Vidad's Evil Flaming Drones of Sulfurous Death

It's Coming

2012-01-10T17:27:00.000-08:00

A new album, soon to be available on iTunes. More details coming...

Damn

2011-12-16T21:44:00.000-08:00

Stop Being P_____s, America... Vote for Gutsy

2011-12-05T09:54:00.000-08:00

Dubstep. Heck Yeah.

2011-11-10T17:53:00.001-08:00

Fiskars FAIL

2011-11-01T20:21:00.000-07:00

I bought a pair of scissors at Walmart.

Fiskars.

Today I took them outside to trim the ornamental sage plant in the rose garden. Granted, that is not a normal scissor-related exercise.

So... I'm out there trying to cut through a 1/3" woody-stemmed perrenial... and SNAP - the blades separate in two. And, to my horror, I see...

...the connecting rivet was MADE OF PLASTIC

Not metal. The blades were pivoting on dead dinosaurs.

Damn you, China.

A bit of copy

2011-10-27T07:10:00.000-07:00

I managed to slip this gem into a script last year:

One of the most vital institutions upon which a healthy society is based is the institution of marriage. There’s an old saying… “why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?” In a nation where sex is available everywhere… and in all kinds of perverted flavors… we’ve not just “gotten the milk for free,” we’ve given the cow AIDS!

Expense Report Follow-up

2011-10-27T06:32:00.000-07:00

Accounting: "We'd still like proof on that $47.50 FedEx charge."

Response:

Smoothie

2011-10-26T08:14:00.000-07:00

My favorite part about the raw egg/kefir/fruit smoothie I just consumed was the prune chunks at the bottom.

Expense report explanation

2011-10-25T11:56:00.000-07:00

In the "notes" section:

My computer gave up on me. This required me to disassemble the offending device and remove the now-defunct harddrive, then take that now-defunct harddrive to a FedEx location and overnight it to _____. Little did I know, however, that there were no close FedEx locations. Instead, I had to hit a place called something like "The Wounded Veterans of Asian Wars Pack and Ship Ink Recycling We Love America Location (We Buy GOLD!)." The store was filled with various psuedo-patriotic debris. Flags, stickers, POW-MIA keychains, Even My Dog Is a Marine-type signs and, anticlimactically, many reams of paper. The man working there was very frightening. If I dared do so, I would charge _____ with some sort of psychiatric abuse upcharge; however, I realize that no one at _____ could have known what I'd face in simply fulfilling a simple directive like "Vidad, please overnight your broken harddrive to us." The man in the store was a white male of approximately 300 years of age, dressed like a mortician. Not only that, he was making an incredible so-strange-you'd-just-have-to-hear-it wheezing sound, his chest inflating and deflating like a punctured accordion. Occasionally, the wheezing was interrupted with a terrifying barking seal phlegm-clearing noise that rattled the windows. The man wouldn't take our FedEx number and instead required me to pay in cash, which I did, bidding goodbye to a previously-unbroken 50 I'd been keeping in my wallet just in case I had to buy duct tape/bottled water for an unforeseen emergency. The FedEx man arrived as the black-garbed shopowner sorted through various FedEx paperwork. Outside, a torrential rain showed no signs of abating, and the FedEx man, a 30-something black male in shorts waited patiently for us to finish so he could take my package. The undertaker-esque man rattled scary sounds at me, each barking utterance releasing a puff of dandruff from his thin scalp and on to his jet-black jacket. I looked around for Virgil, wondering if I would find a kindly guide through this strange shipping purgatory into which I'd wandered, thanks to the simple directive "Vidad, please overnight your broken harddrive to us" - but alas, no such luck. The clock ticked. The FedEx man dripped. The undertaker barked. And at some point, with vast relief, the harddrive was carefully mummified inside its wrapping and sent out the door - ! was free! .......and then the man started telling me his personal philosophy of life, the universe and everything, interspersing it with thoracic horrors too ghastly for mortal ears. The last thing I remember before blacking out and being carried to my car on the arms of angels was "...receipt... did I get a rec..." and I was no more. (Note: I did in fact get a receipt but it is presumed lost in a horrifying laundry accident and or closet-stuffing failure.)

Great Quote

2011-10-13T07:33:00.001-07:00

“The idea of a strictly limited constitutional State was a noble experiment that failed, even under the most favorable and propitious circumstances. If it failed then, why should a similar experiment fare any better now? No, it is the conservative laissez-fairist, the man who puts all the guns and all the decision-making power into the hands of the central government and then says, ‘Limit yourself’; it is he who is truly the impractical utopian.”

-Murray Rothbard

A Review on Stupefying Stories

2011-10-09T20:44:00.000-07:00

Theo checks in at the Black Gate - and likes "The Window."

http://www.blackgate.com/2011/10/09/find-yourself-stupefied/

Very cool.

Published!

2011-10-06T19:27:00.000-07:00

Thanks to Bruce Bethke, the Original Cyberpunk, I've been published again - and made the cover of his re-vamped sci-fi/fantasy anthology "Stupefying Stories."

Only $1.99 on Kindle (and also on Nook, I hear) - check it out!

-Vidad

The Passing of an Icon

2011-10-05T17:36:00.001-07:00

Fare thee well, Steve Jobs. You were an inspiration - and your computers have made my life and work better.

Rest in peace.

Poor Darlings

2011-10-04T08:15:00.001-07:00

From the article on Gladiolus:

"In the temperate zones of Europe many of the hybrid large flowering sorts of gladiolas can be pollinated by small well-known wasps. Actually, They are not very good pollinators because of the large flowers of the plants and the small size of the wasps."

Poor little wasps. Poor big flowers.

I feel the urge to weep.

Weep for the lost pollen.

The missed chances to breed.

The tiny, tiny wasps.

And More Love for the Internet

2011-10-03T19:56:00.000-07:00

What a world... what a glorious world.

The markets are about to tank again... the Repugs and the Demons are fighting over who gets to screw us more... Europe is in crisis... but as for me... I'm slapping my troubles away.

Tiny Little Devil

2011-09-28T19:28:00.001-07:00

This thing took my wife out of commission for the entire day. It only APPEARS harmless.

Despite my fears of depleting our life savings, I got her to the hospital... and we waited two hours in the Emergency room before going in for a regimen of tests and other scary things. The pain was really killing her and she wanted me to "hit her with a hammer and make it stop." I refused, of course, since I only have one good hammer and her head is REALLY hard. Plus, I'd left the hammer at home.

She's totally better now. God fixed her and we're home. No real diagnosis, other than "abdominal pain is just one of those things" and "usually fat people have this problem" (and she's underweight for her height).

What are gallbladders for? I think they help digest fat.

Note to self: Research Gallbladders and Develop A Working Knowledge of Them.

-Vidad

A Cultural Update

2011-09-27T12:42:00.000-07:00

Technology + Mexicans + Rap = Awesome.

Vote Liberty!

2011-09-26T12:28:00.001-07:00

Curse of the Were-weasel

2011-09-25T19:27:00.001-07:00

Another post in the ongoing novel is up at:
www.curseofthewereweasel.blogspot.com.

Please stop by and leave some abuse in the comments section.

Sex! Blood! Werejackals!

-Vidad

Awesome

2011-09-23T20:45:00.000-07:00

Truer words are rarely spoken - this is from the mind of Bruce Bethke:

Beck

2011-09-14T19:42:00.000-07:00

Ah, the Internet...

2011-09-12T16:04:00.001-07:00

9/11 Was an Inside Job

2011-09-11T08:46:00.000-07:00

Why not? It's hard to trust anything else the gov't says... might as well throw this one in.

Voxic Shock, ep. 10

2011-09-08T15:07:00.001-07:00

Vox and I chat about the inflation/deflation debate.

http://www.wnd.com/index.php/index.php?pageId=342985

The Glass Armonica

2011-09-08T15:00:00.000-07:00

In case you couldn't tell, I'm a bit into esoteric instruments. This is a particular favorite.

The Cult of Anubis - Part Two

2011-09-04T19:00:00.000-07:00

Has been posted at "The Curse of the Were-Weasel."

Theremin Virtuoso

2011-09-02T10:56:00.000-07:00

I've always been a fan of the theremin.

In fact, I simulated the theremin with a signal generator plug-in on my album "Space Age."

But Pamelia Kurstin is amazing:

The Hobbit and a Renewed Hobby

2011-08-31T18:48:00.000-07:00

I'm reading The Hobbit to the young Vidads in my house.

It reminded me how much I enjoyed pipe smoking. A couple of days ago, I reloaded my stash with a good batch of English and another goodly pile of Aromatic and I've enjoying puffing away again.

It's not as satisfying as a cigar, but it's perfect for an indoor smoke as I write. Much, much nicer than cigarette smoke... and, well, if you've ever smoked a cigar indoors, you know how that turns out.

I like Tolkein's anacronisms.

Best Sci-Fi/Fantasy Books

2011-08-29T16:49:00.000-07:00

After reading Vox Day's post at the Black Gate, I decided to drop some of my history reading for a while and pick up some pulp.

Out of the top ten, I'd previously read LOTR, Dune, Dandelion Wine, The Chronicles of Narnia, Watership Down, and Neuromancer from the "Sprawl Trilogy."

I picked up "The Dark is Rising" at the library two weeks ago and read it. For a fantasy book, it was less than engaging. I found myself not caring about the story, the characters or basically anything in it. It had a bit of that "Lady in the Water" feeling of having been made up as the authoress went along. The one thing I did like, however, was the sweetness of the some of the interaction inside the large family at the heart of the tale.

Other than that... pass.

Following up "The Boredom is Rising," I picked up "Lord of Light," deliberately leaving the order of the list since I'd enjoyed one installment of Zelazny's "Jack of Shadows" in an old F/SF magazine I'd gotten at a thrift store long ago. "Lord of Light" is a lot of fun. Crazy storyline, good mythos, snarky humor. Downside: Christianity is represented by the Lord of Darkness and pitted against the nobility of Buddhism. Oh well... no one's perfect. Good read.

Today, I started reading "The Secret Books of Paradys." The first page has the devil and a seance... the second a homosexual rape. That was enough for me. Engagement FAIL

Maybe I'll go back to my treasured histories for a while... Thucydides is waiting.

Hey Mr. Bethke... Look at I did!

2011-08-28T22:15:00.001-07:00

This is what happens when you don't rescind admin powers - people start serial were-creature novels.

www.curseofthewereweasel.com

-Vidad

Made On a Mac

2011-08-25T09:19:00.000-07:00

Remind me to never, ever, question Nate's intuition.

(Note to self: time to join the Inflationistas?)

With a freaking Glock.

Telepathy

2011-01-13T18:41:00.001-08:00

“Is this going to work?”

John Leighton was now wired.

“I mean… will it mess my brain up or anything?”

His friend, Dr. Franklin Hermes of the now-defunct “Psychic Research Park (Phase 2)” laughed.

“Mess your brain up? Maybe. We’re messing with some scary territory here. But… I wouldn’t worry about it too much. You’re going to get some rare insight. The risks are worth it.”

“Yeah. Well, I hope it helps.”

“It’ll… definitely change your perspective.”

“So… is this thing on?”

“Yes. But it’ll only work on the target subject… no one else.”

“Think she’ll notice?” John asked, pointing to the side of his head.

The doctor laughed. “A little nick like that? I doubt it. Also… remember… if you get too overwhelmed, think of pink polar bears and it’ll connect us up… I’ll make sure I stay monitoring. Just like being in a VO booth… click through and we chat.”

“Right. Thanks.”

Hermes grinned a Faustian grin. “Now go home… and… enjoy the ride.”

* * *

It had started innocently. Denise had told John it was fine for him to go out for a few brews… so he did. But then he came home a bit late, quite contented, and just a little sloshy… and she was crying.

“What’s up, girl?” he asked, trying to be jocular.

“Nothing,” she replied, shaking her head.

“Nothing?”

“Yes. And that’s the problem! We’re going nowhere, John!”

“Nowhere?”

“You know what I mean!”

“I do?”

“Why do I bother talking to you?” Denise rolled her eyes, martyrdom in her pinched features. “Why?”

John was silent.

“No answer? Honestly… it’s all about you, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“ARRRGH!” she squealed – and slammed the door.

* * *

“You want to see what she’s thinking,” Dr. Hermes had said the next day, over Mexican food. They met for lunch occasionally. John and Franklin had been friends since highschool, though their interests were far from similar. “I can do that.”

John blinked. “You can?”

“Yes. If you want it.”

“Why not?”

The doctor laughed. It was unsettling, as always.

* * *

As John walked in the door, he heard his wife talking to a friend on the phone. Probably Sarah, he thought. Two marriages and too many sweets. Dunno how they even connect.

Her voice lowered. She had heard him come in. He strained to listen in… but as he got closer, suddenly he felt her thoughts. With a wave of strange disorientation he realized she was thinking about drinking a milkshake directly from a dispenser. But her words continued…

“Anyhow… you actually slept with him?” Denise said. “You’re that serious about this?”

…an image of Sarah, fatter than she was… underneath a man that looked like a Yeti… then again… the milkshake machine…

“Is he even good-looking? Your taste… well… you know… Adam wasn’t really… oh, I see.”

…now Sarah was on top… beneath her a man with a sombrero on… the guy from the coffee ads… in the background, a donkey watched complacently…

“Okay. Is he legal? Oh? A cop?

…the man was now wearing a cop hat and Sarah was wearing handcuffs. Abruptly, the donkey turned into a heap of chocolate and the bedroom scene turned into a mall…

“Wow. He bought you that?”

…an image of John appeared… shorter than real life… and chubbier… he was putting quarters into a toy vending machine… then popping open the little plastic bubbles… looking for something… a ring? Then he was giving the ring to Denise… in a McDonald’s….

“HEY!” John yelled. “I never proposed in a…”

He shook with sudden vertigo as an image of him on fire and stuck full of kitchen knives flashed before him.

“JOHN! What in the world? Why are you YELLING AT ME? I have to go, Sarah… it’s my DARLING HUSBAND!”

John cringed. I’m in for it now…

Denise snapped her phone shut indignantly.

“Why in the world did you yell at me?”

A gigantic donkey was now filling his mind, spitting what appeared to be broken hair clips into a raging fire. Snakes with women’s faces crawled in and out of the blaze. All of them had the vacant expression of Victoria’s Secret models. And were wearing cheerleading outfits. They all turned to face him, waiting for his words.

“I… uh… was just…”

The snakes’ expressions now resembled his wife’s. Angry and about to strike.

“Nevermind. Sorry I interrupted your call. That was wrong of me… I’ll just… go on out to the garage and check the oil and stuff.”

Denise hissed at him.

* * *

Pink polar bears… pink polar bears… come on, dammit… pink polar bears…

“Yes? This is Franklin.”

“Franklin! My gosh… it’s good to hear you. She’s crazy!”

“Crazy?”

“Well… like… images of milkshakes and woman-snakes and donkeys…”

“Donkeys?”

“Well, one donkey.”

“That’s not good.”

“No?”

“No. It’s Freudian. I’d tell you to look it up online… but no. It’s better not to think about it.”

“Oh my gosh, Franklin.”

“What, John?”

“Her thoughts. I can feel them through the wall… they’re getting stronger.”

“Good. You’re getting aligned. Sometimes it takes a bit.”

“No. Not good!”

“Why not?”

John rubbed his forehead. “She’s thinking of something weird again.”

“What?”

“A… giant bowl of spaghetti. With… babies in it. And again with the chocolate.”

“Hmm. What else?”

“Now she’s seeing herself naked.”

“Okay.”

“But… she’s not quite right. Her chest is… uh… smaller than real life. And her thighs are huge. Holy cow. Her butt is like a bus.”

“Bingo.”

“Bingo?”

“That’s her self-perception. All women do that.”

“Great, sure… but now… she’s thinking of… oh my gosh… there’s a naked dude with her.”

“You?”

“No. Some skinny… kid… it’s a kid, I think… like, a teenager. With a dorky haircut.”

“Bieber.”

“Who?”

“Nevermind. It’s fine. You can bet most of her friends are thinking the same thing.”

“Great. Oh wait… now the kid had given her flowers. And the donkey is back. And… my gosh… the donkey is eating the spaghetti. Is that good?”

“Is the donkey eating the babies?”

“No. It spit them into a cradle.”

“She wants to breed, that’s all. It’s her lizard brain. If the donkey ate the babies… well… let’s just say it wouldn’t be good to let her drive the minivan near any lakes.”

“Oh crap. The skinny guy is now riding a motorcycle. And Denise has shown up in the picture… wait… she just kissed the bibber. And… ohmigosh… my wife is stabbing the Denise image with a letter opener.”

“That’s normal.”

“It is?”

“Sure.”

“I’m not sure this is going to help me fix my marriage, honestly. HOLY CRAP WHAT IS THAT THING?”

“Calm down, John – what does it look like?”

“I think my wife is watching TV now… I can hear voices… but this horrible, gigantic thing just popped up. Like… a big smug purple octopus with the face of Oprah Winfrey. It’s preening itself and grabbing handfuls of tiny naked men from a bowl… looks like Mikasa crystal… and it’s eating them!”

“What show is she watching?”

John cracked the door of the garage and could make out what sounded like a self-help show… women’s voices talking… a sob… someone calmly explaining something…

“Some sort of self-help show or something.”

“That makes sense. You’re seeing her ego. Remember, a lot of what you’re seeing are not her conscious thoughts… you’re connecting to deeper parts of her brain too.

“Right… I know… but a minute ago she looked like a small-breasted Hottentot Venus…”

“Don’t worry about it. I just don’t recommend making love to her until we disconnect you.”

John gulped. The octopus had just swallowed another handful of men and was growing bigger. It smiled lasciviously.

This was going to be a long night…

Stick it to the Man!

2010-06-01T11:00:00.000-07:00

Wolverine Shape

2010-05-17T06:49:00.001-07:00

I'm now officially in Wolverine Shape.

So... yup. That's it. Enough personal information for now.

Here's a poem I originally posted at www.voxday.blogspot.com:

"Alaric, Alaric, spear so straight and true!
Sacking, looting, burning, we will follow you!
Down with the Caesars, up with the Krauts,
The flames go up, the ladies weep and the wops go running out!"

Two or Three Thoughts

2010-01-11T20:26:00.000-08:00

I decided to get myself in Wolverine shape. So I'm working out and eating less. Because at 6' 1" and 175 lbs, I'm a PORK RIND. And my weight is at least one thing I can control. If I don't lose weight, I'LL BECOME A CUTTER!!! WHAAAAAAA!!! Seriously, I actually went to the town gym today and wore pants that weren't jeans. And I wandered around and tried to pretend I was a jock. But really, I'm just this 30-year-old guy with a mind that won't stop.

Though today I'm bummed. Short story rejection #8 came in today - and it was one that got really close to being accepted. I was in the last 30 of 267 entries. Dang. I'm really sad over it.

Additionally, Tanqueray is nice nice gin. I'm trying to decide if it's going to beat out Beefeater as my #1 fave. And garlic stuffed olives make for a damn good martini, I must say.

-Vidad

Death Street 17: The Circle Tightens

2009-10-07T14:12:00.000-07:00

...but his pants weren’t the only thing missing.

“My gun! Dear God – someone took my gun!”

Levitz kicked over the water barrel in front of him. Inside was a single mutant weevil-man. It hissed at him but didn’t seem interested in fighting. And it didn’t have the gun, either.

Time was running short. Behind Levitz, the school was still burning cheerily, casting dancing light across what used to be the tennis courts before the landing had all-but-obliterated them. More weevil-men were scampering across the drought-burned grass – though none of them paid any attention to Levitz. Not anymore. Not since the Great Mother had come.

Somewhere his nemesis awaited him.

Hopefully he hasn’t spilled anything on my jeans, Levitz thought, like cocoa or blood.

That gave him an idea! COCOA!

Running straight towards the blaze, long white legs and buttocks contrasting eerily with the inferno around him, Levitz grasped a hold of the cafeteria door. That side of the building was still intact – though the knob was warm. There isn’t much time!

He yanked the luckily unlocked door open only to find that someone had anticipated him. All the yummy food was gone – including the single-serving chocolate milk cartons!

Now how am I to defeat Nardo?

A sudden thought struck him. He got down on hands and knees. Beneath the counter he saw a few straws and – yes – a few packages were there!

Sugar!

Levitz whooped and stuffed them into the pocket on his dress shirt.

It’s hammer time!

* * *

Anne was still alone – and didn’t like it. A far-away snuffling was coming closer. And back-up hadn’t arrived.

Her hands sweated as she grasped her Glock 9mm. For what wouldn’t be the first time, she wished she had bought a gun with more stopping power.

But magnum ammo is so expensive! 9mm is cheap!

F--- you, unfortunate alternate personality! I need a big-a$$ gun if I’m going to fight big-a$$ monsters!

The snuffling was even closer. The hallway was cramped and the tight duct she was hiding in gave her little visibility. Then she saw it.

My God… it’s huge. I never knew.

Silhouetted in the hallway was a nightmare from every child’s darkest fears. A large, furry elephant-like creature, eyelashes batting as it wheezed in an asthmatic rasp.

Its fatal mistake took place the moment it passed her without raising its head.

In a flash, she dropped from the duct and fired non-stop into its furry brown hide.

“Take that, Snuffy!” she screamed. It started to turn as the spatter of bullets drew blood from a dozen wounds – but the initial onslaught was too much. The great invisible destroyer had lain down for the last time.

With a final rasp, its eyes shut. Anne kicked its massive belly, then spit on it.

“Burn in hell, you magnificent bastard.”

* * *

Now wearing a bright orange modesty gourd stolen from the school’s New Guinea cultural display, Levitz waited outside of Starbucks. Nardo would be here. He could sense it.

Looking down, Levitz decided he preferred the gourd to Levis.

CRASH!

A motorcycle crashed out of a plate glass window! Across the street!

ACROSS THE ROAD FROM STARBUCKS! Nardo was cleverer than he had expected!

Holding his modesty gourd in place, Levitz sprinted after the bike, desperately wishing he had his gun. But it was no use – Nardo was gone.

Gone to the Great Mother.

* * *

It was 2:04AM and Professor Gottleib was still in his lab. If he couldn’t find a cure – no one could. And he knew it.

The animalcules on the slide before him danced in the random patterns he’d come to expect from POG3.

Something so tiny… yet they could spell the end of mankind…

He was just about to look away when it happened.

Two had joined together – then three – then a dozen. They were making a pattern on the slide! Before his unbelieving observation, words were appearing. A network of bacteria were forming a phrase!

"Mein gott! It’s in English!"

Was it a message from the plague? A message from the Great Mother?

What could it mean?

They defied an answer – but remained on the slide.

In microscopic font there stood two words: “Some Pig.”

* * *

Anne pressed against the wall, breathing heavily. The encounter with Snuffy had shaken her. Even though he was dead – it was close – too close.

If he had looked up he could have extended his trunk, reached towards me, and…

She shuddered.

After popping a new clip in the Glock and reloading the old one, she had decided to give up on her wish for reinforcements. Something must have happened to Levitz at the school.

Suddenly a skittering sound forced her into a corner. A blur rushed past – a weevil-man – but he paid her no attention.

Even they know something is terribly wrong here.

As the thought crossed her mind she heard a high, hollow, and eerily child-like voice from down the corridor. “Snuff? Snuffy?”

Oh s---. It’s the monster’s mate!

Thump! Thump! Thump!

The sound of awkward footsteps echoed. Then there was a rustling of feathers.

It’s almost here!

She pointed her gun down the hall, hands clenched, teeth chattering.

With a whoosh and a SNAP, it struck from thin air.

Her gun was gone – she turned – IT WAS BEHIND HER!

A huge yellow-feathered ostrich-like face looked into hers and yelped.

“You are not my friend!”

It snapped its beak onto her head and picked her up. She could feel its sharp mouth digging into her scalp as it dangled her in the air.

I’m going to die.

With a splutter, it spit her to the floor. Her ankle turned under her with an audible snap.

Oh dear God I don’t want to die!

As she lay on the ground, blood streamed into her eyes. The beast’s stilt-like legs raised the creature atmospheres above her. It pulled its head back for a killer jab of its terrible beak – then paused.

“Do you know today’s letter?”

Shocked, she shook her head no.

“Do you know today’s number?”

Again she shook her bleeding head.

“D!” it screamed, “And 666!”

Then it lashed out – but something was wrong. Its blow barely glanced her – and in a flash, she knew the reason.

The weevil-man had come back. And it was standing with a syringe in its hand – an empty syringe! It had injected the foul thing with something!

The monstrous bird-beast screamed in agony. “No, no, no! I want to play!”

The weevil hesitated, then started to move away – but not fast enough. In its dying frenzy, the monster kicked in its head with a vicious blow from one of its feet.

The weevil-man fell like a sack of alphabet soup, bursting as he did. And the monster fell with him, thrashing on the ground as the toxin took hold.

It didn’t live long.

When she was sure of its demise, Anne stood up and bent over the dead weevil-man, putting her hand on its mangled carapace. “We could have been friends. Thank you, fallen one. Thank you.”

* * *

Levitz was panting from exertion and he’d lost his shirt. Fortunately, he still had the sugar tucked inside his gourd He had run along the sidewalk for almost 12 blocks, tracking Nardo to the warehouse district where he was supposed to have met Anne hours before.

Now he had a plan. And it involved a trowel, a length of electric tape, and Nardo’s acute diabetes. It wouldn’t cure the plague – but it would end the primary cause – the Great Mother – and her human tool.

Then he heard a woman’s voice.

Anne! And with her – Professor Gottleib!

Thank God. They would do it together.

Gottleib and Anne were staring at him in silence, question marks in their eyes. Anne was leaning heavily on Gottleib.

Why are they staring?

With a shock, he realized that his modesty gourd was gone – and with it – the sugar!

* * *

Deep inside the dark heart of the Great Mother’s lair, Nardo waited. Soon, she would awaken and make him again her portal.

Scattered about the foyer of the dark heart were a variety of old magazines. One of them featured an old borderline-pornographic short story about bikers by a writer who should have known better than to put his real name on it. Just as he settled down to start reading, it happened.

The shrill burn of forced telepathy cut directly into his brain and pulled him up from his chair.

“Naaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrdoooooouuuuuuuggghhhhhh!”

“Yes, oh great mother?”

“Nooooooothiiiiiing,” she replied. “Juuuuuust teeeessssstiiing theeeeee coooonnneeeectiiiiioooon.”

Nardo sighed, sat, and went back to his story. Then, something else happened.

There was a noise outside!

* * *

Anne had thoughtfully taken off her shirt so Levitz could wear it around his waist. Fortunately, her bulletproof vest still generally protected her modesty.

Levitz was certain they were standing beside the warehouse Nardo had entered. Desperately, they tried to figure out a way inside. The massive steel doors were locked – and the walls were made of thick concrete block.

Professor Gottleib jumped. “I have an idea!”

Anne and Levitz turned to him, expectant. Gottleib then grabbed a stick and started hitting the wall with it.

“Open, open, open!” he cried – but nothing was happening.

“Give that to me, you fool,” Levitz yelled, “You’re doing it wrong!”

Carefully, he scraped the stick against the concrete with a wood-carving motion – but it had no effect!

Anne shook her bloodied head. “You damned fools. You should know you can’t do it that way.”

She yanked the stick from Levitz’ hand and broke it on the ground. Then she pulled out her Glock and fired a clip into the wall while Levitz and Gottleib clutched their ears.

The wall, though scarred, still stubbornly refused their persuasions.

“I just don’t get it,” Anne said, “Guns have solved all my other problems!”

A light went on across the street. A man opened a door and stood there, silhouetted by a red glow from inside. He spoke.

“What are you guys doing out here? Some of us are trying to sleep!”

Anne popped another clip in her Glock and was about to open fire.

“Wait!” yelled Levitz, “Let me talk to him.”

Anne reluctantly lowered her gun. Levitz walked over to the man. “Sir, we’re sorry. We’re just trying to break into this warehouse. Any thoughts?”

The man looked at him as if he were crazy. “Break in? Why? I have the keys. When they’re out I’m the guy that feeds the cats and takes the mail in. Here – let yourself in.” The man tossed the keys to Levitz.

Then Anne opened fire – but the man had already shut the door.

Gottleib greedily snatched the keys away from Levitz. “Finally!”

He started hitting the wall with them. Levitz grabbed them back and started to scrape the wall. Anne rolled her eyes and shot them both in the legs.

She was going in alone!

* * *

Nardo stood in the darkness of the outer hallway.

He had definitely heard some noise. It sounded like tapping. Then there was some scraping. And then what sounded like gunshots.

The neighbors must be watching Bonanza.

* * *

Anne had enjoyed more than her fair share of dark hallways. But this one was scary dark. And the edges of it pulled away in a sort of mist – like the outlying fringes of a black hole. She made a mental note. Avoid the edges.

Ahead of her, she could see a dim figure. Nardo?

She didn’t know, only having heard of him from Levitz. Carefully, she snuck closer. He stood there, silent.

What is he doing?

With a jerk, he walked away, into a larger chamber opening to her right.

She followed cautiously. The chamber opened into another, greater chamber.

And there she was! The Great Mother!

Anne gasped. Before her was a great monstrosity. The Great Mother was a loathsome, hundred-foot high pig-woman with rows tremendous pendulous teats. All were attached to hoses, which in turned were hooked up to a great centrifuge.

A milking machine?

The Great Mother was looking down at Nardo. Silently, they regarded each other. Then, as if he had been filled with information and cut loose, Nardo walked out again into the hallway.

The Great Mother looked nothing at all like her publicity photo. There she had looked a bit like Jane Fonda. Not here!

Her eyes were flesh-encased and evil, her naked belly a nightmare. The room stunk of dung and sweat.

But pigs don’t sweat.

Anne quivered. Could it be? Could she be… part human?

The Great Mother had noticed her in the shadows.

With a snap, her brain was violated. "Coooooome clooooooseeeeeeeer!"

She did.

"Whyyyyy aaaareee yoooou heeereeee?"

Anne looked confused. “I didn’t get that. What did you say?”

"Whyyyyy aaaareee yoooou heeereeee?"

“Oh – I got it that time. I’m here… to… to…”

Kill Nardo? Kill the Great Mother? Why AM I here? Oh, that’s right!

“I’m here to SHOOT SOMETHING!”

Anne snapped her gun up and starting punching 9mm holes in the machine.

The Great Mother let out a huge telepathic squeal. "Noooooooooooooo! Thooooooossseeeee weeeeeerrreeeeee eeeexpensiiiiiive!"

Anne whipped the gun around and pointed it towards the Great Mother’s head – but her bullets were gone!

"Cooomeee clooosseeer, dauuughter! Suuuuckle unto thyseeeelf the viruuuus!"

With horror, Anne realized that the Great Mother was offering one her swinish dugs.

“No!”

But she couldn’t resist… in a daze, she walked closer, her mind overcome. The ground around her was flooded with milk, spent shell casings and broken pieces of machinery. She climbed into the Great Mother’s lap. She grasped the teat in her hands.

“Driiiiiiiiiiiink!”

She did – and fell into the deep sleep of infancy. And in the final moment she realized.

I love Great Mother.

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

2009-09-08T13:20:00.000-07:00

by Vidad MaGoodn

Vacation? I didn’t get a vacation! Are you kidding? An Emperor… on vacation? I frickin’ burned Rome, baby! HA HA HA! July 18th, man, July 18th!

Wait… that’s what Nero did. I get confused.

What did I do? Let’s see…

I guess the first thing I did was plant a garden. I know, it’s kind of boring. But I enjoy it. Watching the seeds come up and feeling all earthy and wholesome and stuff.

But some of those seeds must’ve been contaminated with something. The lima beans seemed okay until about their third week out of the ground. Then they started singing. Honest to goodness. And not anything you want to hear, either. It was all this darn Lynyrd Skynyrd crap all the time. “Gimme two steps, gimme two…”

And I’m like SHUT UP! I totally spent until July screaming at the stupid things all day.

And of COURSE, they glowed in the dark, too. Glowing, Skynyrd-singing beans. It was like I’d planted a pack of stupid in my nice neat garden.

But that was nothing compared to the corn. Can you imagine being next to those dang beans… and having such huge ears? It drove the corn nuts, I’m sure. And that’s why they cracked first.

And Jimmy, before you say “I don’t care,” think about it. Corn is a big, tough mutant grass. You don’t want it becoming mal-adjusted. And doing things like eating songbirds and chucking potatoes through the neighbor’s window. But that’s what it did.

Until the melons grew teeth, then it was a total free-for-all. They started like little babies’ mouths, all gums and no bite… but then they got their incisors. And mobility.

Anyhow, when that happened I got on the phone with Monsanto and I was like “Dude, get me like 1000 gallons of the hard stuff! Time for scorched earth!”

But don’t you know it… the veggies… the THINGS… were listening. I’m guessing the corn tipped ‘em all off. But the vines started coming in the windows and stuff. And I was racing around with a pair of safety scissors, trying to contain the Dark Forces of Chlorophyll Land all by myself. Because, as it always happens, my family was out “having fun” or doing something banal like that.

I guess that’s good, because it kept the kids from seeing me run naked into the melon patch with a chainsaw, screaming vegetable-related obscenities. I can’t remember why I was naked… but of course, I rarely DO remember things like that.

Anyhow, the garden was a wash. But look… I still have a scar on my left calf. Yup, those are bean-burns.

So… since I had to give up on gardening… I decided to do something more relaxing. Like oil wrestling with dolphins.

Turns out… that was a felony. I’m half-out of the tank at Sea World, trying to explain to a cop that “No, I wasn’t trying to make little mermaid babies with my fellow mammal, no, I’m not drunk, no, I realize that my wetsuit is on backwards, yada, yada, yada.”

30 days. That’s what I got. And the chick from Grumpy’s Bail Bonds never showed up. I’d seen her a million times on the billboard, all blonde and pretty and desperately stupid, in the way blond, pretty girls often are… but instead of her coming down to get me out, I got someone named Willy. He squinted. And was totally uninterested in dolphins.

Oh yeah… and I kicked Poppaea in the belly. I’m feeling bad about that still, so don’t bring it up. You didn’t? What, you don’t care? You cold-hearted bugger. If I had any carnivorous melons left I’d stick one in your lunchbox.

Anyhow, that’s pretty much my summer. I think I hung out at a strip mall, too. With Abraham Lincoln, Don Knotts and Bruce Bethke. And Chuck Norris. Well… near Chuck Norris. Not really with.

The End

Best Holiday Wishes!

2009-05-21T21:49:00.000-07:00

(card exterior)

(card interior)

Good Luck!

2009-04-15T09:04:00.000-07:00

Speechless

2009-03-12T21:29:00.000-07:00

Mellon stepped out of the tub into his favorite pair of slippers.

One of his friends once joked that his middle name should have been “Casual Nudity.”

That would be funny if you didn’t know him well. However, he was anything but casual about his nudity. He was downright serious when it came to being bare.

The last time he wore clothing was to his wife Sherry’s graduation from medical school, back in the 80’s. Since then, he’d spent two decades wandering about alone or with her in their two-acre garden in the country. Occasionally friends came by, but his nudism wasn’t always up their alley. Generally, though, they would join in, drinking cold lemonades in the filtered sunlight beneath towering castor bean plants and lush deep green loquat trees.

Mellon had always pictured himself as a modern-day Adam. Thanks to a lucky streak in the stock market that tripled a modest inheritance he’d received from his uncle, a rodeo clown, he was comfortable.

But on days like today, he missed his wife. Her part-time schedule at the old folks’ home left him Eve-less more than he’d like. Any time apart from her was more time than he’d like.

He stepped out his sliding glass door into the tropical sunshine. Lean and fit from his modest intake of booze and vegetables, he enjoyed the feel of the ultraviolet on his bare skin.

Suddenly, he heard a loud screeching and looked up. High above him he saw the black silhouette of a human form being tossed about by a flock of multicolored birds. They were swooping and tearing at it in the sky like sharks would tear at a seal in the water. It would fall, then be swept up again.

The birds were huge. He estimated the smallest of the flock had at least a 20’ wingspan. And they looked… unearthly. Like something was wrong. Something evil.

A hand fell off the form and fell to the ground in front of him.

It wasn’t human. It was… oh gosh, oh no… the hand of Bingo!

Bingo… the gentle ape.

Bingo… the endangered chalupa monkey they rescued on their honeymoon naturist trip to Costa Rica.

Bingo… his wife’s beloved pet.

He looked up. Sure enough – now he recognized the form.

Gently, he picked up the hand. It was warm and soft. He took a small bite.

Leathery, with an aftertaste of banana. Definitely Bingo’s hand.

But… now the birds were carrying the rest of the monkey away. And with it, he knew, a little piece of his wife’s heart.

What would he tell her when she got back?

The birds flew off into the sun. Literally, into the sun. Like water down a drain, they splashed into its gleaming orb, leaving ripples.

Mellon went back inside the house.

* * *

He sat on the sofa, watching the television for a long time. It was off.

His wife opened the door. She was already half-naked. She threw the rest of her clothing in the hamper by the door as she came in.

“Hi sweetie!”

“Hello, darling.”

She was in her 40s, and looked like it, but she was beautiful. She was his and she loved him, and that gave a radiance to her form that no supermodel could ever touch.

How can I tell her about Bingo?

He could tell by her face that Sherry already knew something was wrong. Even though her reproductive system had been removed after their mysterious time machine accident, she still had her woman’s intuition intact.

“Everything okay?”

“Not really.”

“Did one of the monkeys die?”

“Bingo.”

“One of them DID die?”

“Bingo.”

“Oh gosh NO! Bingo died!”

“That’s what I said, darling.”

She fell to the floor and wept. Mellon wept with her, because nothing on earth invokes pity like the sight of a naked woman weeping.

* * *

That night he had a dream.

He was sitting on his grandmother’s lap outside. His love for her was painful because now their life together was running out. Around them the wind whipped. It was cold and gray. Her face drooped on one side from a stroke. They couldn’t talk to each other. All he could hear was her breathing. There was so much to say. And no time left to say it. If he moved, she would fall to earth and never rise again.

A shooting star lit up the heavens above. It was a sign. Grandma’s breathing rattled off as she sank into the earth.

The glowing green grass grew taller as she disappeared.

A dead monkey stood before him, speechless.

Mellon gave him back his hand.

What Happens When You Eat Spoiled Pork?

2009-03-03T08:26:00.001-08:00

Not surprisingly, the answer is online!

http://wiki.answers.com/Q/What_happens_when_you_eat_spoiled_pork

JOB APLACATION REPNSE

2009-02-10T10:29:00.000-08:00

I SAW YOU’RE LOOKING FOR A GOOD EMPLYEE. PLEASE, OH GOD, PLEASE!!! HIRE ME, I"M DYING!!!!

I APPRECIATE IT VERY MCUH! PLS HIRE ME, I CAN RIT E REALLY GOOD STUFF AL THE TIME AND YOU NED MY SKILLS. I DON"T WANT TO LOOSE THIS JOB, IT'S MY ONLY CHANCE,

I MEAN YOU WOUNLD WANT TO LOOSE ME THIS IS A PERFT CHANCE FOR YOU, EVERYONE SEEMS TO THINK THAT IM TROUBLE BT IM NOT.

CALL ME ANYTIME AFRT T EN WHEN I GET HOM, FROM MY GIRLS HOUSE. PLZ GIVE ME TEH JOB, THKS.

(IM SORRY I DONT HAVE PANTS WHEN I MET YOU FRIST TIME
MY WEINR WAS INFLMAED ITS A MEDICAL PROBLEM THSKN AND GOD BLESS!!!!1!1!)

-VIDAD MAGOODN

Non Semper Aurem Facilem Habet Felicitas

2009-02-05T18:32:00.000-08:00

…as he spoke, the little aeroplane seems to pull out of its dive, leveling off. Beth’s hopes lifted as Cliff fought to land the mortally wounded craft. But just as it looked as if Cliff had the aeroplane under control, skimming the ground at terrible speed, it flew into the farm’s big, abandoned barn. Seconds later, an explosion rocked the hilltop and the barn burst into flames.

(---disconnect---)

The book falls to the floor. On top of its lurid cover fall a glass eye, a pair of tube socks and a bra.

A female voice giggles, then whispers. “Oh darling… I love it when you read to me from your naughty books!”

A male voice responds. “Mmm… naughty!”

(giggle)

The male voice continues. “Actually, how’s about you put your eye back in sweetheart? That’s really freaking me out.”

“But… you told me you’d love me no matter what…”

“Yeah, but…”

“That even if I was black you’d hold me forever!”

“Yes…”

“That even if I were a man you’d still…"

“Uh…”

“That even if my limbs fell off…”

“Okay, darling, I get your point. It’s just… well, see… my great aunt was missing one eye."

“So?”

“And the collusion between you and her is becoming too striking. Ever since Elvis married us yesterday, I’ve had this weird, weird feeling about you…”

“Like what?”

“Like…”

She stood up, clutching a towel over her bare chest, one eye shining in the dim light of their hotel.

“LIKE I’M THE ANDROID REPLICA OF YOUR GREAT AUNT?”

“Well…”

“Like… I’m her REINCARNATED SPIRIT?”

“Uh…”

“Like YOU’RE TOTALLY MAKING CRAP UP BECAUSE YOU’RE TOO DANG BUSY TO WRITE A DECENT CHALLENGE ENTRY FOR HENRY???”

“I mean…”

She laughed, bitterness in her voice. The towel fell to the floor. But instead of breasts, two previously hidden shotgun barrels pointed out of her chest at the man’s reclining form.

He stared in horror as she shrieked at him.

“This is Henry’s first challenge… and you’re SCREWING IT UP!!!”

“WAAAAAIIIIIIIT!!!”

(---BLAM!!!---)

His mutilated form crumpled across the bed.

Far off, the sound of a vintage aeroplane hummed away into the distance.

Meanwhile, a thin young man looked at his messy attempt at a Friday Challenge entry and sighed. He glanced at his WWBBD bracelet and sighed again.

Hmm… is having a new baby a “first rule” situation?

Or should I delete this stupid entry and then enter a really good chal

An Excerpt from My Novel

2009-01-17T20:55:00.000-08:00

Ray announced from behind his pipe, “See, there’s some things you just don’t get from the text.”

It was the first thing Ray had said since coming in from the rain. They hadn’t caught any fish. And now it was cold and wet.

“What text?”

But Ray was lost in thought. “Gap theory, f’rinstance. Some folks make a case for it… and I’ve almost got a mind to believe them. It’s fun to think on.”

“Gap theory?”

“’Lucifer’s Flood,’ they talk about… a kind of pre-flood flood. Pre-noahic. A big gap of time, where everything shifts and changes and stuff… and ages, you know, so they can mesh their natural history a little with the ideas of modern science.”

Ray kicked his feet up and blew a smoke ring.

It was best to just let him be, Bill decided. They’d been going fishing at this same cabin every Spring… and when Ray got going, there was no stopping him.

“There was a kind of big angel fight, and then some pre-men or something probably did some things that messed up the pre-earth earth, and then BAM – lots of water. No more messing around down there, folks! But… then He had to do it again in the time of Noah. Then God made the rainbow as a promise He wasn’t going to do it again. But, if He’d only done it once… why the rainbow?

Bill grunted a perfunctory “dunno.”

“Well, see, I got the answer. If the Almighty had made a regular habit of Flooding the earth and cleansing it of wickedness, then He stopped… well, He’d better let folks know. Hence the rainbow.”

Bill didn’t see.

Ray continued with a wistful afterthought, “Of course, the gays have the rainbow now, eh?”

Bill shrugged. “Maybe God’ll repossess it on Judgement day?”

Ray looked at him blankly. “Now you’re just talking nonsense.”

The Unofficial Friday Challenge Results

2008-11-17T20:39:00.000-08:00

Well, there was an unexpectedly full field this week! Amazing, since we had this challenge on accident.

Here are the results:

Waterboy:

You said more in one sentence than Bertrand Russell said in his entire life. Your entry was crisp, Hemingway-esque and had a certain relevancy with a touch of deep brown savoir-faire. However, your premise was too predictable. And I don’t like your later insinuations about my (hic) drinking problem. So better luck next time.

Ben-El:

Never insult Bruce Bethke. EVER. Don’t say that he’s old, don’t mention Wild Wild West, don’t tell him that conservative Republicanism is dead and never, ever, mention his bloodshot eyes. Without Bruce, I’d be dead in a gutter right now. So, despite your clever assault on my sanity, you automatically lose because you picked on the greatest man that ever lived (with the exception of Jesus, Chuck Norris and Sherlock Holmes.)

rycamor:

You’ve managed to craft a chillingly accurate version of what just happened in our nation. Your style is sharp, though occasionally too Rothbardian. You also mention esoteric pieces of technology that I completely don’t understand. So you fail to win the blood-soaked sock. Sorry.

snowdog:

You’re this week’s winner of the coveted bloody (and yes, filthy!) sock award! I laughed and laughed at your piece. However, you also picked on Bruce Bethke, which you should never-ever-ever-ever do. But, unlike Ben-El, you covered your great sin with an apology. And I believe in showing grace to those that sin. Your clever little tale also mentioned Spaceball One, rejected submissions, and Mrs. Oscarsson – showing that you’ve researched the life of our Beloved Leader and held on to his precious words. Also, I'll never forget our summer on the spaceship. So – you win! Come claim your prize.

Now for the additional prizes:

Rycamor, you win a badly drawn image of a sheep being eaten by a horse. As soon as I draw it, I’ll let you know. I already know where you live.

Ben-El, you’re the lucky winner of “Vidad’s Greatest Hits.” If you prefer, I can send you a CD of my less popular tracks instead. Up to you. They're poorly recorded and almost completely inaccessible - in a good way.

And Waterboy, for you is reserved a lovely pink wishbone glued to another, as-of-yet undetermined object. It makes a great gift for someone you love!

Thanks for playing!

The Unofficial Friday Challenge

2008-11-16T21:57:00.000-08:00

In a bizarre carry-over from the Ranting Room, I present this week's Unofficial Challenge. Vying for the grand prize of a bloody sock are the following entries:

Waterboy

Snowdog

rycamor
(Pt. II is further down)

Ben-El
(Pt. II is further down)

The challenge, of course, was: "Explain WHY brb is swamped!" as recorded here

Also, other prizes will be awarded to the runners-up, as noted in my post on the original challenge. Other prizes include:

A: A badly drawn image of a sheep being eaten by a horse.

B: A wishbone that has been hand-painted pink and glued to another, as-of-yet undetermined object.

C: A CD of "Vidad's Greatest Hits." (I have a ton of these. For some reason, the market hasn't responded appropriately to what I thought was a well-crafted and mature collection of musical brilliance.)

Good luck!

The Chosen One

2008-11-11T20:04:00.001-08:00

I admit. Back when President Obama was running for office, I wasn’t for him.

In my book, he was a borderline totalitarian. A socialist. A man that wanted to expand the holocaust of the unborn in our nation. And though charming, he stood against almost all of my Libertarian principles.

Of course, I felt the almost same way about his opponent on the Republican side of the fence.

But back then… I didn’t realize his depth. His truth. His love. And his status as the Chosen One.

I hate to say it, but I’ve come around.

My journey began at the beginning of 2009.

* * *

Since I was still in the hunt for a job (actually, just straight-up unemployed and broke), I couldn’t afford my regular chiropractic visits.

And my back was hurting. I could really use an adjustment… but the $50 I would spend on a visit was just too steep.

So one night, as I was reading online, I saw an article about our new president and decided to glance at it. The image of his face was powerful. It showed determination and an almost supernatural resolve. Despite myself, and despite my abhorrence of his policies, I was captivated. I could almost see his eyes looking into mine.

Wait… they actually WERE looking into mine!

Without realizing what I was doing… I spoke to him. “Mr. President… see… I’m broke. And my neck is killing me!”

With amazement, I saw something that blew my mind. A single tear was rolling down his cheek… for me!

I stretched out my hand and put it to the digital image of his face. A crackle shot through my arm, and warmth filled me. My neck tingled… and the pain was gone!

I was healed!

* * *

A few weeks later, a check came in the mail. The government had announced a new stimulus package… but in reality, I knew it was Obama – my new hero Obama – who had sent me that money. It was a gift from above. He had heard my plea!

And when I got my new tax refunds… and my family finally had healthcare again, I knew it was a gift from the President. A man that loved me and had my best interests at heart.

* * *

Going to church became tough for me. I used to have a good relationship with God. He had always provided for me… but rarely as directly as the government now was. And unlike the Chosen One, God had always desired things from me in return. Things like holiness, obedience, and faith. And He had made my conscience hurt when I fell into sin.

Obama never did anything like that to me. He was my provider… a deep well of giving and unconditional love. I could be the worst man in America and still benefit. And I didn’t need to work anymore. My needs were met!

After a while, the family and I stopped going. I really couldn’t serve two masters.

* * *

Liberty used to be my number-one priority. Fight or die!

But now that isn’t important. My neck was hurting again, but it was okay. My chiropractor was out-of-business anyways. And I had my needs met by Uncle Sam.

* * *

I remember the day they shot him. Some idiot supremacist or something. I cried and cried when I saw the images of his coffin lying in state.

I kept thinking “NO! It CAN’T BE!!!”

I was so sick over it. I couldn’t eat. I wanted to die too.

* * *

Then… the miracle! I remember being unable to speak… choking back tears of joy… unbelieving that it was real.

But it was! He came back! All the doctors were blown away. It was impossible… but not for him.

That very same day he spoke… the bandages still on his head. Can you believe it?!

He didn’t rebuke his attackers. His eyes were full of love… and he seemed doubly filled with purpose. His wife stood beside him... barely repressing her emotion as he spoke, his voice quavering a little.

His first thoughts were for someone else, as always… condemning violence and urging us to join together, he announced his new dedication to peace! To fighting violence with love! Of all things to think about on a joyous day like that… he turned his eyes away from his own suffering and looked abroad to the Middle East conflicts – of all things! That was the day he unveiled his new peace plan for ending the Israeli/Palestinian conflict forever.

That’s my Obama!!!

* * *

I know, it sounds crazy that I’ve gone so gung-ho. But I just got a plaster bust of his face to put on the mantle. Almost everyone has one now. It’s a respect thing, not an idol. (But I do leave him gifts of fruit sometimes.)

He needs all the help and love he can get… I can’t wait to see what happens next!

Now… if you’ll excuse me, I’m really in some pain right now… got a nasty sting from some hellish bug that came in the window yesterday...

Sorry I Missed Your Birthday

2008-11-11T14:20:00.000-08:00

Hi ______,

I know you’re wondering why I didn’t show up at your party yesterday, particularly since I was the one who had planned it all.

I’m sure you’re hurt. And I’m so sorry.

But there’s a deep problem inside my soul that you need to understand. It’s a root of pain that stretches back into my childhood. I’m just sorry it’s now affected you too.

For me, this wasn’t just a birthday. It was a trial of fire. For my thirty-five years of life, I’ve never once attended a birthday party. Well, since the accident, that is. Planning your party, and thinking ahead to it, was probably the toughest thing I’ve ever done. And… I still failed, though I wanted so badly to pull it off.

When I was a little girl, ponies were the one thing that obsessed my mind. I lived, breathed, and ate ponies as a child (not literally!).

Then came my 10th birthday. It was a cold day but I felt so warm inside! Why? Because I was going to get a chance to ride a pony for the very first time. The whole family went to the park… and they were about to bring us the ponies… and… then it happened.

I’m a little vague on the details, but I remember that a big balloon must have drifted up behind me. I think it was tied to a picnic table at the pavilion and I was standing in front of it. I remember that the balloon brushed against a pin in my hair and exploded. And that caused me to fly forwards and smash my face into a drinking fountain. The nozzle of the fountain went directly in my mouth and my braces caught on it, holding me fast. Unfortunately, I was jammed up against the handle and the weight of my body depressed it. Water blasted down my throat and I had to swallow gallons of it. I was choking… gasping… drowning... it felt like hours before I was rescued. And when I was, I vomited up water for what seemed like days.

And ever since then, I’ve been allergic to marshmallows. And anything that reminds me of them. And since I knew most of your friends are white, and that they’d all be in the same place, like a big bag of marshmallows with eyes….

Please forgive me for missing your party. I just can’t face the marshmallows.

Lots of love,

_________

Vote Out Vidad

2008-11-07T13:11:00.001-08:00

The Big Guy

2008-10-30T19:29:00.001-07:00

A zombie hip-hop opera for the Friday Challenge. Bane was a man that would have probably hated this tribute, and me for making it. But I miss him anyways.

(If you can spare anything for his family's medical fund, donate here: http://www.banedad.blogspot.com/ - warning - rough content on blog!)

And without further ado, meet YouTube:

And for those of you that can't understand what the heck I'm saying... the lyrics:

Fifteen past ten on a black stormy night
Sitting by a trash fire’s greasy red light
And I’m like “dang, how the freak I got here?”
Then I flash back and the past gets clear

Ten days since the dead came back from dey graves
Nine since they starting making us their slaves
Eight since they bit my wife and my kids
Seven since I had to shove steel through their eyelids
Six since the night when I packed up my mossburg
Five since the complete blackout of Pittsburgh
Four since the suburbs turned into a hellhole
Three since I saw a zombie stripper on a dance pole
Two since my pit got capped by a creeper
One day left and the odds are getting steeper

So I pack up what’s left of my measly grub
The gutted burned carcass of a grizzly bear cub
Moans from the trees tell my ghouls are near
But I stay cool, hell I crack a beer

Cause I’m the big guy
I just can’t lose
I'm shootin’ even straighter
When I’m tanked with booze

Then I feel hands brush my neck – heart attack
Spinning on my feet bust a slug through the wreck
A former b-boy still wearing his Converse
Undead then dead in a freakish reverse

Must’ve dropped down from a tree
Almost got me
Gotta remember
Or what I can’t see
Will infect my flesh
And make a freak outta me

Cause I’m the big guy
I just can’t lose
I'm shootin’ even straighter
When I’m tanked with booze

I escape for the night by tying myself in a tower
Below the dead moan and I sense their power
Is growing stronger as they feed on the flesh
Of what’s left of the folks that couldn’t pass the test

The skies are black with nuclear rain
The radio’s squawking with the voices of the insane
I grab my piece and let myself fall
Cut my way through the dead like I’m ten feet tall

Cause I’m the big guy
I just can’t lose
I'm shootin’ even straighter
When I’m tanked with booze

Before they were eaten no one knew my true self
They were all discount but I was top shelf
A warrior and poet with a pile of guns
I’d seduce the habit off the shyest of nuns

C’mon, spineless slugs, follow me all
I’m chillin' and loppin' off heads with a chainsaw
C’mon you losers I ain’t got all day
The zombies keep coming and I’m makin’ em pay

Cause I’m the big guy
I just can’t lose
I'm shootin’ even straighter
When I’m tanked with booze

Now I’m alone in a world insane
Ghouls in darkness stagger over the plain
But I still stand tall and I stand to gain
The wreckage that’s left… I am Bane!

Words

2008-10-16T21:00:00.000-07:00

“Darling…”

“Yes dear?”

“You’re very frangible tonight.”

“Pardon?”

“Frangible.”

“I know what it means – but why do you think I’m ‘frangible’ all of a sudden?”

“Well, since you’ve been hanging out with the New York side of the family… and since you’ve been taking care of the kids…”

“Ah... gotcha. I just couldn't figure out how I was reminding you of The Nanny...”

* * *

“How’s your bird doing?”

“He’s been a bit sick… though I’ve been doing my best to cheer him up.”

“Oh yeah? How?”

“Giving him extra anise-flavored bird candy”

“Ah… licorice?”

“Yup… this stuff… here, take it.”

“Smells great… but… oh dear…”

“What? What is it?”

“No wonder he’s sick! This isn’t for cockatiels – this type is for owls only!”

“Good gracious! I didn’t know I was giving him owlish!”

* * *

“Geez… I’m getting fat.”

“Yeah, dude. You need to start working out. Get rid of that gut!”

“Totally. The stress at work is killing me… that’s how I got this bad. And here… listen as I jiggle my gut.”

“It’s… slopping around in there. Like a waterbed. Your paunch has totally gone sloshy!”

“Oh no! You’re saying I’ve got a paush???”

* * *

“All inmates of Peach Bottoms Correctional Facility are hereby encouraged to attend the ongoing education class starting tonight. This will be our first constructive of the year.”

* * *

“Hey doll, check out my hat!”

“Snazzy! Great fedora!”

“It’s not a fedora… notice the palm tree on the side…”

“Yeah?”

“…and Schwarzenegger’s signature…”

“Okay…”

“…and the internal granola pocket?”

“Ah… I see… not a fedora… it’s a caldera.”

“Bingo!”

* * *

“Hey… apparently a lot of black folks in Japan have lost a lot of money in the stock market.”

“Really?”

“Yeah… they’ve gone very derogatory on the Yen. I talked to fellow yesterday at the brokerage… they even have a new term for the currency… they’re all like… “Yen? Shee…” They’re calling it the ‘Yen-shee syndrome.’”

“Ha. Funny. You could say I’m feeling pretty ‘dollar-shee’ myself.”

* * *

“Hey there Cate… got any salami?”

“No.”

“Oh well. Thanks anyway, DeliCate.”

* * *

“Whoa kids… don’t get too close to those roosters!”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re VERY spurious. You could get hurt!”

* * *

“Hi Marsha.”

“Hey Shelly.”

“Um…”

“What? My spray-on tan?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve noticed how orange it became?

“Uh… yeah. It’s… uh… weird.”

“Whatever… so, miss perfect, I guess YOU’VE never suffered from an orangutan?”

* * *

“Would a rose, by any other name, still smell as sweet?”

“Uh, darling…”

“Yeah, babe?”

“Why are you standing on the counter again, reciting Shakespeare?”

“I’m… just practicing.”

“Well stop. You’re not getting better. Give up already. Everyone and their mother KNOWS you of ALL people just can’t counteract!”

How To Light a Grill

2008-07-05T09:40:00.001-07:00

With Bruce Bethke!

Nancy and the Farmer

2008-06-18T14:41:00.000-07:00

(As recorded in chapter four of The Apocryphal History of Batman)

The grain was thick and ready for harvest.

Birds winged through the heavens like drops of liquid fire in the evening sun.

And Farmer Luthor was sick of kids cutting through his field. He crouched, shotgun in hand, waiting for a particularly loathsome trespasser.

It was 6:53PM. Any moment now.

---

On the dirt road that led to Farmer Luthor’s farm, a solitary figure skulked along, occasionally snapping his jaws out into the breeze as if snagging invisible mouthfuls. He dragged a pair of black wings behind him. He was half-bat, half-human. That’s why people called him Batman. His real name was Bruce.

But everyone knew him as Nancy.

---

Any moment now…

Farmer Luthor heard the shuffling of that bat-winged idiot coming closer. Every day at this time he cut through the field. Every single day.

No more.

---

Nancy could sense someone ahead of him. He made a high-pitched shriek.

Definitely someone ahead. With a gun. Crouching there like he couldn’t be echo-located.

He sighed dismally. Might as well say hi.

“Hey there… guy with the gun. I, uh, see you!”

Out of a patch of wheat, Farmer Luthor appeared, noticeably flustered.

“How the heck did you see me, you trespassing freak?”

Nancy was used to these intolerant remarks. He had gone to public school before dropping out to pursue his life of purposeless wandering.

“I just have good ears, okay?”

Farmer Luthor narrowed his eyes. “I’ll bet. Now how’s about you get out of my field?”

Nancy stared back at him. “Why?”

“Because it’s MINE!”

“Really? Is that why you’re out here, threatening folks with your shotgun?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, whatever floats your boat.”

“Hey – don’t get patronizing with me. YOU’RE the guy that’s trespassing!”

“I know. But what you don’t seem to realize is how beneficial I am.”

Farmer Luthor spit on the ground contemptuously. “Beneficial? Maybe if I was running a sideshow! But I’m trying to farm here!”

“And I suppose you’re a big fan of being bitten?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Then why did you say it?”

“Why don’t you look up bats online?”

“Because I don’t have a computer. Now I suppose you’re going to tell me you’re one of them computer geeks?”

Nancy remained silent, staring at the ground.

“No – not a geek then?”

“No, I’m not. I just think you need to realize why I’m so beneficial.”

“Are you saying you’re going to bite me? Because that’s not my idea of beneficial, bud!”

Nancy stared at him for a moment, then quietly answered. “No. I don’t bite people.”

“Then why’d you ask me if I like getting bitten?”

“You just don’t get it.”

Farmer Luthor was getting angrier. “Let’s just stop this now. I’ll point my gun at you, and you leave. That’s how it’s supposed to go!”

Nancy sighed. “Whatever.”

Farmer Luthor slapped at his leg. “Stupid mosquitoes!”

He held his hand up and saw he’d successful killed the little bugger. Like lighting, Nancy jumped forward and licked the dead insect off his hand!

“WHAT THE HECK! YOU SICK FREAK!”

Nancy licked his lips. “Sorry, I didn’t want it to go to waste.”

“To WASTE?”

“Yes. That’s what I was talking about.”

Farmer Luthor looked at him, blankly.

“I eat mosquitoes, okay? And Fritos. They rhyme.”

Farmer Luthor was too busy pulling a Macbeth to answer. He was wiping his hand like it would never be clean again.

Nancy continued. “I eat millions of those things.”

Farmer Luthor paled and looked up. “That’s nasty!”

“So… you prefer being bitten?”

“No, I guess not." He paused. "Are you eating them when you walk through my field?”

“Yes. I eat my body weight in them each and every day.”

The farmer turned green.

“Seriously. They’re good.”

The farmer threw up violently. He dropped his gun and clutched his knees to his chest.

Nancy shrugged, stepped over the puddle of vomit and kept walking.

“Some people are really weird.”

What Actually Happened During Snowdog's Lost Summer

2008-06-12T19:06:00.000-07:00

Read THIS first! (All apologies to snowdog!)

…where am I… Where Am I… WHERE AM I!!!?

With a start, Snowdog tried to sit up. His motion was arrested by the smooth metallic restraints lightly wrapped around him.

A wave of pain radiated through his skull but he couldn’t reach up to feel for damage.

Above him stretched a cool blue ceiling, lit as if by inner phosphorescence. The tones shifted slowly in hypnotic patterns.

With frustration, Snowdog settled back to consider his plight.

One moment he’d been riding on a bus… then he hit his head somehow… then he was staggering about, surrounded by his books.

Then there was an eternity of darkness.

He shut his eyes drifted back into unconsciousness.

__________________

A feeling of gentle acceleration woke him. The same ceiling shone above.

His head felt a little better. He craned his neck to try and get a feel for his surroundings.

To one side lay a bank of incomprehensible spheres and shapes. He assumed they were instruments of some kind.

Turning painfully to the other side, he saw he wasn’t alone.

Strapped to a similar gurney lay another figure. A strange, thin, pale form, apparently asleep.

No... wait! The man’s eyes fluttered open and turned to him. Then he spoke.

“Hello.”

“Uh, hi.”

Maybe his fellow captive had an idea of what the devil was going on.

The man looked to be about 17. He smiled wanly and then spoke again in a nasally tone. “Did the acceleration wake you?”

“Yeah, I guess. What the heck is going on?”

“I’d like to know the same thing.”

“So… where are we. This looks like a Tom Swift illustration.”

“Yup. I think we’re on a spacecraft. I have a vague recollection of having seen some creature bending over me earlier but it’s all fuzzy.”

“Great. The first day school’s out and I’m stuck in space.”

“At least you’re not stuck in New Jersey.”

Ziiiiiiiiiiiip!

A door opened in the wall. In stepped a cold-complexioned grayish man without a nose. In his hand was some sort of alien-looking clipboard.

“Feeling well, are we?”

Snowdog and the other captive both remained silent.

“Good then. We’ll be talking soon.”

The alien stepped out and the door zipped shut behind him.

__________________

“So, anyhow… I’m Snowdog. Since we’re both stuck here in sucksville, who are you?”

“I’m Vidad.”

“That’s the stupidest name I’ve ever heard.”

“More stupid than Snowdog?”

There was an awkward silence.

“So… uh… are you a Journey fan?” Snowdog ventured.

“No.”

“Figures. Probably a punk, then?”

“Pastor’s kid. My parents only let me listen to Christian music.”

“Sucks for you.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Vidad looked away and pretended to be engrossed in the ceiling, but now Snowdog was awake and interested in finding out more about his companion with the stupid name and worse complexion.

He pressed on. “So… you in high school?”

“Yeah. Well, I was before being abducted.”

“Me too.”

Vidad turned back to him.

“Think they’re going to implant things in our minds and break our wills?”

“Probably.

“Well, even if they do, they won’t take me. They won’t break me.”

“Ha! You ARE a fan!”

“Of what?”

“Nevermind.”

__________________

“You will obey our summons forever,” Alien #1 stated emphatically, “Even if they seem dumb at the time. You just gotta do what we say. Period.”

Alien #7 chimed in. “Yes, and when we ask you to clean up your room or paint the driveway, you need to do that too. You’re pretty much our slaves, stupid humans.”

Snowdog and Vidad were standing in a large chamber, still in restraints. Presumably they were in the center of the ship. Wherever they were, 12 pairs of alien eyes looked at them from all directions.

They were surrounded. And as if that weren’t bad enough, they were being nagged endlessly as machines recorded their responses.

Alien #11 poked Snowdog in the chest. “You seem like the smarter kid here. You WILL be doing all we say, right? Even if we, like, asked you to run to the store for pickles and beer at midnight and you were already asleep?”

Snowdog rolled his eyes. “I don’t know. But you guys are totally eating up my summer break.”

ZAP!

There was a blast of purple light and Snowdog went limp.

Alien #1 spoke again. “There is no summer in space.”

Vidad spat on the ground. “Yes, and no one can hear you scream either, Captain Obvious. Let us go. No matter how much you torture my friend, I won’t break!”

ZAP!

Vidad went limp.

Alien #7 raised an eyebrow. “Think they’re faking?”

Alien #10 looked concerned. “How can you tell if they’re still alive?”

“Maybe we should poke them with a stick?” Alien #2 chimed in.

“Don’t be stupid!” Alien #7 retorted.

__________________

Meanwhile, on earth, the weeks ticked by. Corn grew tall in the fields, ice cream melted on sidewalks and children lay exhausted on the grass after endless races and mock fights.

__________________

“Nice job, Snowdog!” Vidad grinned, knowing they were alone in their cell.

“You psyched them out, too. Nice job yourself.”

“Yeah. I don’t know why they think black lights are supposed to be harmful, but it’s a pathetic form of torture.”

Vidad laughed. “Remember when they made us stand in a room full of ducks?”

“Yeah. What was THAT about?”

“I dunno, but the guards seemed terrified.”

__________________

Weeks passed.

__________________

Snowdog was drinking an alien beverage that resembled coffee. Since they’d started lying to the aliens, their treatment had become significantly better. “Think we’ll ever get off this ship?”

“Sure, why not. Some day. I think they liked the story you told them yesterday.”

Snowdog grinned. “About how there was a mystical food on earth that gave people incredible powers?”

“Yup, that one. Personally, I never though of grits as a superfood, but they were totally on the edge of their glowing ergonomic seats.”

“It was nothing. I like how you told them about your wereskunk powers. And how they needed to provide us with better accommodations or you’d spray them. What a crock that was.”

Vidad got a faraway look in his eyes. “Actually, that was the truth.”

“Oh.”

__________________

Two weeks later, they were thrown into a room filled with brightly colored plastic balls.

It was better than the day they were covered in alien molasses. But they still weren’t inspired to declare their allegiance forever.

Until…

__________________

It had been a lazy couple of days. Nothing to do but talk and wait for their captors.

At precisely 24009.7 on the chronometer, Alien #5 came in to take them to the torture chamber again.

As they walked in, they were greeted by a sickening surprise.

Across one wall was projected a graph showing how much time they’d been on the ship. Underneath was a graph showing how much summer vacation remained before school started again.

Snowdog and Vidad looked at each other. These creeps DID know how to break them.

Alien #9 smiled toothily. “Would you like to enjoy a few days of summer break before returning to school? Or would you prefer staying here and enjoying more ducks? The choice is yours. Swear allegiance… or lose your break FOREVER!”

“Crap,” Snowdog muttered. “This sucks.”

Vidad felt the same way. “What if we swear allegiance? What do we have to do then?”

The alien cackled. “You’ll have to follow our supreme overlord, Bee’arbee. And be nice to his wife. And do what he, and we, say. And remember all our birthdays. And meet regularly online and post snarky comments.”

“Online?”

“It’ll be invented soon. Archon Algore is working on it.”

“Okay,” said Vidad, “So who’s this Bee’arbee?”

The alien cackled louder. “He’s working on a crappy novelization project right now so he can pay for a new roof, but one day he will be revealed. Swear allegiance and you can have your precious break. Refuse, and it’s ducks for you. And the ball pit. At the SAME TIME!!!”

Snowdog winced. “Okay, I’m game.”

“Me too,” Vidad reluctantly agreed.

__________________

Three hours later, after being knocked unconscious via strange alien opiates, they were back on earth.

Unfortunately, they were put in vastly different geographical locations. And because of Alien time zone differences, they lost their break anyway.

Of particular irritation was the fact that, thanks again to alien meddling, they both lost all memory of their summer in space.

But years later, they were irresistibly drawn to the Overlord via their secretly implanted chips. And met again online while engaged in strange alien mental competitions.

And their bond of friendship, though unremembered, compelled Snowdog to vote for Vidad’s entries.

And vice-versa.

FOREVER!

__________________

Apology:

Dear Overlord Bee'arbee,

Please forgive me for revealing what happened during Snowdog’s (and my) lost summer. I’ve been through some therapy and it’s helped me find buried memories. You might want to work on your minions' erasing techniques, oh great one.

Your servant,

Vidad

Excuse #7: Sorry I Gave You Pinworms

2008-06-06T18:30:00.000-07:00

Hey man,

I’m sorry to hear you caught pinworms. I’ll bet the doctor told you that they spread from person to person via eggs transferred from the anus of one individual and ingested by another. You’re probably wondering how in the world you caught it. Well… I have to confess… I was the previous host. I am SO SORRY!!! But at least it’s another thing we have in common, eh?

Now… as to how you caught it from me… well, though it’s kind of embarrassing to admit but I’ve never been much of a hand-washer. It never seemed that important to me - until now! Sometimes it takes a tragedy like infesting your buddy with parasitic worms to really drive home a point. Fear not – I got the point! I’ll wash my hands from now on! Dude – I am SORRY SORRY SORRY this happened to you.

You’re probably still wondering how in the world I unwittingly transferred the little guys from my rear to your mouth. Well… you remember that party a few months back when you invited me, Kelly and Mary over to your place to hang out? What fun that was! Playing Twister, hanging in the hot tub… eating chips and salsa! Unfortunately, if you recall, I was the guy that brought the salsa… homemade of course. Well, at that point I didn’t realize my worm issue… all I knew was that I was having a very itchy day. And since I wasn’t washing my hands (back then!), I probably scratched a little and transferred some eggs into the salsa. Man, what an idiot I was.

By the way – have you heard from Mary or Kelly? Since you told me about your issue a couple of days ago, I’ve been laying awake wondering if they’re experiencing the same nightly anal itching that I experienced. I certainly hope not. Poor girls. Please don’t tell them I was the previous host! I couldn’t bear the shame.

All that to say – I’m REALLY sorry! Hope you can forgive me. I’d be happy to bring you a meal or something as you recuperate.

Later, bro!

_____________

P.S. You might want to get screened for roundworms too.
P.P.S. And, uh… testicular matriculitis. I’m not sure if it’s salsa-hosted, but be on the safe side.
P.P.P.S. Always wash your hands! I really had NO idea how important that was.

Who Would've Thought... My Figure

2008-06-06T18:28:00.001-07:00

Krazy Raspberry Krew!

2008-05-22T21:36:00.001-07:00

Power Play

2008-04-10T15:22:00.000-07:00

(NOTE to government readers: This is satire and should NOT be taken seriously. It's really and truly a joke!)

by Vidad MaGoodn

SNAP!

She snapped her crisp leather bra into place.

PIP! POP! PIP! POP!

She popped the snaps on her elbow length gloves.

TWACK!

Her go-go boots hit the floor.

….swish…

She slipped on a sheer black satin mini-dress over her leather boyshorts.

It was time for Hillary to go politicking.

* * *

Meanwhile, Senator John McCain sat in his peaceful and immaculate zen garden.

He watched disinterestedly as tame rabbits played carelessly on the surrounding grass.

One crept close and sniffed at his black dress shoes. With a faraway look, he picked it up from the ground as one would pluck a daisy.

Its doe eyes looked at him with dim curiosity, then glazed over as he broke its neck.

Without changing expression, McCain bit into its head and chewed slowly.

With a faint smile on his bloody mouth, he drifted into a pleasant recollection of the days when he feasted on Asian children.

Soon enough, he’d be eating well again… provided they could keep their latest war going against the tide of public opinion.

Only one thing stood in his way.

* * *

At 11:04PM off the coast of New Jersey, thirteen Hispanic men huddled together miserably in a fishing boat. They’d been at sea for weeks. They were cold, hungry and damp. And this didn’t look like Miami.

Suddenly, a single red light appeared from across the grey waves further out to sea. It was a tall cadaverous man… windsurfing! A lantern hung from his sail as he tacked effortlessly closer.

On closer inspection, the men noticed that a black-clad female stood on the board behind him, whip in hand.

Sitting in the front of the boat, Jose Hernandez gasped as the man almost lost his balance. He recovered – barely – just in time to be flogged for his mistake by the woman in black.

They were alongside the boat now. The woman jumped aboard, surveying them as if they were two-day-old bologna sandwiches.

“Care to be rescued?” she stated.

“Yes!” said Hernandez.

“Then I have a mission for you. Fail, and you will be returned to Cuba. Succeed, and you’ll be rich.”

Behind her, a shark pulled John Kerry down into the waves.

No one seemed to mind. The sound of a chopper approaching had given the men new hope.

* * *

“We need hope again. Bright hope. The kind of hope our fathers hoped for!”

Loud cheers shook the auditorium. The crowd was eating out of the speaker’s hand.

“Many of us don’t have advantages. We need more advantages. Hopeful, bright advantages!”

More cheers.

“Government health care! Help for the poor! Hope for the poor! Advantages! Empowerment!

The cheering was frenzied. In the first row, a woman collapsed in ecstasy.

“There are things that can be done! If it can be done – it WILL be done! And I will do it until it’s done! Yes – we CAN!”

The stage went dark and the orator walked off amidst a wave of applause.

* * *

Outside, despite the tight security, three women in black jumpsuits had successfully managed to plant an object beneath a waiting vehicle. Perhaps their svelte walks had distracted the guards long enough to complete their mission. Whatever the case, it was to change the course of history.

Five minutes later an explosion rocked the parking lot.

Barack Hussein Obama was eliminated from the race. Though not from the approximately 1500 square yards of asphalt and parked vehicles upon which his remains had landed.

That would take a few days of cleaning up.

* * *

Hillary lounged half-dressed in her penthouse apartment high above the lights of Las Vegas. From the other room came the sound of running water.

“Sweetheart?” came a voice.

“Yes?”

“I think there’s something wrong with the hot water.”

Hillary stood up. “What do you mean?”

The voice now contained a note of unguarded panic. “It’s… really hot… ahh… it’s burning… and I can’t get the shower door open!!! HELP!”

A scream tore through the air.

Hillary rushed into the spacious steam-filled bathroom.

CRASH! The shower door shattered open and a woman fell lifeless out of the steam-filled shower onto the shards.

Ellen DeGeneres had hosted her last show.

Hillary bent over her scalded, yet still manly, form.

“NOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

* * *

A van pulled out of the hotel. Inside sat two smug-looking men dressed as plumbers. Both had short hair and were overweight. Beneath their coveralls, ties peeked out. They were Baptists of some stripe.

One of the men laughed briefly, then picked up the CB.

“Big Dawg, this is Rod. The pipes are fixed… I repeat… the pipes are fixed. Over and out.”

* * *

In an all-you-can-eat diner outside of Little Rock, a cell phone blipped. With a smile, Mike Huckabee noted the number.

He might not be the next president… but at least Ellen was canceled. Permanently.

* * *

Hillary knew from history that fighting a war on two fronts was stupid. But she also knew from history that women didn’t become president of the United States. After the incident in Vegas, she knew it was time to go it alone. It was too dangerous for her network of lesbian compatriots. Another loss like that of Ellen…

She started to tear up.

Focus, girl… focus!

She slammed her fist down on the counter, then picked up a map of Huckabee’s mansion.

Then, with a sigh, she tossed it aside.

I can’t let my feelings get in the way of my lust for power! And besides, there’ll be time enough to deal with him after the election.

* * *

Around McCain’s spacious gardens, a veritable army of illegals tended his flowers. Ever since he’d discovered the knack Mexicans seemed to have for lawn work, he could never go back to the surly service he’d been receiving from the local American-owned companies.

As a matter of fact, his entire political position on immigration had been crafted around his personal rose garden.

He liked roses.

* * *

Timing was everything.

Hillary knew this from her time as First Lady.

If even one of Bill’s clean-up operations had failed, they might have been impeached. It was hilarious to her that Monica’s soiled dress had been more of a scandal than the half-dozen deaths they’d engineered while in office. Or that trade they made with the Chinese. Or the nukes they let slip through.

Oh well. That was all in the past… now I'm going it alone.

And soon, I'll be toasting McCain.

And not with champagne.

* * *

A van full of men stopped in front of McCain’s estate. On the side was a picture of a well-tended lawn in front of a well-tended mansion. The text beneath read “Hernandez & Co. Landscaping.”

The men stepped out, carrying various lawn implements.

Bored, Senator McCain watched them from his porch as a stylist trimmed his hair.

He turned back to the Wall Street Journal’s report on how awesome he was.

* * *

Meanwhile, Hillary was wearing a skin-tight red vinyl miniskirt and giant hoop earrings picked for this occasion. She was also poised over a tiny transceiver. Beside her stood a Spanish-speaking female translator hand-picked for this particular job.

Too bad she’ll be pulling a Foster next week… she’s kinda cute…

She sighed and looked at the woman. “Tell Hernandez to start trimming something. We need to get a feel for the grounds.”

The translator relayed her message in Spanish and received an affirmative reply.

“They’re doing it, ma’am. And he says the men are getting footage on their cameras.”

“Excellent.”

* * *

McCain was talking on the phone when he suddenly felt something. His finely-honed jungle senses were tingling.

Something was wrong – very wrong! He hung up quickly, muttering an excuse.

What’s happening? I feel the disturbance… but I can’t pinpoint it.

He felt it again. Stronger this time.

Someone… endangering something…

Outside, a Hispanic man walked obliviously through a bed of daylilies, holding his WeedEater-cam aloft.

A moment later, McCain pinpointed his unease.

My lilies!!! Someone’s in the flowerbed!!!

He rushed outside, Glock in hand. But the man had walked on. Thirteen pairs of brown eyes looked at him with varying degrees of nervousness.

McCain was stumped.

They all look the same… just like the gooks… so who was it…?

Frustrated, he stepped back inside and decided to think things over. The lilies would grow back… but if he killed a man before winning the presidency, he’d be in trouble.

Keep it together… explode now and you’ll never get your hundred-year war, soldier!

Outside, the tension was broken.

With a sigh of relief, Hernandez ordered his men back to the van.

That was close…

* * *

Clinton swore at the translator after she related her men’s close encounter with the Senator.

I need some Baskin-Robbins, she thought. Or more ProZac…

* * *

McCain wandered the grounds, observing the crushed lilies. In addition, some of his hedges had been trimmed poorly… and his pond had leaves in it.

Why?

With sudden brilliance, the reason came to his mind.

Those weren’t Mexicans!

He snatched a rabbit from the grass and tore into it angrily.

Wolfing down mouthfuls of hot raw meat, he considered his next move. His jungle senses told him that his nemesis was behind the lawncare debacle.

They would be back. And he’d be ready.

* * *

Hillary stepped into her tight, full-body cat outfit as she prepared for the day. Tying on her little ears, she tried not to feel nervous.

This was it. The last obstacle to my reign would be eliminated today.

She winced to herself.

If only Ellen were here to celebrate with me…

With a final snap, she attached her tail.

Oh well… reaching the top is fraught with peril…

* * *

McCain had thought long and hard about the potential fallout of his actions. On the other end of his special red phone was a man that could eliminate the final threat to his ascendancy. His organization was simply the best.

The first time he’d worked with them, they’d done excellently. The Russians never knew what hit ‘em.

Then the business relationship had deepened. Power had been brokered, deals had been made, and offices had been opened… and permanently closed. Cratered, actually.

Am I pushing my luck this time?

He swallowed back his fear, along with another chunk of bunny.

No. Looking at a broken flower in his hand, his resolve was strengthened. He set it on the table.

Nobody messes with me.

Or my Mexicans.

And definitely not my roses.

* * *

Hillary and her men were all packed together in the lawncare van. In a few moments, they’d be at the Senator’s mansion. And if today was anything like last time, the guard would let them right in.

The bugs they planted on their previous trip ensured her that the senator was home.

Hope he’s enjoying his garden, she thought, smugly.

* * *

Meanwhile, McCain sat in front of a black and white monitor. Just as he expected, it showed the lawn van pull up… then the guards let it in, per his instructions.

The men got out, and with them, a woman in a cat suit.

How bold she is! Almost a worthy adversary.

An overweight Arab in a turban sat beside him, making sure that the hidden cameras were keeping track of the action.

Occasionally he’d glance at the Senator and give him a thumbs-up.

McCain tried to look friendly as he grinned back.

He hated Arabs. Actually, he hated everyone. Except Mexicans.

On screen, the men were creeping around the house, pretending to look busy. The woman in a cat suit was obviously Hillary. She was currently climbing in his window, with some sort of ray gun in her hand.

“Tell them to redirect the aircraft now, Mohammed!”

Mohammed grinned. “Yes sir!”

In a few moments, Hillary and her faux lawn crew would be incinerated by a nose-diving 747.

Fortunately, McCain was a long ways away from the epicenter.

He grinned and awaited the carnage.

A shame I’ll lose my roses… but… what are roses compared to and a lifetime supply of fresh and tender meat!!!

* * *

Hillary heard the roar of the jet before she saw it. She paid the noise no mind as she snuck through McCain’s mansion, dragging her tail.

Where is that old creep?

* * *

McCain jumped to his feet.

“Okay, Mohammed! Bring ‘er in! Let’s toast ‘em!”

Mohammed looked up from his Big Mac.

“Are you sure?” Mohammed drawled.

McCain looked incredulous.

“Of COURSE I’m sure! Rock and roll! Fire and blood, bucko! Kill ‘em!”

Suddenly, his jungle senses rocked through him with a thrill of fear.

Mohammed was holding a gun. Actually, he held a gun in one hand, a Big Mac in the other.

With a sick recognition, he realized “Mohammed” wasn’t Arab. And he wasn’t with Al Queda.

He was Southern.

And he was a former president.

Two shots rang out, putting an abrupt end to McCain’s candidacy.

* * *

Above the Senator’s former home, a low-flying commercial aircraft changed course and gained altitude.

Hillary found no trace of McCain… but she did find some cleverly sabotaged cameras.

Shoot! He knew we were coming! Why is it that I can’t ever have things go my way! I DESERVE to win! I NEED to win!

She kicked over a statue of Genghis Khan.

“DAMMIT!”

Suddenly, her cell phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Yes, Bill. Listen this is a bad time…”

She paused.

“Really? You can see me?”

She turned around and saw a camera pointed in the window.

“But… how did you know I was here? I didn’t tell you where I was going!”

She frowned.

“You NEVER let me have my way! You mess up everything!”

She leaned on the desk, then suddenly looked up nervously at the sky.

“An aircraft??? He sent an aircraft!!! NO WAY did you just save me! I’m a modern woman. I’M the one with the POWER! You’re an idiot, Bill! I broke the glass ceiling, alright – and I didn’t come this far to have you pretending to save me from my adversaries. I’m a big girl – I can handle things myself!”

She paused again.

“I don’t believe you. You’re making this up.”

Outside, the sound of jet engines got louder.

“I hate you!”

And louder.

“I WON’T TAKE IT BACK!!!”

The sound of engines was deafening.

“LISTEN, BILL! I didn’t burn my bra so you could RUN MY LIFE!”

Five seconds later, a former Senator’s estate was engulfed in an inferno of death, along with a former first lady.

* * *

Later that year, amidst electoral confusion, the United States was annexed by Mexico.

No one seemed to care.

After all, it still beat a McCain, Barack or Clinton candidacy.

And the food rocks.

THE END

Recommendation Letter #2

2008-04-03T18:41:00.000-07:00

To Whom it May Concern,

_____ is an excellent student; hard working, highly motivated – and meticulous in her study habits. Three out of four students don’t floss – yet _____ flosses regularly. That means her smile is brighter than that of 75% of her peer group. A bright smile and a bright mind make a great combination.

Her character is impeccable. She puts her family first and is always willing to help someone in need. During her time at _____ she’s rescued more than thirty rare animals from the air conditioning system – and that’s in building 14 alone.

If I had to name my top five people, after God, Jesus and Billy Idol, _____ would be number six. The people over her include Carmen Electra and Popeye – but she beats out such prominent characters as Larry King and Celine Dion. As a matter of fact, Mahatma Ghandi comes in 14th, just below Penn and Teller and above Madonna. Not bad!

Also, though _____ is Anglo, she exhibits characteristics that normally belong only to Jews and Asians, like a high work ethic and a guilt complex inherited from her mother.

All this to say – I cannot recommend a better person to become a student at your institution. Except for James Dean (who’s number four on my list). And since he’s dead, _____ is it.

Sincerely,

_____

Excuse #6: Sorry About All the Water Damage

2008-03-25T07:38:00.000-07:00

Hey _______!

I want you to picture a river… running through a lush green field, with animals playing by its side and birds singing sweetly overhead.

Okay…

Now keep that pastoral scene in your head… because… you know that hurricane? Imagine algae growing alongside a river in the living room… and the roof opened up above, letting golden light play across the stray animals by the water. Yeah… I stopped by earlier today and saw that your town-home is now closer to nature than it’s ever been. Apparently you had some fish in your freezer when the power went out – and the cats are having a ball. They looked so cute I couldn’t bear to chase them away. I’m really sorry that I didn’t follow your instructions. I know I was supposed to close the windows and cover the skylights, etc., but I had a date with this really gorgeous girl and we ended up having a little hurricane party picnic by the beach. We got to see the storm approaching, then we went to this nice shelter and drank good wine as the rain came down. By the time I got home, I’d totally forgotten about your place. I hope you’re not mad – FEMA’s sure to take care of it (provided you can wait a while… I hear they’re restructuring).

I’m also sorry I didn’t return your calls… cell phone service has been bad… I think some towers are out. It’s only been a week since the storm, so they’re probably not back to full capacity yet. I did pick up some of your bras and blouses and stuff that had floated into your backyard. I hung them on what’s left of your back gutter – they should be good.

On the up-side, your fish came through okay… the tank broke and they’ve all escaped into the canal, I assume. No sign of them! They were freshwater, right? Are lobsters freshwater? I remember you having a lobster in there…

Anyhow, everyone misses you. I took the liberty of eating some of the stuff from your fridge. What the cats didn’t get, that is. See you soon – and sorry again for the mess!

Your best friend,

________

Star Trek, Episode 81: The Naked Truth

2008-03-07T16:31:00.000-08:00

Ensign Aimes was simultaneously scared and disgusted.

He sat alone upon a rocky outcropping, phaser in hand.

All those years of academy… those obscure assignments… led up to this?

His career path had been sub-par and unexciting... until now. And this kind of excitement wasn’t what he’d hoped for.

After a two-year stint on the second moon of Arngold as a glorified maintenance technician, his ship finally came in. The Enterprise. Apparently, some crew had been lost in an accident and they were picking up new, unattached recruits. Being without close family ties, Aimes jumped at the chance to leave his cold, damp moon assignment. Now he had a chance to participate in the glorious “five year mission” program.

At least, he used to think it was glorious. As he’d lived on board, serious second thoughts had started to consume his life.

_____

Some time previous, Ensign Aimes had materialized on the transporter pad in the Enterprise for the first time. Aimes looked around, hoping the captain would be there to greet them.

No such luck. A bored technician waved them off the pad and brought them to their cramped quarters on deck 4.

As he would later learn, the famed Captain Kirk was interested in nothing but his own glory; hence low-ranking crewmembers were invisible. Unless they wore miniskirts – and had two X chromosomes.

Once he had encountered Dr. McCoy in the hallway and greeted him, hoping to gain the highly regarded doctor’s confidence.

“Ah, Ensign…?”

“Aimes.”

“Ensign Aimes. Yes, I remember checking you out for some virus, right?”

“No.”

“Good, stay healthy then. They’re gonna need you on an away team before too long.”

The doctor gave him a sarcastic little grin and walked off.

An away team? But… I’m barely qualified to be on this ship… let alone to accompany officers on a mission…

_____

One afternoon he was sitting in the crew lounge browsing through a technical manual on a computer console. Before he could escape, he was accosted by Kit Parsons. Kit happened to be one of his least favorite shipmates. Parsons was a conspiracy theorist and gossip of the worst sort. The kind of guy who would alternate between telling you about the strange food choices made by his late date and how he thought the Andorians were planning a coup on Earth.

“Hey there, Aimes!”

Holy danubrian slime devil on a stick… here we go again…

Without forcing enthusiasm, he turned from the console.

“Hello, Parsons.”

“You know, something’s really weird around here.”

Yup... I called it.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Ever notice how much glory the captain gets? And how he and his officer buddies regularly lose men on their away missions?”

“So – it’s a dangerous universe. What’s weird about that?”

It looked like Parsons was just getting started. He leaned in towards Ensign Aimes.

“Dangerous… unless you’re in the inner circle.”

“What inner circle?”

“Oh come on… you must see it!”

Aimes didn’t.

“The inner circle! Kirk’s kitchen cabinet. Spock, McCoy, Scott, Uhura… heck, even Sulu and that Russian bastard Chekov come back unscathed from every mission.”

“So?”

“So? This concerns you, brother! Listen… I think they’re using us little guys as fodder.”

Parsons mental turbolift was definitely misaligned.

Aimes shot him a withering look.

“Let me get this straight. You think they’re deliberately getting us redshirts killed so they can look more glorious? That’s insane!”

“Keep your eyes open. And hope you’re not chosen for an away team any time soon.” Parsons gave him a knowing look. “Actually, hope you’re NEVER chosen, period.”

“Whatever you say, Kit.”

_____

As much as he hated to admit it, Parsons’ words kept spinning around inside his brain, cutting little grooves of paranoia.

This is the premier ship in the fleet… to think that these honorable officers could be setting up their charges to die was ridiculous!

But he did have to admit that the pattern seemed a little suspicious. Every week they explored a new planet or took on a new mission. And every week there was some sort of challenge that the “inner circle” miraculously worked their way through.

And the road was littered with little guys who weren’t so lucky.

_____

After a particularly strange series of events centered around fluffy creatures that infiltrated the Enterprise after being brought aboard via Deep Space Station K7, Aimes started to feel in earnest that things were just a little too perfect on the ship.

He’d watched the varmints, which Ensign Michela told him were “tribbles,” fill the vessel. It was a ridiculous and entirely preventable annoyance – but he’d noticed that the senior staff had basically ignored the problem until it became comical, then beamed them all off onto a Klingon vessel. According to some, the Chief Engineer had even made some goofy pun about the event as the “inner circle” joked together on the bridge.

They certainly do seem to be always keeping themselves in the spotlight… the way they ham it up as if there were invisible cameras… even the way Kirk manages to rip his shirt on missions… maybe Parsons has a point….

As he stood in the hall with his thoughts elsewhere, he saw the familiar lean form of Chief Science Officer Spock round the corner.

“Sir! A quick question…?”
Spock raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Ensign Aimes?”

Wow… all the folks on this ship and he remembers my name. Vulcans are impressive.

“Well, I uh…”

Aimes couldn’t believe he was doing this.

“Yes, Ensign? My time is limited.”

“I was wondering… why is it that so many low-ranking security crew members go with you on away missions… and so few come back? It just seems… weird.”

Spock’s impassive expression almost flickered into something else for a moment, but his composure held.

“Ensign, we all have our jobs to do.”

“Yes sir, I agree. But… is deliberately putting ourselves in harm’s way part of that job?”

Now he definitely saw an undertone of irritation in Spock’s features.

“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few,” he said, dismissively, then walked away down the hall.

Now Aimes was really concerned.

_____

“They’re psychos. Total psychos,” Parsons declared over his second glass of ale. Aimes had – deliberately! – sought him out after his interchange with Spock.

“They’re using us. It’s like, we’re props. You can almost read the scripts. Some of the dialog is completely stilted… and they even fall out of character sometimes. This is all a charade to make themselves look great. And they don’t care who dies to prove it.”

Aimes swallowed another slug of his synthesized malt beverage.

“So… you really think they’re killing us?”

“If not directly, then through putting people in harm’s way.”

“That’s sick.”

“It’s all a game to them. McCoy is the worst. I was watching the tapes from that disastrous mission in the mines, with that killer acid thing… he’s patching up that monster and laughing bragging about his amazing skills. Even though he really gets all his info via the live sub-space feed.”

“He does?”

“Yeah. I talked to one of the techs. McCoy is being fed info all the time. He’s a terrible doctor.”

“Wow.”

“Crazy thing is… they say he even gets fed lines of dialog via an invisible earpiece.”

“I didn’t know they had those.”

“Are you kidding? The whole senior crew is wired. This whole thing is a sick game. We’re pawns…. And our lives are forfeit when they get tired of using us.”

That night, Aimes recorded his will into the computer.

_____

Thirteen days later, Parsons was killed on a survey mission.

_____

Then it was Aimes turn to “serve.”

He stood in the observation lounge, looking out at yet another uncharted world. He was just thinking about how it looked the same as a few other planets they’d visited when his reverie was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder.

He turned to see a minor officer whose name escaped him. A wormy little guy with a sneery grin.

“Ensign Aimes?”

“Yes sir?”

“Tomorrow they want you to join an away team.”

“Me?”

“See any other Ensign Aimeses around here? Just be there.”

_____

Now he sat in the rocks. They’d been told little about this mission. Only that the planet contained a primitive pre-industrial civilization. Five of them had beamed down to explore.

As soon as they reached the surface, he and Ensign Ishtak had been sent off alone in different directions while Spock, Kirk and McCoy took readings, traded lines of perfectly enunciated dialogue about the atmosphere and surroundings… and looked heroic.

He shifted his weight on the rock he’d picked for his moment of thought. Interestingly, only the smaller ones seemed real. He rapped a large formation with the butt of his phaser.

Hollow.

In the distance he heard a scream. Ensign Ishtak.

It’s happening. Any moment, someone will come around the corner and kill me too.

He tapped his foot on the hollow rock and waited.

And waited.

After an eternity, he heard something stepping quietly amongst the pebbles.

A native? No… wait a second… it’s…

It was the wormy guy who’d told him to join the away team. Carrrying a spear.

But… he didn’t arrive here with us! And… he has… a spear?!

The officer hadn’t seen him yet. This was his chance. He ducked below the rocks. Wormy came closer.

And there’s… BLOOD on the spear! Ishtak’s? Holy karnak!

Aimes was well hidden. The officer was within a few feet and hadn’t seen him.

Wormy looked from side to side, creeping slowly and muttering to himself in a low whisper, “Come ‘ere little red shirt… come out wherever you are…”

He’s stalking me! But… if I shoot him, the others will hear the phaser and get me for sure!

Wormy had passed him.

Thinking quickly, Aimes grabbed a rock in his fist, took two quick steps, and smashed in the treacherous officer’s ugly little skull. The would-be assassin crumpled to the ground.

As he collapsed he let out a loud gasp.

Shoot… they’ll hear that.

Sure enough, a short time later, Spock came around the corner. Before he could turn to see Aimes, he had a spear through his neck.

Aimes couldn’t believe what he’d done.

I just killed Spock. I JUST KILLED SPOCK!

But he didn’t have time to think it through. Moments later, McCoy rushed around the pass, tricorder in hand. He saw Spock – but didn’t see Aimes.

Or the wickedly pointed rock which felled him.

Ensign Aimes was in shock. He, a lowly tech, had just killed three men.

Monsters, not men, said a voice in his head.

Only Kirk left now.

He decided to drag away the three bodies before the Captain arrived. He stacked Wormy and Spock behind another curiously hollow stone, then went back for McCoy.

He grabbed the Doctor’s feet to add him to the pile, dragging him across the rough ground.

As he pulled, he saw a flash of gold – Captain Kirk!

He dropped McCoy’s feet and grabbed his phaser. Kirk rounded the same fateful corner and saw Aimes standing above the body of McCoy.

“Ensign Aimes… What happened to McCoy?! Is he… stunned?”

“It’s worse than that. He’s dead, Jim.”

Aimes depressed the contact on his phaser.

“And so are you.”

Recommendation Letter #1

2008-03-03T20:27:00.001-08:00

To The Beautiful and Charming Teacher of ________,

Poisons – they’re all around us. In the air – in our poultry – even in our textbooks. When poisons strike, teachers must be understanding.

Due to an ink-related poison contracted transdermally through a sweat-related process of osmosis, ______ is ill today. Though she’s normally an attentive, smart, attentive, bright and attentive student, she will not be making her regular trek into your most fantastic class.

By the way – did you know that latex gloves can be inflated to make giant hand-balloons? ______ knows it – and she learned it at school. Facts like these are retained in her mind by the millions, proving her dedication to study.

Please do not penalize her for today’s absence. Be assured, she’s at home today, studying the dynamics of liquid propulsion as fostered by improper syringe usage – and tomorrow, she will be back to demonstrate.

Thank you your understanding,

_________

Top-secret New LOTR Film in Progress?

2008-02-28T13:21:00.000-08:00

(Hey guys, I transcribed the following off a series of napkins I found in a Hollywood dumpster… sorry… hope they’re in order! –Vidad MaGoodn)

___

(NAPKIN #1)

Lord of the Rings (Redux)
Working title: Return of the Ring - Again!
(Consider “Ring of Death?” Is “The Ring” taken? [Check with Mike A.] "Ring of Fire?" "Nazgul Nights?")

by Alvin Smith

(Dino de Laurentis may get on-board!!!)

SETTING: Mod-day America…

STARRING:

Colin Firth??? as Gandalf’s illegitimate son, working in a stock house, using his wizard powers to massage numbers. But he knows he’s destined for much more.

Note: we need a good male lead… someone to be hip, and cool, yet kingly… Jack Black? Bruce Campbell? (wish we could afford Matt Damon… he was great as Bourne. Maybe he likes LOTR – will give discount?)

Mike says we need a babe as the leading woman. Can we get a foreign Jessica Alba look-a-like? Perhaps Rachael Ray?

Meet Jennie at club… 9:00PM. She says she wants to get to know me better! Woo!

___

(NAPKIN #2)

PLOT:

(Note… Mike A. wants more sex in this version… apparently Tolkein was a prude?)

Movie starts with estab. shot of harbor. Small wood box washes up on shore… fisherman finds it… opens it. Contains 9 rings. Montage of shots shows rings sold at pawn shop, placed on various fingers… money exchanging hands…

Rings are Nazgul rings, make sure to have voice recite that poem thing, 9 rings for men, 7 for dwarves, etc, etc.

___

(NAPKIN #3)

Nine rings are now owned by 8 men and one woman – mixes it up! Nazgul will be supporting characters… comic relief? Think Ocean’s 11,12, 13…

New Nazgul:

1. Pimp (shot of man w. gold cane…. Zoom in on ring w. Elvish script as man backhands call-girl) Don Cheadle?
2. Grocer (shot shows him packaging meat, ring is on counter… role for Fred Thompson?)
3. Taxi Driver (find some Indian guy?)
4. Lawyer (get Robert Z’Dar – remember Soultaker?)
5. Writer (this guy should be intellectual… a brilliant loner… Vox Day?)
6. A Woman (make sure she’s cute… interview series of girls for role. Does she dance?)
7. Military Man (get the guy from The Sentinel… no, the lead, not the sissy co-star)
8. Farmer/Country Bumpkin (Christopher Walken?)
9. Hot Dog vendor (Jim Carrey too expensive?)

___

(NAPKIN #4)

ESTABLISHING SHOT: City of Detroit

Opening credits are running… various shots of ghetto… decaying houses, etc.

As credits end, zoom in on beat-up street sign in decaying outskirts, swaying in breeze. Sign reads “Mordor Lane.” In vacant lot, smoke is rising from ground. Old sign for optometrist (like Gatsby) has one neon eye that still lights up.

Detroit is new land of evil! Note: city has lots of poor people that can be dressed as orcs and made into extras. (Not safe? Be sure to talk to Sheila about insuring cameras/equip.)

___

(NAPKIN #5)

Storyline:

An archaeologist (Hugh Grant?) and his leggy, female, and sexually available “student” find some manuscripts in a cave in New Zealand that talk about the One Ring, etc. He brushes away dust on wall and sees an inscription (think Joseph of Arimathea!) in elvish (or Klingon?), that when translated says “Frodo was here.” It turns out that the cracks of doom were all CGI – and that the one ring survived its plunge into digital hell. (Note: does this mess with sense of reality? Perhaps find other reason… CGI crew may take offense). He and his student make love on floor of cave. While making love, she finds another document hidden in crack in wall she’s sensuously running her fingers across.

Post-love scene, they peruse document while half-dressed. Archaeologist finds it tells the further tale of the “One Ring” as revealed by Frodo, after he’d been shipwrecked. Basically, Ring was washed out to sea, then worn by a sea turtle that then turned evil. Turtle attacked elfin ships on their way to the gray havens across the sea. Survivors pieced the tale together, and hid the documents to keep them safe from evil… hoping that one day the turtle would be netted or choke on plastic thousands of years into the future. (Maybe elves can sometimes see the future?)

___

(NAPKIN #6)

Perhaps show flashback sequence of elves falling into sea as turtle turns invisible and eats them?

Flash-forward to modern time – a Greenpeace boat is in standoff with French navy. Again. On the peace-nik boat’s deck, a lanky activist type is yelling orders. The evil French, led by an ominous and evil captain, are firing flares and shouting at the activists to stand down… but the Greenpeace boat is holding its ground.

Then… unnoticed… a giant invisible turtle shape slips ominously through the waves. Turtle attacks navy vessels. As they sink, the Greenpeace activists are perplexed. But… as the ships go down, the evil French captain (played by Jeff Goldblum? Patrick Stewart?) spots the turtle silhouette in the water and leaps on its back. Somehow as he struggles, he wrenches the ring from its flipper and takes it for his own. Then he shoots the turtle, to the horror of the Greenpeace posse. He then gets on a little lifeboat, grabs a machine gun, boards the Greenpeace boat and executes them all.

As he stands, cackling and drenched in blood, the camera reveals the name badge on his chest:

"Capitan Sauron!!!"

___

(NAPKIN #7)

Archeologist and “student” are drinking cocktails at posh event. Arch. feels out-of-place (like Indiana Jones?) in nice location with big-wigs. He is supposed to talk about his find. When he gets up to podium and starts talking about elves, people fall silent. In the front row, he spots his nemesis – Dr. Sari Munn (Nathan Fillion? Richard Gere?). Munn openly confronts him and verbally cuts him to pieces. Crowd laughs. Arch. leaves dejected. To make things worse, his leggy consort leaves with Munn. On way out, he grabs a bottle of vodka from bar and drinks himself stupid as he walks down the sidewalk.

(this is where we work in the new King… somehow the arch bumps into a guy that has royal blood and believes his elf story… maybe down-on-his-luck trucker, who though rough on the outside, is noble inside… this will be hip male lead… grows into character as film progresses…)

___

(NAPKIN #8)

Spongebob in New York?

(Maybe Spongebob could be played by live actor in foam suit? More CGI stuff instead???)

DON’T FORGET! BUY JENNIE FLOWERS!!! (Also… don’t forget, you promised to get her in to see Jack about a role in upcoming film…)

___

(NAPKIN #9)

Archaeologist and the trucker/king decide to seek out the ring for themselves. But… they find themselves pursued by the Nazgul (who now ride black Vespas? Maybe Segways? Enviro-nuts have been asking for responsible transportation choices to be used in feature films… can bikes be ominous, maybe? Black and chrome??? They could carpool in a Prius – talk to Toyota – maybe get one free???).

Anyhow, the two escape many close calls.

___

(NAPKIN #10)

Dear Jennie,

I’m sorry about not getting you in the other week. See, I may have misrepresented myself a little. You know how I said Jack and I were really good friends? Well… we’re not. I just see him sometimes. He’s a big-shot producer, and I’m not. I tried! Really! See… I just wanted so badly for YOU to be happy, I guess I made a dumb promise. Please forgive me! Hope your Applebee’s job is going better than before.

Yours always,

Alvin

P.S. Want to watch some Star Trek TNG with me later this week?

___

(NAPKIN #11)

ESTABLISHING SHOT – Plane landing in Detroit Airport.

We see black-booted feet stepping onto the ground. Captain Sauron! And behind him… Dr. Sari Munn!!!

(basically, from this point I need to wrap up the loose ends, get a suspense thing going, culminating in a Detroit street-fight/riot where the evil orcs loot and destroy things, and the trucker king takes charge… see if Heineken is interested in some product placement!)

___

(NAPKIN #12)

Sauron and Munn have converted an old disco to their fortress of evil. Next door, the glowing neon eye shines night and day.

Then – big riot! Orcs are going crazy (check w. Bowie about using "Panic in Detroit" under montage of looting and evil). Perhaps the police could be losing badly… the Nazgul are terrorizing everyone in their motor scooters of death. The trucker has a sword, and is fighting alongside the Archaeologist, and they’re losing really bad. It’s hopeless! Then, the illegitimate son of Gandalf shows up and sees how the crowd’s distribution curve is going, and starts giving orders to the good guys.

All still looks grim, until a very emotional scene where the action slows down and Gandalf’s son tells the trucker that he must “do what he knows” in order to prevail.

___

(NAPKIN #13)

2 people, $17.47… plus tip.

Then the trucker puts down his sword and gets in a truck filled with gasoline and runs it into the crowd of rioters and right into Sauron’s fortress of evil!!! The inferno burns up the rings forever (or… maybe not – wait and see!). But the trucker is dead (he’s a messiah figure – see if churches will promote the film!). He’s sacrificed himself to save the good guys. But, just when they think all is lost, he strolls out of the flames!!! Jauntily, he turns his trucker’s cap backwards as the crowds of good guys cheer!

In final scene, love interest throws herself back into the Archeologist’s arms. They make love on a pile of corpses as camera zooms away from the wreckage.

Days later, on the wasted and decimated streets, something is stirring in the rubble. It’s… Captain Sauron!

Closing caption reads:

THE END?

___

That's all I have... I'll keep digging in the lot's dumpsters and let you know if anything else turns up.

-Vidad

My Worst Job Ever Intersects with the Sophomore Curse

2008-02-21T22:05:00.000-08:00

Vidad MaGoodn sat down at his computer, hoping he could write.

Last week had been a good one. He’d created an audio drama for an online contest.

People had enjoyed it. Even the creator of the contest had noted that Vidad was a “brilliant amateur.”

Now he was facing the “sophomore curse,” as his friend KTown seemed to take pleasure in reminding him.

Now MaGoodn was nervous.

Perhaps I should write about how hard it is to be a writer. Maybe that will capture some of my previous success. Or is that a bad idea?

“Dang it! I don’t want recognition – I don’t want people telling me how great I am!”

“Yes you do,” said a voice to his left. A hissy little sulfurous voice.

“What?!”

“You heard me. I said, YES, you DO like to be told how great you are.”

Then MaGoodn saw who addressed him. A tiny devil which stood perhaps six inches tall, perched weightlessly on his shoulder.

“Wait a second… you can’t be talking to me.”

“Why not?” responded the devil, looking dashing in his red suit.

“Because… you’re a horrendous cliché. If I write you into my story, I’ll lose for sure.”

“No you won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re awesome and you know it… just go with that feeling. Think about how amazing you are… how handsome… how witty… how grammatical...”

“NO!” came a voice from MaGoodn’s right. “That is the path of pride! You’ll certainly lose unless you carry a humble attitude and allow yourself to be taught by your betters.”

The cliché had obviously gone terminal, because on MaGoodn’s formerly unoccupied shoulder stood another creature, this one an angel, resplendent in a gold and white robe.

MaGoodn was irritated and eyed both creatures as best as he could by rapidly swiveling his head. Not all the way around, of course, just within the normal range.

“You know what, little shoulder squatters? You two need to leave. It’s time for me to write. Apparitions from the spirit world don’t help me concentrate.”

“Who are you talking to?” came his wife’s voice from the other room.

“No one, darling.” And… it appeared that was quite literally true. The two were gone.

Geez… I must be too stressed out lately.

The screen stared at him.

He was going to write about the worst job he’d ever had.

What would that be… ah, yes… probably back when I delivered furniture for the Family Thrift Store. It wasn’t all bad… but some days were nuts. Or, should I say… some days CONTAINED nuts. Well… here goes…

______________________________

Moving Furniture Into a Creepy Old Guy’s House
Or My Worst Job Ever
by Vidad MaGoodn

It was a warm sunny day in South Florida. I was seventeen and happy to be working.

Every minute that went by, I tried to calculate how much money I was making. Let’s see… five dollars an hour, divided by sixty. That’s… like… 9 cents a minute? Is that right…? Never mind.

Anyhow, the driver’s name was Leroy. He was very Jamaican, very funny, and a very conservative Christian gentleman of about 30. He called me “rookie” since I was the youngest fellow working in the furniture section in those days.

Today we were making a delivery to a condo development. A sofa. A heavy, pain-in-the-neck sleeper sof

______________________________

“HEY!”

A loud yell put an end to MaGoodn’s typing. The little devil was back.

“DANG IT! What do you WANT?”

The devil looked at him coyly, twirling his tail in a disturbingly androgynous manner. “I just wanted to tell you what a great writer you are.”

“Uh, thanks. But I don’t think you’re trustworthy. And thanks to your interrupting, I’m not writing.”

“But you will – and it’ll be great.”

“Go away.”

The devil vanished again.

______________________________

My gosh… like I don’t have enough doubts about my writing… now one of Satan’s minions is chiming in… where was I?

Okay… the sofa. What a stinking heavy sofa that was… alright… here goes:

______________________________

A heavy, pain-in-the-neck sleeper sofa.

As we pulled into the Condo development, I saw the address on the delivery ticket. It was in the 300s. Shoot – that meant this was going to the third floor.

“Hey Leroy, this is going to the third floor?”

“Yeah, mon. They probably got an elevator though.” (Leroy had a great accent, but I don’t want this to read like Uncle Remus, so I won’t be typing in dialect. Just imagine it, okay?)

“I hope so. This thing is heavy.”

We looked around, but there wasn’t an elevator. The development was obviously an old-school South Florida type. Meaning that it was bare bones and painted in pastels. Catering to healthy retirees. Crotchety old folks, basica

______________________________

(Bloop!)

An IM window opened on MaGoodn’s desktop. KTown.

KTown: You there?
Vidad7: Yup.
KTown: What are you doing?
Vidad7: Writing.
KTown: Writing what?
Vidad7: Writing for the Friday Challenge.
KTown: Oh.
KTown: About the Ranting Room… I meant to tell you something.
Vidad7: What’s that?
KTown: Don’t take it the wrong way…
Vidad7: Okay…
KTown: Promise you won’t be mad at me?
Vidad7: Just spill it.
KTown: Your last post, after Bruce talked about your piece.
Vidad7: Yeah?
KTown: You shouldn’t have written anything, I think. Just said thanks.
Vidad7: Really?
KTown: I think you came across as bragging.
Vidad7: I wasn’t trying to!
KTown: I know, but you made it seem like you were just so talented and all that.

Magoodn was about to type a response when the hissy little voice from his left chimed in.

“KTown is an idiot. He’s jealous because you write circles around him!”

“That’s not true. He’s a good writer. Heck, we wrote all those skits together. They were always better with both of us.”

The devil rolled his eyes. “Sure, be Mr. Humble. The fact is, you rock. Totally and completely.”

“THAT’S NOT TRUE!” came a petulant voice from the right. “You are just dust. Like the leaves of grass you will wither and fade. There is nothing to be prideful of, dear Vidad. All your gifts come from above.”

MaGoodn glanced at both the little spirits then put on his headphones and cranked up some streaming Baroque.

KTown had written again.

KTown: Are you there? Did I offend you?
Vidad7: No. I appreciate your thoughts. Maybe I just didn’t come across well.
Devil666: Tell him he’s an ass!
Vidad7: No – you stay out of this!
KTown: Pardon?
Vidad7: Nevermind. I need to get back to my writing. Catch you later.
KTown: Later.
Devil666: You’re a WUSS!
Devil666: A complete, and utter WUSS!
Devil666: You there?

MaGoodn logged off IM, then went to his kitchen and poured a glass of water. Then he sat down again, devil-free for the moment.

______________________________

Crotchety old folks, basically. Anyhow, we rang the fellow’s doorbell and told him we were going to bring his sofa up. He was a scruffy man with nicotine-stained yellowy hair, wearing shorts that showed off his spindly pale legs to good effect.

Leroy and I then had our work cut out for us. We had to move a very heavy sofa up three stories’ worth of stairs. Fortunately, we’d tied the mattress in so it couldn’t jump out on us. After some serious elbow grease we got it into the man’s apartment. And that’s where our trouble began.

As we stepped from the bright outdoors into his dimly lit and musty apartment, we were greeted with a series of un-missable paintings on the walls. Paintings of women. Basically, topless ladies-of-the-night with titles painted right on the canvases. The titles were names, like “Roxy,” “Amber,” “Violet,” etc. They were remarkably well-endowed and remarkably well-painted.

“Oh shoot,” Leroy said under his breath, in the way only a conservative island Christian can say a word that’s not really a bad word, yet is loaded with emotional tension. “Shoot, shoot, shoot.”

I looked down quickly, being conservative myself, and finding the display of naked flesh rather embarrassing.

The owner of the apartment then directed us to put the sofa in a room around the corner. This room was only accessible through a tiny, cramped hallway. Things weren’t looking good.

Leroy and I moved the sofa to the hall and tried to make it fit. Right side up? Nope. On it’s side? Nope. Diagonally? Nope. No matter how many algorithms we tried, we were unable to budge that sofa.

Roxy was staring at me over her magnificently oil painted breasts. Leroy saw me look.

“Now listen here, mon. This isn’t good. Don’t you be looking at the ladies, now. I make you a deal… I won’t look, if you don’t look, okay?”

“Okay.” I was already trying not to look.

Leroy was noticeably bothered by the girls.

"Oh Jesus... keep me pure... oh Jesus..."

After many more tries, we told the apartment owner that we just couldn’t fit it through the hall without hitting the ceiling or damaging something. The harem was mocking us. It had been a LONG time since we pulled up out front.

The yellow-haired man was mad. “Then just smash it into the ceiling. I don’t care. Just get it in that room.”

From around the corner walked who I assumed was his wife. She was dumpy, old, and no match for Amber or Roxy. Even sweet little Pixie seemed to hold her in disdain.

“Is it stuck?”

“Yes.”

She walked away.

Leroy and I didn’t know what to do. Was he serious about letting us smash his ceiling? That seemed like a REALLY bad idea. I snuck another glance at Roxy.

“Don’t LOOK mon!"

Caught.

We tried pulling the sofa part way into the bathroom and backing it out. Nope. We kept ending up with a sofa on its end, just kissi

______________________________

(RING)

MaGoodn answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey there, it’s KTown. Want to go out and get a beer?”

“I’m writing.”

“Still?”

“Yes.

“I’m just ticked about some stuff at work… I need to vent.”

MaGoodn paused. “So… are you going to have a drink? Maybe I can get you a blueberry daiquiri or something. Maybe a pina colada?”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

KTown was a teetotaler. MaGoodn didn’t expect he’d really be drinking. “So… with alcohol actually in it?”

“Naw.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. I can grab a beer though, I guess. This can wait.”

“Cool. I’ll pick you up.”

______________________________

An hour later, they sat in a Mexican dive. MaGoodn was drinking Dos Equis. KTown sat across from him, drinking a totally gay virgin pina colada. They’d been talking for a while about KTown’s work issues. Then, MaGoodn struck.

“So, I’m surprised you want to hang out with someone as arrogant as myself.”

KTown looked hurt. “I never said you were arrogant!”

“Then what did you say?”

“I said you just looked like you were bragging.”

“KILL HIM!” came a hissy little voice.

“Shut UP!” said MaGoodn.

Then KTown looked really hurt. “Dude, I wasn’t trying to tweak you out.”

The devil was gone.

“Sorry, I know. Let’s talk about something else.

______________________________

Two hours later, MaGoodn was back at his computer.

I don’t even know why I’m entering. I can’t win… I’m too self-focused. And this story isn’t that interesting. That guy Bane is probably the only one that will dig the ‘naked ladies on the weirdo’s wall’ story. Oh well… might as well finish it. What the heck.

______________________________

We kept ending up with a sofa on its end, just kissing the ceiling. Then Leroy, probably tired of the 2-D come-hither crowd tempting his morality, gave in.

CRUNCH! He slammed it into the drywall, and with a twist, we both had it through the door, albeit in a dustier condition.

The old man looked at us with admiration. “You should’ve done that an hour ago.”

From the wall behind him, Scarlett’s long-lashed brown eyes seemed to echo the sentiment.

THE END

______________________________

(Bloop!)

Devil666: Hello? Vidad?
Devil666: You there?
Devil666: Vidad?

New Science Now Today

2008-02-15T12:37:00.000-08:00

NPR's "New Science Now Today" takes a look at the controversial best-seller "Heather Has Two Mommies, Three Daddies, A Pig's Spleen and a Baboon's Heart."

Featuring Vidad Magoodn and KTown. Based on an idea by Bruce Bethke.

"Gears"

2008-02-14T18:11:00.000-08:00

Vidad is now selling out by posting one of his paintings. If you'd like to complete his descent into the Capitalistic Abyss, you can even buy it. It's an 8" x 10" at the really low price of $65.00.

Enjoy.

Sauerkraut as a Lifestyle Choice

2008-02-12T22:19:00.000-08:00

Some vegans find the practice of sauerkraut offensive.

But sauerkraut, as a natural, non-offensive food-preservation choice (in this case cabbage), is as non-offensive as freaky weirdness comes.

After all, we’re not talking about lesbianism. We’re talking about fermented cabbage.

And my Jim Beam says, “amen!”

I love sauerkraut. And I make sauerkraut.

So, come and get me, commies. And I’ll shoot your pinko lights out.

Cabbage is king.

And no one messes with it.

Period.

Excuse #5: Baby on Doorstep

2008-02-12T16:22:00.000-08:00

Dear Sir or Madame,

Please see deposited baby. Said baby is three weeks old with all of her shots. Though raising the child myself would have been an honor, I am not in as strong a financial state as are you (I make this determination based on the size and location of your home.) Therefore, I’m turning the child over to you, hopefully ensuring its future happiness in a state of materialistic bliss.

Please take care of my darling baby,

-----------

P.S. Check diaper before playing with the child. One can’t be too careful when human waste is involved.

Upon Farming in the City

2008-02-06T11:14:00.000-08:00

Farming in the city? That sounds crazy! But... it's not! It's actually a lot of fun. Anyone can do it. And with a little luck, you'll produce a large crop of veggies that will beat the tar out of the ones you'd buy in a grocery.

For instance, one of the most simple, and popular crops in urban gardens tends to be the humble radish.

To grow radishes, simply mutter a suitable incantation, cut yourself, and then let your blood flow gently on to a stack of human skulls. (Don't forget to disinfect the cut with hydrogen peroxide, too!)

Six days, six hours and six minutes after you seed the skulls with your blood, radishes will appear to claim your soul. When they do, simply stand inside a flaming pentagram and wait for them to fly at you. As they whiz past in sulfurous zigs and zags - catch them out of the air with your teeth. See if you can make a game out of it!

Another popular veggie for small gardens is the hammer squash. Hammer squashes taste similar to tripe but they're much easier to clean. And they contain the valuable nutrient lycopene, just like fermented mice!

Growing your own food connects you with the earth. And that's something we can all learn from.

Because, the fact is, Our Great Mother is angry. Make her happy by engaging in the ritual of farming.

Excuse #4: Why the Leopard Will Work Out Fine

2008-02-04T23:35:00.000-08:00

To My Dearest Wife,

You know me… I always think big! I’ve got a Harley, a F-350… and of course, I married you!

Last night you seemed really concerned about our new pet… hence this note.

First of all, let me tell you a few things about leopards.

1. They can run at almost 40 miles per hour
2. They can jump up to 10 feet – vertically!
3. They happily eat carrion
4. Nobody else I know owns one

Pretty cool facts, eh? I mean – leopards rock! We can feed Chomper (did I tell you I named him Chomper? I was inspired by the mailman incident yesterday… oh and by the way… you might not want to tell anyone about that… I think it could be a felony-type thing… not sure…) rotten meat. We should be able to get plenty of that from the grocery store or the deli.

And why would you worry about the children? Hunter and Rock are both tough kids – and I’m sure once Chomper gets over the transport shock, the tranquilizers and his crack addiction (weird about that… apparently he ate a couple of junkies that fell into his cage or something… the handlers weren’t sure) he’ll be fine.

Also, I took the liberty of ordering some wildebeest for Chomper snacks. It’s a good chance for the boys to witness nature in action and all that.

Listen – the last thing I want is for you to be sad. They told me that most of the diseases leopards get can’t be transferred to humans – and I did get such a deal on this one! I know he’s irritable – but wouldn’t you be irritable if your mouth was all foamy? Once he’s better I know our friends will be totally jealous.

Love you, darling!

__________

The Sun

2008-01-31T17:07:00.000-08:00

The sun was very hot. Nelson Mbiti wiped the sweat from his face and continued plowing the rocky patch of ground that had belonged to his family for generations. For weeks it seemed as if the sun had done nothing but increase in temperature. But it wasn’t heat in the normal sense. It burned but the old thermometer over the door still only read 95 degrees Fahrenheit. The sun stung the skin and seemed to burn into his bones.

A picture hung in his mind of a lake and an old twisted tree trunk close to its edge as if it had struggled to reach the water and died trying. Why was everything always shifting?

The plow seemed to writhe in the ground as he grappled with it, his dark, wiry arms doing their best to guide it. It twisted and turned in the heat shimmer until it reached up towards his neck and he fell into the dust, senseless and burning with rapidly dulling and receding pain.

Something was wrong with the sun. Everyone knew it but no one knew why. People sat inside their houses next to radios that hissed static and refused to bring even a single intelligible voice into existence for a single moment. No one went outside. The sun would not let them.

It hung in the sky like a malevolent eye, seeing and burning with its wicked gaze.

I watched as a man ran outside into the light, screaming at the sky. His skin turned red, then darkened into purple and black as he screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed screamed and the sun ate his soul.

Excuse #3: Why I Broke Up with You

2008-01-30T09:25:00.000-08:00

Dear ______,

First of all, let me say I think you’re a nice person. I’ve enjoyed having you around. You sure know how to make people laugh. It’s not often that someone finds a man like you.

The only thing is… I think I need to move on from here. I appreciate the fact that you’ve quit eating so many beans, and that your dog has now been neutered. It’s also been nicer visiting you since the sofa was repossessed. I don’t know what it was with that leather and rude noises… but wow.

You’ve made some serious steps to keep me – I just can’t see us together anymore. The light-saber you made for me out of beer cans was a really sweet gift… as was the pig in formaldehyde. I can’t believe you caught that yourself! I mean – you sure went the extra mile… I really felt bad when it fell out my apartment window.

I can tell you want me to stay with you – but my law career is just getting started and I need to concentrate on that. I hope you find another girl that can love you for who you are.

With best wishes,

_______

P.S. Let me know when you want back your Supersoaker and your pants. You left them here when you crashed my Yoga lesson last week… remember?

P.P.S. Also, your mom called and wants you to tell her when you’re going to move that Little Caesar statue you “borrowed.” Apparently your cell phone isn’t working.

Excuse #2: Sorry I Lit You on Fire

2008-01-28T10:27:00.000-08:00

Hey bud,

Sorry I scorched you so badly last night. You know how things get… we had a few beers, I was playing with matches, the grill was flaming and I just… well… got a little careless.

When I saw your hair catch on fire – I didn’t know what to do! Now that I think about it, I realize that attempting to put it out with a bottle of Everclear was beyond dumb. Dude – I am SO sorry! If you want me to buy you some new clothes I will.

Oh… and when the ambulance finally came, I’m sorry I didn’t bring them to you right away. My buddy Jeff was working that night – I didn’t know they’d send his EMT crew. We got talking about videogames and stuff and I totally forgot about you for a few minutes. But I guess it turned out okay – they did a good job lifting you and stuff, considering you were unconscious and covered with burning jello shots (so did the refreshment table fall on you too? You have some awful luck, man!). They say moving a person like that is similar to hauling a mattress… just dead weight. Man – I was so toasted last night… I can tell you, I felt like dead weight this morning.

I called the hospital to see if I could stop by and get the keys to your place. They said you were stable – good for you! I wanted the keys ‘cause I left my X-box there and was dying to play.

Anyhow, let me know how the skin grafting goes – and get well soon! We’re having another barbecue in a couple of weeks – hope you can make it!

Later bro!

________

P.S. I’m also sorry about your cat… I tried to get into your apartment through the window and accidentally let her out. I couldn’t find her – but they’re resourceful – I know she’ll be okay! Get well soon, alright?

CAR TALK: The Final Sacrifice

2008-01-26T21:15:00.001-08:00

CAR TALK: The Final Sacrifice

Setting: Small kitchen in radio building.

Characters: Click (Tom) and Clack (Ray), brothers and co-hosts of the NPR broadcast "Car Talk"

Click and Clack walk into kitchen. Clack is upbeat, Click is pale, looks hunted.

CLACK: So, you ready for today’s show, there, bro?

CLICK: I’m not feeling up to it.

CLACK: Really? Why not? We got that clever little Toyota song to play… plus that whole monologue you wrote last week about the Scion! Boxy don’t equal foxy! HA! HA! HA!

CLICK: (long pause) There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.

CLACK: You’re gay?

CLICK: C’mon, no. This is serious.

CLACK: A lot of folks think being gay is serious! Heck, they cry when you ask ‘em why they walk funny and talk like chicks with gapped teeth! HA! HA! HA!

CLICK: (long, disgusted pause) Listen, I just don’t want to go on the air today. Play a rerun.

CLACK: Another rerun? We can’t! We’re coming off three weeks of reruns!

CLICK: Then do it alone.

CLACK: That’s what my wife tells me to do, too! HA HA HA!

CLICK: That’s not funny. You’ve never been funny.

CLACK: But you always laugh at my jokes…

CLICK: Well, not anymore. Do you want to hear what I have to say?

CLACK: Sure, whatever. Spill it.

CLICK: I hate cars.

CLACK: No you don’t. You’ve been a car guy since you were a baby.

CLICK: That’s a long time to do the same thing. I also wore diapers when I was a baby.

CLACK: You quit doing that? I’m wearing mine now. It’s freeing! HA HA HA!

CLICK: Shuttup, Ray. I hate your laugh.

CLACK: Geez, Tom. You’re pretty darn sour today, bucko.

CLICK: If you had my burden, you’d be sour too.

CLACK: Okay, fine – you hate cars.

CLICK: Yes. But that’s not all. I also hate driving.

CLACK: What? I mean, I might hate my wife sometimes… but that doesn’t mean I won’t do the woo-woo!

CLICK: This is different. Driving is a vile and self-hating act. Sitting down and simultaneously moving at 60 miles per hour? It’s unnatural. I HATE cars! I HATE driving!

CLACK: Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the freeway! So, anything else you hate… other than cars, driving and my laugh?

CLICK: I hate asphalt.

CLACK: WHAT? That’s stupid! What did asphalt ever do to you?

CLICK: (with a faraway look containing oceans of pain and sadness) My gosh, you don’t even remember…

CLACK: Oh no… you mean that one time… with the road crew… the lawn umbrella… the bagel truck… the manhole… and a puppy too, I think?

CLICK: Yes. It hurt.

CLACK: I’m sure it did!

CLICK: Yes, but not just my butt… it hurt me inside, too.

CLACK: Yeah…. but that was a long time ago!

CLICK: An asphalt enema is forever.

CLACK: Wow…. okay…. huh. So… now you hate cars, driving, my laugh AND asphalt. You’ve done the show fine so far – why stop now?

CLICK: Well, there’s one more thing I didn’t tell you.

CLACK: Okay…

CLICK: I don’t own a car. I have a bicycle. And I only ride it on the grass.

CLACK: Now you’re joshin’ me!

CLICK: No.

CLACK: Tom - I’ve seen you pull into the lot – heck, you even wave to me!

CLICK: That’s… not me.

CLACK: What??

CLICK: That’s Sedric.

CLACK: So you ARE gay!

CLICK: Shut the %*@# UP!!! I already told you I’m NOT! Sedric is my body double. My life is FAKE! All of it!

CLACK: That’s can't be true… I mean, c'mon, bro! The very idea is nuttier than a squirrel’s diet… you just need some rest.

CLICK: No. I need a sacrifice.

CLACK: A… what?

CLICK: You heard me. I need to appease my fiery goddess… THE GREAT AND BLOODTHIRSTY KALI!!!

CLACK: (jumping backwards) Holy CRAP, TOM!!!

CLICK: I’m just kidding, Ray. I’m actually a Unitarian. Kali is so… mean.

CLACK: So… you’ll do the show?

CLICK: I guess… after I chain my bike… (flashes a hollow smile) …and fetch the ceremonial dagger.

Excuse #1: Why I Missed School

2008-01-25T06:41:00.000-08:00

Dear Mr./Mrs. ________

I’m so sorry I missed school yesterday. I found an alien in the woods and had to help it find its way home. Apparently it was so stupid it needed the help of me… a twelve-year old. Weird.

Also, I hope you didn’t eat the apple I left you a couple of days ago. I found out from my Dad that it was infected. I didn’t know that when I took it from the trash can.

Sincerely,

---------

P.S. By the way, I heard you lost your car keys. I think that Honors Student girl took them.

Brainstorming Session

2008-01-22T17:54:00.000-08:00

Brainstorming session, 1/22/08

Objective: Write a few creative intros to a series of short programs

Difficulty: The topic is "a better sex life with your spouse"

Setting: Office/studio

Producer #1: (Picking up a tortilla chip) This is what I’m thinking. Two guys. (crunch crunch crunch) And… like... we gotta play some of these things here, but one of ‘em’s gotta be...

Hold on. (crunch, crunch)

(Producer #1 starts channeling voices) (voice #1) “Hey Tom.” (voice #2) “Hey Steve.” (voice #1) “How are things with you and…"

Producer#2: Roxy?

Producer #1: Yeah, okay, Roxy. (voice #1) “How are things with you and Roxy? (voice #2) Well, a little lacking in the passion department, if you know what I mean.”

Producer #2: “Or like… (voice #1) “Hey Tom.” (voice #2) “Hey Steve. “ (voice #1) “How are things with you and Scarlett?” (voice #1) “Well… I don’t know…”

Producer #1: Huh. Let’s listen to another clip.

(plays clip on computer. Clip advises men not to overlook their spouses then demand sex)

Producer #1: Hey – how about this. (woman’s voice) “Sweetheart… can you do blank?” (man’s voice) “Shuttup – I’m watching the game, dammit! And when that’s over we’re gonna have sex.”

Producer #2: Do you think that will fly?

Producer #1: Ha ha ha ha. No.

Producer #2: What about: (voice #1) “Hey Steve.” (voice #2) “Hey Winko. How’s your sex life?”

Producer #1: You can’t just out and ask “how’s my sex life?”

Producer #2: Why not? You’re the one walking around naked. With a whip.

Producer #1: Dude, this isn’t helping us write these ads. How’s about: (voice #1) I think I did something wrong. (voice #2) Why’s that?

Producer #2: (voice #1) “Because my wife won’t sleep with me. And she’s limping.”

Producer #1: Oh. So she’s limping because they did it wrong? Like, “hey – it’s not supposed to work like THAT!”

Producer #2: I dunno. Anyhow, we definitely need to get this done. Maybe we should just not do the “two guys” idea… maybe something completely different. Like everything is suggesting sex to this guy because his wife isn’t taking care of his needs at home.

Producer #1: That will take way too long.

Producer #2: Yeah, I guess so. I just think of those Looney Tunes cartoons where the guy on the desert island is starving and he’s seeing the other guy as a steak in his mind. But, instead of a steak, this husband sees a naked lady.

Producer #1: There’s just something about a naked lady. Once you’ve seen one, you just can’t forget. Like, when I was young, I saw one of my Mom’s friends naked, and…

(UNPRINTABLE STORY ENSUES – MANY MINUTES PASS)

Producer #2: Wow. Huh. Well, okay – wait, I have an idea. What about a little kid who says, “Daddy – look – the rabbits are wrestling.” And then the dad says, “Oh yeah, I see.” Then, under his breath he says, “I wish your mommy and I were wrestling.”

Producer #1: I don’t know. This isn’t working out. I should call ___ and tell him it’s not working.

Producer #2: What about the Beatles song… “I say once - you say twice - I try this - and you say – that’s not nice! Ooooh, oh, oh!”

Producer #1: Maybe we should just put a song under it instead of a skit. A song about love?

(THIRTY MINUTES GO BY WHILE BOTH PRODUCERS PLAY INCREASINGLY RIDICULOUS SONGS TO EACH OTHER ON ITUNES)

Producer #2: So… I guess we’ll just use that one song?

Producer #1: Why not.

Producer #2: And I have only about ten minutes to edit this together now?

Producer #1: Yup.

Producer #2: Hmph. Oh well.

The Squirrel Diet

2008-01-21T16:09:00.000-08:00

by Vidad MaGoodn

In a sunlit den, Marta looked down at her feet.

For the first time in years, she could see them while standing. She sighed with satisfaction and helped herself to another handful of pork rinds.

Atkins had provided the cure for her protruding stomach, wobbling thighs and floppy breasts. Soon she’d look good in her old jeans. Just a few more weeks of eating pork chops, sausage, bunless burgers and carb-free chow.

She cinched her belt up a notch and walked into the kitchen. She wore white pants. Under their seat could be clearly seen a printed pattern on her panties. Yellow ducks.

As she stepped past the phone it rang.

“Hello?”

On the other end she heard Cheryl’s voice. As always, her voice was gray as slate.

Perhaps working in government does that to a girl. She’d always been too serious.

“Cheryl! How are you? You’ll never believe how much weight I lost this month… fifteen more pounds! And I’m eating tons of fat and protein. Crazy, huh?”

On the other end of the line there was an intake of breath.

To fill in the gap, Marta went on. “Aren’t you proud of me?”

“Sure, I suppose. But… it sounds like you’re still on Atkins. Why didn’t you take my advice?”

“But… I’ve been fat for so long… and now I’m looking good again! It just seemed that Atkins was best. At least that’s what I read online.”

Cheryl was silent for a moment. Then, deliberately, she spoke. “Marta, trust me when I tell you… I know what’s good for you. It’s not too late to switch. You have the book. Use it.”

(click)

Marta looked at the phone quizzically and hung up. Her mood was ruined.

Frustrated, she walked back into the den and dug out Cheryl’s diet book from under a pile of junk mail.

“The Squirrel Diet” read the cover.

That has to be the dumbest book title ever. It certainly lacked the authoritative ring of “The Atkins Diet.”

She thumbed through the glossy tome. Chapter titles included gems such as “Gnawing Your Way to Health,” “Losing Weight by Losing Your Nuts,” and “Treeing Others Like You’d Want to be Treed.”

This book is really, really stupid.

She reached idly for the bag of pork rinds. They were gone.

The pages were illustrated with happy, scampering squirrels juxtaposed with happy scampering fat people, ostensibly becoming thinner as they scampered.

The text, however, appeared… disjointed. Recipes were included in the book… but many of the ingredients were entirely unfamiliar to Marta – and she was no slouch when it came to cooking.

The inside flaps were made of foil. That also struck her as odd. She set it on the table.

To research, she flipped open her laptop and visited Amazon.

“The Squirrel Diet” was there. Reviews, however, were scarce. One person – JFK666 – gave the book five stars, though the review text was a series of ones and zeroes in some random order.

Another review by freemason911 called it “A program for the masses.”

The only other information on the book was the helpful notation letting her know its buyers also purchased “Catcher in the Rye.”

“Why am I wasting time on this?” said Marta, startling her tabby cat. The cat, offended, didn’t answer.

She got up, grabbed her keys and went to fetch more Atkins approved groceries.

Inside her brain, a tiny mechanical clock ticked forward.

One day, the book would more than make sense. It would be her world. Chittering voices would surround her and consume her mind with their crowding instincts and vicious play. Directions would come through hormonal channels and the ultra-sonic calls of a thousand keening cicadas.

Atkins held only a temporary victory.

One day she would join the thousands that went before her.

Until then, the Squirrel Diet sat on her table.

Waiting.

Restrictions

2008-01-12T20:32:00.000-08:00

She walked into the room, sharp in her gray sweater and skirt.

“What are you doing?” she asked, seeing her husband staring at an unfamiliar blog, fingers poised over the keyboard on his mac.

“I’m trying to enter my first Friday challenge,” he replied distractedly.

“Friday challenge?”

“Yeah. This writer, Bethke, who’s like the founder of cyberpunk… he does this cool challenge every week where he gives people a topic and they try to write the best original piece.”

“I see. Did he write Snowcrash?” she said, sitting down.

“No.”

“Okay, then I guess I don’t know him. So… what are you supposed to write about?”

“He’s asking us to do a rant about modern life.”

“Ah. You should talk about how much you hate the mainstream choices in this presidential race.”

“No, I can’t. See, this thing has restrictions. Like… I can’t talk about Mitt Romney’s weirdness or how I think Giuliani and Hillary are two heads on the same evil hydra.”

“Oh.” She looked up for a minute with pursed lips. “What about writing about illegal immigration?”

“No – I can’t do that either. I also can’t talk about gays, even though it would be fun.”

“Maybe you could talk about how much fun we had as kids… and how the new generation just doesn’t get it, because they’re so plugged into their stupid videogames, etcetera?

“No. that’s another restriction. I can’t do the ‘kids these days’ angle.”

She got up from her seat. “Well honestly, I don’t know what you’re going to write if you don’t pick one of those topics.”

She exited the room, leaving the faint scent of sandalwood in her wake.

“Maybe I can rant about how many rules there are these days?” he muttered, to no one in particular.

Standing up, he flipped off his computer and started looking at his taxes for the thirtieth time.

“Yeah… maybe I’ll do that… when I get done with this mess.”