get more tuna and oats at the commissary, then get some ice cream,” as Seth throws up his oats at the nearest trash can.

“I’m never drinking again,” said Seth holding the trashcan like his baby.




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My diary had her name. I wrote letters to her every night, hid them under my bed and hoped that one day, the little book would reach her. It was the summer of 1995 and I didn’t know if she was still alive.

We grew up together, she lived just two floors above me, in the same cuboid grayish building with white balconies along the front side. The stairway to her place, like a stairway to heaven, had no walls and was open to all the eyes of the passengers. 

We used to sit there on a blanket, I was Barbie and she was Ken. Jenna was older than me. When I was born she was the first to come to our place to fall in love with me. Her pale face and her blond hair had something exotic and passionate, only her blue lips and her heavy breath revealed that she was carrying something else deep inside her diseased heart. 

 She brought me little presents every day, went to the bakery with me, taught me how to read, provided me with the coolest comics and had patience with the complicated little Becky like nobody else. Every weekend we were selling our comics and books in our street and everybody who knew us would buy something. From the money we would buy new ones, better ones. We dreamt of having our own bookshop. She wanted me to be a writer, I wanted her to be a top model. She used to laugh over that, telling me she would faint after three steps on the catwalk. She could barely breathe. The disease was taking over, day by day she was worse. 

We hid in the bathroom and she took off her shirt. Her chest was full of scars, among them a big one, dividing her in two halves. She hugged me, explained what was wrong with her little heart and told me her secrets. She dreamt of falling in love. There was a boy in our street she liked but wasn’t sure if this was real love. Every day we would daydream about him and her being together, we would draw her wedding dress and giggle, we would feel disgusted when we thought about the two of them kissing, we would stop our jokes and suddenly be quiet, knowing that this was far from reality. 

She spent most of her days in a hospital. My father took care of her there and let me inside whenever possible. When she got her wheelchair we planned to destroy it and take the wheels to make two unicycles out of it. My mother would carry her in her arms when she came home, because she was too weak to move the wheels of the wheelchair. She would bring her to the stairway and put her down on our blanket where we could be alone and talk like we used to. She told me she had seen soldiers through the windows of the hospital. We made plans how she could get away in that wheelchair if they come to our street. We exchanged photos, just in case we would lose each other for a while. And we lost each other. 

It was the summer of 1995 when I got a package from the Netherlands with her mother’s name on it. Inside of it there was a letter addressed to my parents, one of my books and the pictures that I had given to Jenna. Those few pictures are the only ones which I have from my childhood. She had written messages for me on the pictures’ back and I rolled under a blanket, touched her handwriting and smelled if the photos had her perfume on. My mother opened the letter and broke down in tears. Jenna had survived the war and the terror, only to die of a heart attack in Amsterdam, during her first days of freedom.

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Time’s 100 Most Influential People in the World – Who had the greatest influence in your life?


Time magazine unveiled its 12th annualTime 100 Most Influential People in the Worldissue on Thursday, which once again features figures ranging from politicians to pop culture icons, from North Korean dictator Kim Jong-un to Kanye West.

Five prominent people made the separate covers: Kanye West, Misty Copeland, Bradley Cooper, Ruth Bader Ginsburg and Jorge Ramos.

The list takes into account those who have inspired others, positively or negatively, and each person on the list has a profile written about him or her by another notable figure. Entrepreneur and Tesla Motors CEO Elon Musk profiles West, Oprah Winfrey writes about producer and director Lee Daniels, presidential hopeful Rand Paul writes about billionaire brothers Charles and David Koch, basketball Hall of Famer Kareem Abdul Jabbar does the honors for NBA commissioner Adam Silver, and legendary actor Jack Nicholson profiles Lorne Michaels.

President Barack Obama is on the list for the 10th time, the most of any of the honorees, followed by presidential hopeful Hillary Clinton making her eighth appearance. The list features 40 women, including education activist Malala Yousafzai, 17, who is the youngest person on the list for the third straight year. The oldest of this year’s honorees is 88-year-old Tunisian president Beji Caid Essebsi.

The TIME 100 issue goes on sale on Friday.

The most influential people, who had the biggest impact in my life are my parents because they taught me the value of self-worth and Bruce Lee, who caught me to Be Like Water.

Tell us who influenced you to be the person you are in your life?

The Losers by Ryan Fu



The Losers

Get a real job!



leave them alone

you assholes!

You guys are scumbags. 

I don’t know how many times

I hear it in a day

before I start to believe

it’s my name.

 But I get it

this is nation of winners

we love our false heroes. 

We put our idols high in the sky

until they fall

then we all become Chicken Little. 

We discard those

who don’t meet our expectations

then turn our backs on them

like they were bastard children.

History gets written

by the victors

as the losers

fade away in the narrative.

The forgotten ones

still on the battlefield

condemned forever 

 to remember their failures.

Why is there even

a second place?

It’s first



because we all want to be loved.




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Dating Enthusiasm Scares! by A Parent in Paris (BLW Contributor)


I have internet dated in three different countries and in each country the expectations and cultural differences are genuinely surprising. One of the nicest countries to date in, is actually Belguim. There seems to be no expectations on a first date! However, today the focus is on how one behaves when they meet someone that they actually have a genuine connection with and to be utterly truthful, this has rarely happened to me. In fact, I think I can safely conclude that this has happened exactly once!

I had decided to write off the Belgain culture (apologies to all the Belguim people) simply because there was no cultural grounding that I could find with the men I had met, further to that (although I am sure this is urban legend) I had heard that they did not shower daily.

So it was surprising that when I met a half Belguim American French speaking man, I had an incredible connection with him. I have honestly never felt so safe and comfortable with someone, even to the point that I felt I was truly not pretending to be someone else with him; it was even more miraculous that I got through 5 dates and (I hope my Dad isn’t reading this) a weekend together. It was utterly amazing. He was virtually perfect and I had not loud alarm bells ringing in my head.

However, I set sirens off in his head; I often wonder how I manage this. My enthusiasm at my sheer luck for meeting someone I really liked, didn’t quite turn me into a stalker, I had some self control but it did make me break all the supposed rules one is meant to have in order to get a man to fall in love or so I have been led to believe by my lovely daughter:

Rule 1: 

Don’t invite them up to your apartment on the 1st date- yup- I broke it (but Dad honestly nothing happened, if he was still in the picture, he could verify the information.) I invited him into to mine to meet my kitten, Darcy, as he too had a cat. He was an absolute gentleman.

Rule 2: 

Respond (not instantly) but respond to texts. I have a dodgy phone so I never know when I receive a text message or not; it took me a few days (and longer than the 3 day rule) to realise he was interested in seeing me and wanted to meet again.

Well, after breaking that rule, my enthusiasm went into overdrive and there were flurries of texts that kept the mood elevated between dates.

And all was well, even up until I left for Malaga with another man. This was a planned holiday with a friend, so I don’t want to hear I told you so! It was whilst in Malaga that I managed to scare this lovely man away from me. I went into text and email overdrive, where I wrote virtually everyday or texted something silly. I hardly gave the poor man time to miss me. What I think were probably cute holiday messages were probably the killer to this potentially beautiful and wonderful relationship! Eagerness, enthusiasm and an exceptional ability to write drove this really lovely man away-reaffirming that my life is one big tragicomedy!

But it gets worse and I am completely ashamed to admit it, as I pine the loss of this genuinely great guy, I took it upon myself to let him know I was missing him a week after the end of the potential relationship.

Now if he is not thinking: Stalker, psycho, nutter about me, he is being really gracious because if someone had done this to me, I would be thinking all of the above!

It makes me wonder how one learns to curb their enthusiasm and stay in control. No doubt, whoever I meet next, I will have hopefully learnt, from this moment in time, to behave in a better manner. But it is just so hard, especially when one meets, for the first time in years, a potential soul mate.

Unfortunately, I raised his alarm bells- such is life!

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