Horatio Fogwood Presents...

[John Thirten]

Everyone was silent save for the faint sound of gasping. A women looking on began to faint.

"He's so strong," was the stunned whisper jolting through the crowd. A young boy, no more than two, was carrying a cinder block from one side of the circus ring to the other. A curly wisp of blond hair rested on his forehead. He wore no shirt, his baby fat rippled majestically with each powerful stride of his pigeon-toed legs.

"My God."


Horatio was sitting behind the curtain laughing to himself as he puffed on his cigar. His tophat and whip were resting on a crate near the lion cage. "I'm going to make millions..."

[Special K]

Quietly the cat lifted its paws and sneaked across the shadowy carpet. His eyes gleamed an unnatural yellow, wide with anticipation for the coming bloodbath. He extended his claws and kneaded the carpet roughly, tensing his muscles and trying to stave off the adrenaline rush that was driving his need to kill. He approached his prey. The girl sat on the couch, watching Disney Channel, blissfully unaware that her life would soon be over.

The cat approached cautiously and rubbed up against her leg, purring as an outlet for the pent up blood lust that would soon explode from every hair on his body. "Aw, you are so cute, Wiggles," the girl said, leaning her hand down to give the cat a pet.

The hand came closer. Wiggles tensed imperceptibly. The hand was headed for the top of his head. It would not live to make the return journey. Down the hand came. Everything seemed to slow down, the cats reflexes were honed for this very purpose. The culmination of his existence was at hand.

Unexpectedly, Sparky the dog bit Wiggles's tail, sending him shrieking off into another room, dejected and defeated. Sparky gleamed with pride as he went to his master, having served his purpose as protector and upholder of the good.

"Stupid dumb dog!" she yelled. "Come back, Wiggles, come back!" Sparky was left alone, crushed by the weight of his duty.

[John Thirten]

Jenny opened the door excitedly to see the TV repair man waiting at the door, massive toolbox in hand. Jenny brushed back her long blonde bangs and looked at his grizzled chest, his name tag reading "Chuck."

"What's the problem, ma'am?" Chuck asked.

"Oh, Chuck. I'm so glad you're here." Jenny batted her eyelashes. "I just can't get my television to work. I don't ever know what I would do without you." Jenny grabbed Chuck's wrist and led him to the TV. He put down his toolbox and bent down over the TV. Jenny watched closely.

"Golly," Jenny said, "You're working so hard. You must be exhausted. Let me get you something to drink."

When Jenny returned with a pitcher of lemonade, Chuck stood up, holding onto the TV's power cable. "It looks like your problem is that it's unplugged."

"Oops!" Jenny said, rolling her eyes as she licked her lips. "My mistake." She began to slowly pour a glass of lemonade. "All this watching you work so hard has gotten me all worked up... and sweaty." Jenny pulled her shirt off, revealing her sweaty, erect nipples.

"Ma'am!" Chuck said, nervously looking away as his face turned red. "That's fully unprofessional! Please, put your shirt back on and we'll discuss your bill."

"Oh, you're no fun." Jenny came up next to Chuck and put her arms around his shoulders, placing a glass of lemonade in his hand. "You just take a sip. I'm so worried about your health right now that I just can't do anything until I know you're going to be all right."

Reluctantly, though glad for a way to end this awkward situation, Chuck took a sip from the lemonade. It tasted strange.

"Now you're all mine," Jenny said, licking her lips as she undid the fly of her jeans.

"...What's in this?" Chuck asked. Then he blacked out.

[Harry]

:thumbsup:

Glad to have you guys here.

[Special K]

1.Historians increasingly treat the period from 1870 to 1914 as the birth of the “modern” era in world history - a sharp break with the past. What social, political, economic, scientific and other changes suggest such a rupture? Were these positive or negative developments, and from whose perspective?

One major change at the turn of the 20th Century was the creation of Major League Baseball in the United States. This represented a sharp break with the past. This was a positive development, however the creation of the New York Mets would be held off until 1962, delaying its true culmination. Economically, this was before the Great Depression and so most countries were pretty well off economically.

2. The period from 1850 to 1914 witnessed some of the most dramatic and rapid economic changes in world history – a tremendous burst of industrialization and global integration. Compare and contrast the industrial revolutions in Western Europe, the United States, Russia and Japan. What were the most important factors explaining industrialization in each? What political forces did these processes unleash inside each country or region?

During this time, the United States invented the airplane. The Wright Brothers invented the airplane at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. This gave the United States man's greatest dream, to fly. Air superiority was the key to the US's victory in World War I. Russia became a communist just after this time. Japan no longer was run by their traditional samurai, and instead were preparing to invade Asia.

3. Compare and contrast the major political, economic and social changes during this period between EITHER Russia and the Ottoman Empire OR Japan and China. How would you explain why one country/empire became a great power and the other declined? How did each respond to the challenge of the West?

China was primarily run by opium, which made it easy for the Japanese swordsmen to invade in World War II. Japan was friends with Hitler and supported the Holocaust, until the United States dropped the bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki and killed the Japanese in warfare. China became a great power because of communists, and Japan declined because they could not respond to the challenge of the West.

4. Referring to three (3) specific colonies, compare the patterns of European imperial rule in Asia, Africa and settler colonies as well as the response of native peoples. How was colonialism related to industrialization? What enabled colonizers to impose their rule? How did colonizers justify their actions? How did native people respond and/or resist? Use specific examples, places and peoples, dates. Don’t describe abstractions.

The patterns of colonial rule in the Americas were ended with American Revolution in 1776. America became free from England's king and created a democracy of the People. This was before the Industrial Revolution and so was not affected by it. This happened on the specific date of July 4th, 1776. Similar things happened in Asia and Africa.

5. Describe the major economic, political and geopolitical tensions between the so-called Great Powers that led to the first world war. What were the major consequences of the war for the international system? Did the peace treaty at Versailles resolve the war’s causes?

The first World War was fought primarily in Europe, and was all tied until the United States joined the war. This tipped the tides in favor of our side, and allowed us to win the way against Germany. Chemical gasses were used on the footmen.

[John Thirten]

"Gosh, dad! When I grow up, I'm going to drink Horatio Fogwood's Premium Draft just like you!"

Dad tussled Li'l Jimmy's hair with a laugh. "I'll finally be proud of you."

Drink Horatio Fogwood Premium Draft, est. 1643. (http://i15.photobucket.com/albums/a373/brokenllama/topofworld.gif)




Slick Johnny threw up the collar of his leather jacket as he got on his chopper. "Drinking Miller? Busch? PBR?" He slid his sunglasses down his nose. "What, are you a tard?"

A half-naked woman got on his bike as Slick Johnny chuckled. "C'mon, Lola. Let's go drink some Horatio Fogwood Premium Draft and have unprotected sex." Vroom vroom!

Drink Horatio Fogwood Premium Draft, est. 1643. (http://i15.photobucket.com/albums/a373/brokenllama/howtofeelweak.jpg)




Aaron is six feet tall, wearing his varsity letter jacket, and carrying a six pack of Guinness. Clancy is pimply, wearing half inch thick glasses, and holding a six pack of Horatio Fogwood Premium Draft.

It goes without saying who the senior cheerleader squad had a six hour orgy with.

Drink Horatio Fogwood Premium Draft, est. 1643. (http://i15.photobucket.com/albums/a373/brokenllama/horatio.gif)

[Special K]

"Are you hearing what they are saying, Jack? The men are saying we've struck an iceberg!"

"An iceberg, Rose? We must be way off course! This is terrible!"

"Come on!"

Rose and Jack ran down the corridor, making their way towards the command bridge to speak with the captain. "Captain!" Jack shouted. "Is it true?"

"Yes, it seems in our attack run we ran too far north and missed the island group entirely."

"But, at our current depth level..."

"We were surfacing to let our diesel engines recharge our batteries."

"Oh Rose!" Jack yelled. "This is terrible!"

"I know, Jack. I love you."

"Oh, the tragedy! We finally convince our superiors to allow us to continue our relationship, even when I was conscripted into service on this U-Boat, and now I may lose you forever."

"Let it be some consolation that the Reich will continue the war when we die," Rose reasoned, the rising water level now approaching her knees.

As the water rose higher and higher, they held their hands together and kissed one last time.

[John Thirten]

"So, this new car will get me how many highway miles per gallon?"

"Depending on your tires and the road conditions, approximately--"

"And how many city?"

"Given the traffic, it can range betw--"

"What other colors can I get this car in?"

"Well, this particular model com--"

"What kind of black is this car?"

"This shade of black, I believe, is Midni--"

"What kind of wood is the dash made out of?"

"That's the finest--"

"And what kind of cow did this seat leather come from?"

"Schleswi--"

"How many cup holders total does this car have?"

"In the front there are--"

"I often put Jello Pudding containers in the cup holders. Will those fit in these?"

"I should say--"

"Can I put down the convertable roof while driving?"

"If you're moving at under--"

"Nope, looks like I can't. The canvas is tearing. See?"

"Wh-where did you say it was--"

"About how hard would I have to hit that curb to make this thing drive on two wheels?"

"Sir, I really don't think--"

"Nope, not hard enough. I'll try on this next one up here. By the way, does this have airbags?"

"Not on the passang--"

"Whoa! Here we go, this thing's actually driving on two wheels! Oh my God! Oh, shit, it's going to flip! How to I stabilize this thing?"

"Quick, push on the--"

"Ooo, are these seats automatically warming?"

"Oh God no! We're going to die! We're going--"

"I don't like the warming, it's kind of gross. Oh, shit, is that a semi?"

"Mother of God no! Are you insane? Why? Why--"

[Special K]

"Next on the agenda...Senate Bill S304...Petition to Allocate $45,000 to the State of Utah for the maintenance of Interstate 15...," Harry Reid prattled.

Various mumbles flowed from the Senate floor, most notably from Utah's own Senators who had taken a great deal of time on the intricacies of language within the bill. Their constituents would be proud.

"The Senate recognizes Senator McCain, from Arizona."

"Yes, I would like to propose an amendment to this bill authorizing the creation of a new nuclear missile program in the Salt Flats of Utah, for immediate tactical strikes against terrorist strongholds."

The end of McCain's statement was muffled by the sudden burst of cries spewing from the Democratic side of the Senate. "Madman!" "Fascist!"

Barack Obama stood up tall. "If the Republicans can have that amendment, then I propose an amendment legalizing the medical and recreational use of heroin, provided each citizen has proof that they are gay."

Now it was the Republicans' turn to get angry. "Madman! Hippy!"

"Never will I see this great country destroyed by drug use!" shouted McCain.

"Shut up you dumb shit!" Obama retorted. McCain hopped the boundary that stood between the Democratic and Republican sides of the Senate, and routinely beat Obama into a bloody, crying pulp.

----

"Welcome back to Stone and McWimpy, here on MSNBC2: the political talk show that tackles todays issues with a new perspective. I'm Jack Stone, and as always I'm here with Elliot McWimpy. Elliot, I know what you are going to say about tonight's headline: McCain was out of line. Well let me say this first. Barack Obama instigated a completely reasonable response out of McCain with a totally mindless and ignorant taunt. He should be ashamed for himself, the Democratic Party, and the African Race.

"Oh sure, blame it on the Democrats, thats what you Republicans always do. If it weren't for McCain proposing a preposterous nuclear program, this incident would never have happened!"

"Preposterous?! So you believe it is more preposterous to protect America's freedom than it is for all Americans to become gay and shoot heroin all the time?! Thats what you just said! Don't tell me thats not what you just said!"


------

"Welcome back to MTV News. It was recently reported that Christina Aguilera is working on her new album; sources tell us it will primarily consist on more personal material, but don't think Christina's lost that sexiness! More info as it comes. Hotty Hugh Jackman to star in a Wolverine spin-off of the X-Men series? So the rumors say. Jackman has refused to comment, but his agent has told us that he has not ruled out the possibility. And in a final note, John McCain beat up Barack Obama after Obama called him a "s#@t" on the floor. Log on to MTV.com and tell us who you think could take who in a fight on the Senate Floor. Well, that about wraps up this update, we'll be back five minutes before the hour, every hour, with more news, feeds, and updates."

[John Thirten]

When Wally awoke, everything was different. His sheets flew about the room and the bed made itself. His oatmeal morphed into a bowl of chocolate. His school turned into an arcade.

Wally flew to the local toy store and began playing with everything he could. While morphing the Optimus Prime transformer back from a semi a gentle looking man in a white suit slowly approached him.

"Hello, Wally."

Wally looked up. "How do you know my name?"

"Wally," the man said smiling, "My name is Gabriel. I'm an angel. Do you know why you are getting everything you wished today?"

Wally shook his head.

"You see, every day we give one human at random the power of God so that they might become believers. Sometimes this power is given to good people who use it accordingly, sometimes this power is given to bad people who use it for bad purposes."

Wally gulped. "Am... am I using it bad?"

Gabriel chuckled. "No, not at all. However, I'm concerned. You see, we know in advance one day who is going to recieve the power next. You see..." Gabriel bowed his head and sighed. "Tomorrow it's Britney Spears's turn."

Wally gulped.

"I hope you will make the right choice, Wally." Gabriel turned and walked out of the toystore. Wally set down his transformer, stood up, and watched the automatic doors close behind him.

He took a deep breath. "My will be done."

Then the world blew up.

[Special K]

An Essay on Interstate Politics and Diplomacy

From birth they were taught the art of war, bred for violence and desensitized to the horrors of death. As they grew older they learned to rid themselves of feelings of self-preservation and devote themselves entirely to the well-being of their country. They were no longer citizens, they were soldiers.

At the age of 15 they were thrown to the wilds and told to defend themselves. If they could make it back to civilization alive, they were awarded their shield and spear.

The wives were taught to support the art of war, as well. When their husbands marched off they gave their full support and knew well how to maintain the system in their stead.

War was coming.

"Rendell's army marches for you, King O'Malley. He is all-powerful, a God amongst Governors. He will march across your state and lay bare your weakness. All you must do to avoid this terrible fate is declare your allegiance to him."

O'Malley waited. His face was still, betraying no emotion. He wondered then at his fate and the fate of his people. But he was bred for resolve, and for war. He quickly drew his sword and put it to the messenger's neck. The man backed up to the edge of the cliff overlooking the bay. "You insult both me and my people! We will not stand up to this! If it is war you seek, then it is war you get!"

"You can't threaten me, I'm just a messenger! This is madness!"

"...This...Is MARYLAND!" O'Malley kicked the messenger in the chest, sending him falling to his death at the hands of the Chesapeake Bay.

[John Thirten]

"Yes, you could buy those boots," Wilber said, stretching as he stood up and pushing aside a shoe box, "But why buy last years style today? If you want my opinion, and I think you do, you'd look good in a nice new pair of rattlesnake boots."

Jenny tilted her head to her shoulder. She wasn't sure about this. "Rattlesnake boots?"

Wilber just smiled. "Rattlesnake boots. Trust me, they'll match your pretty eyes just perfectly. I really think you need to try on a pair."

Jenny crossed her arms and leaned back. "I don't know, I really just wanted a pair of those red boots..."

Wilber gave his most sincere looking grin, bearing his white teeth. "How about you just try them on. If you don't like them, you don't like them. No harm done."

Jenny unfolded her arms. "Well... I guess it won't hurt me any."

"Atta girl," Wilber said with a wink as he went into the backroom. When he returned a few minutes later a white box was in his hand. "Here we go, little lady."

"What's that sound?" Jenny asked, looking around.

"Hmm? I don't hear anything. I wouldn't bother with that." Wilber removed the box lid. "Now, lets take a look at these rattlesnake boots, shall we?" Wilber removed the tissue packaging and held up one of the boots.

"Hmm," he said, "Looks like they left the cardboard form still in it. Let me just get that out for you." Wilber put his arm down the boot and then suddenly pulled it out with a scream. He clutched his swollen hand and dropped the boot to the ground. Jenny looked at his hand, which was rapidly turning purple. She then suddenly leaped on top of her chair, her sweaty nipples erect with fear, as a rattlesnake slid out of the boot he dropped to the floor.

Wilber collapsed to the ground, panting laboriously. "My hubris... for... making a sale... blinded me... to... the... iron...y..."

[Special K]

The Yukon

The snow whipped furiously against my face, instantly numbing the surface of my skin. I felt my hair. Bits of it had collected clumped snow, and I was worried it would freeze and collect as hair icicles. I pulled the strings on my sweatshirt hood tighter, and all that peeked out from underneath were my eyes, straining against the cold to remain open. My eyes used to be bright blue, but nowadays they were a striking gray, so that people who looked into my eyes long usually remarked with a "You have interesting eyes" even if they couldn't tell me why. I'd always respond, "They used to be blue."

I flipped up the kickstand on my bike and began peddling down the road. I say road, but I mean the two-foot pile of snow that was lying over top what I assumed was still the road, though by this point what was underneath was left to educated guesswork. I tried to find spacious gaps between the trees and rationalized that those must be where roads lie, but of course I was in the Yukon and trees were more plentiful than roads. I had a compass on the handlebars, but the glass had fogged up, and the condensation had frozen. I'd be working on instinct until my compass thawed out.

The going was slow. In most places the top of the snow was sturdy enough to carry both myself and my bike, but occasionally I'd stumble upon a patch of loose, powdery snow, and my wheels would plow under. I'd have to spend a few minutes digging my bike out and continuing on. In fact, having the bike at this point in time was more counterproductive than anything, but I knew I'd need it once I reached warmer climates.

Nutrition was gained at this point mostly through chewing on pine needles and sucking on snow until it melted and I could feel it fall down my throat. Occasionally I'd cross the tracks of an animal, but I didn't know anything about hunting and so I always ignored them. I had a sizable box of Pop Tarts in my backpack, but I wanted to keep them for when I really needed them.

That night I slept in a cave with no fire, curled inside my sweatshirt as tight as I could get myself. I had a dream that I was playing Risk with Bryan. I was the blue army and had South America and most of Africa, but I felt like I was going to lose. I woke up wondering if randomly selecting countries in the game set up was more fair.

[John Thirten]

Mahmoud Abbas and Ehud Olmert, the two leaders of Palestine and Isreal respectively, shook hands together at Camp David. It was the perfect day to put hostilities aside and create a new sense of order in the region. The sky was blue and the light breeze was warm as they stood at a podium before dozens of reporter's on the lawn, a jubilent President Bush with arms on each of their shoulders. The treaty was sitting on the podium before them to be signed, establishing the conditions for a safe, secure Palestinian state and peace treaties with several Arab nations for Isreal.

The almost impossible anxiousness and anticipation for this historic event was shattered with the blarring of a loud motorcycle engine revving as it plowed through the sea of reporters, popped a wheelie on to the platform, and cruised up to the podium.

Slick Johnny killed the engine. He was wearing his trademark leather jacket with collar flipped up and with his girl Lola sitting behind him on the bitch seat with her arms tightly wrapped around his waist.

He looked around for a bit before turning to the Middle Eastern leaders and pushing his sunglasses down his nose. "Whadda buncha tards."

Slick Johnny flicked out a comb and slicked back his 50's cut. "C'mon, Lola. Let's go drink some Horatio Fogwood's premium draft and have some unprotected sex."

Vroom! Vroom!

[Special K]

Escapement is Entrapment

the dog fled across the shy floor,
bottle descending in an unfortunate game of chase.
put in the plug, watch the screen.
nobody wants him.
they just turn their heads.


Autumn

Between summer and winter, fall.
In the North, from the equinox of September to the Solstice of December,
In the South, from the equinox of March to the Solstice of June.
Parallel, annual. Leaves falling from trees.
Maturation, growth.
Death?


Pain Train

Life is always full of pain.
I need to escape, maybe on a train.
Other people are always so dumb.
They look at me funny and I never have any fun.

I sit in my classes with my stupid teachers.
The bullies say I should pop my zits with a pair of tweezers.
I wish I could fly.
High in the sky.

I hate my parents, they try to control me.
But I don’t listen, they don’t know me.
I think Linkin Park said it best,
I’m one step closer to the edge.

Life is always full of pain,
I need to escape, DEFINITELY on a train.


Shades

Black is
White is
Grey?


Forever as a Second

Out of the dust I emerge,
Clean. Untouched.
Life is a game of hop-skotch.
How far can I reach these weary legs?
It is cold, but your heart,
Beating from within, a fiery ember,
Brings me heat.
You and I, together.
Kissed, fell.
Lost.
Found.
Love, hold me up.


Cacophony

...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Life.

[John Thirten]

Carmen was throwing his large catch of Tuna off his boat to Pierre, who caught them and placed them in the bed of their truck to take down to the market. It was early morning and the squall of the gulls signaled to the men they needed to hurry up.

"Who did you say was going to buy the catch today?" Pierre said to Carmen as another tuna slammed into his chest.

"Milos," Carmen replied as he bent over the fish trap. "Milos Demonopolis."

Pierre paused a moment then threw the tuna back into the sea. "I don't sell to Greeks."

[Special K]

I stepped into the elevator and pressed the 4th floor button, heading up to my office as I had done a million times before.

The difference this time was evident. Upon my chest, hung for all to see, was a necklace with “#1 Boyfriend” spelled out. In macaroni.

I once ironically stated that I admired my girlfriend’s young heart. It was not until today that I regretted considering that attractive.

My boss Daryl came up to me. “What the fuck?” was all he asked, before shaking his head and walking away.

Incidentally enough, the macaroni necklace was what was used to identify my body after it hit the concrete, destroying all of my physical features. I should have taken it off just so that I would not have to go through the embarrassment of being remembered as the man with the tombstone which bore the ungodly slogan.

[John Thirten]

I locked my briefcase.

Opening my drawer, I looked around for socks. None of them matched. Dark gray and dark blue... I doubt anyone will notice. My trousers were lying on a chair next to the bed. They weren't ironed, but the crease going down the leg of the pants was fairly straight. They looked good, save for a small peanut butter stain I got on them during the evening.

I moved my briefcase down from the table, keeping it near me.

I grabbed the nearest shirt to me in the closest. It was some sort of off white color. I think the woman selling it to me said it was egg shell white. I only bought it because she had a really sexy accent. I couldn't resist how she said "egg shell white."

I set my briefcase down on the footstool and pulled out a tie.

A nice red and black tie I got for my birthday. What I really wanted was a new bicycle. I guess whoever sent me the tie figured this was better. Ass.

I put my briefcase down on the ground.

Plopping down on the footstool I pulled on my shoes then began looking for my keys. I put a big red keychain on them, making them a heck of a lot easier to find. They were on the counter next to the door.

I picked up my briefcase and ran to the bus stop.

Some old woman was looking at me. I could tell from the corner of my eye. Whenever I turned my head in her direction she'd abruptly look away. Old hag.

I gripped my briefcase and stepped into the office.

I said "hi" to Sally. She's the secretary. I think she's bagging my boss, Mr. Hutchinson. Once or twice he's come into meetings with his fly unzipped and a smirk on his face. Lucky bastard.

I set down my briefcase and sat down at my chair at my cubicle.

My cubicle is on the edge of the office, so I'm pretty isolated. However, it's on the main path to the coffee room in my section, so there's always stragglers at this time in the morning roaming the halls.

At 9:30 I opened my briefcase. It was filled entirely with coleslaw. No containers, just mounds and mounds of coleslaw.

I got out my spoon.

[Special K]

Wikipedia states: The first pasteurization test was completed by Pasteur and Claude Bernard on April 20, 1862.

From this statement it is possible to determine the exact situation which led to the naming of the process. Louis Pasteur and Claude Bernard grew up together and were long friends. Pasteur was energetic and passionate, and loved to speak in public circles and engage in debates regarding the natural sciences. Bernard was the silent type, but intensely intelligent and capable of performing vast mathematical calculations in his head, much to the envy of his peers. The two attended university together, and talked much of heating up various food items for pleasure.

Together, they formulated the original hypothesis for pasteurization, and together they tested it out. After proving their results, Pasteur immediately became outspoken as towards their results. However, and without permission from Bernard, he gave the process the title "Pasteurization", named ingeniously after himself.

Bernard approached Pasteur about this outrage, but Pasteur brashly ignored Bernard. Bernard, normally subdued, could contain his rage no longer and attacked Pasteur.

Let is also be known that Pasteur was an athlete his entire life, and routinely went jogging in the Alps and lifted large boulders to maintain his incredible physique. Pasteur easily beat up Bernard, and continued to allow pasteurization to bear his name, becoming massively rich from all of the money paid to him because of his discovery.

Unfortunately, Claude Bernard did nothing else with his life, allowing history to ensue without further attempts to reconcile his name. He died poor and alone, contributing absolutely nothing to science.

[John Thirten]

The crescendo of the brass was deafening in its glorious trumpeting. 1812 was Tchaikovsky's opus, brilliant in all respects, from the lowliest clarinet to the roar of the timpani. But the conductor had it all wrong. Tchaikovsky wrote his masterpiece in perfect harmony, not with the bombastic blasting of French horns and tubas. The loudness infuriated the trumpet section, who were drowned out in what should be their moment of glory.

When the grand climax was reached and the blanks in the cannons were fired on stage something went wrong. Horribly wrong. The remains of the conductor were sent home in multiple bags.

Francisco was not just an orchestral trumpet player. Francisco was an orchestral trumpet playing assassin.

[Special K]

Hungry?

Sure you can eat a hot dog like a PANSY!

Ball Park franks? GROW SOME BALLS!

Come down to BILL'S EATXTREME HOTDOGS!

100,000 customers walk in, but only 99,970 WALK OUT ALIVE!!


Come to the one hot dog vendor that simulates the fatality rate of SKY DIVING!! BILL'S EATXTREME HOTDOGS!


Every year, .0003% of sky divings end in DEATH DEATH DEATH!!!

BILL'S EATXTREME HOTDOGS!
is the only eating establishment that poisons enough of its food to simulate SKYDIVING!!

For a limited time only, if someone you are with dies, YOU GET ANOTHER HOT DOG ON THE HOUSE!

Come to BILL'S EATXTREME HOTDOGS!
before the Federal Prosecutors do!

[John Thirten]

"Bzzzt. This is Gordon Steele. Over."

"This is Houston, Gordon. We hear you loud and clear. Over."

"Bzzzt. I've just made touch down on the surface of Mars. It... It's beautiful. As the first man to see Earth from another planet, let me say--"

Gordon was drowned out by the sound of a motorcycle revving as it rode up to Gordon on the Martian surface. Slick Johnny was smoking a cigarette under his fishbowl space helmet. With the flick of the wrist, Slick Johnny pushed his sunglasses down his nose. "Whadda tard."

Slick Johnny tossed his cigarette into the dust. "C'mon, Lola. Let's go drink some Horatio Fogwood's premium draft and have some unprotected sex."

Vroom! Vroom!

[Special K]

I sat on the bench, alone, my head bent with the weight of depression and loneliness. I looked to the sky and saw the setting sun, partially blocked by clouds such that where was mostly darkness escaped a few rays of light, like beams of happiness being sent down to Earth. It was then that I realized that the beams of light symbolize life. The clouds represent negativity and hardship, while the rays show the human capability to escape darkness. If these rays of light can break the clouds' tyrannical hold on their existence, so too can I persevere through hardship and depression!

I left the bench, comforted by the knowledge that beneath all existence lied a fundamental human bond that connected each individual to each other. We all had that limitless human potential that defined our existence, we were all connected through common experience! Being an atheist is easy with the realization that there is something still guiding us, our common human potential!

I walked along a grassy hill, staring at the ground, when I realized that the grass was very similar to humanity. Each blade of grass is separate, and yet each is also bound by a common soil which lies underneath yet creates all existence. Our roots dig deep into the nutrient-rich soil of common existence! We are all connected blades of grass in the grassy hill that is the wonderful achievement of mankind!

I felt rejuvenated, such as I had never felt before. As I walked along closer to town, I passed upon a group of youths seated in a circle, each patting their hands upon various percussion instruments. Bongos, djembes, pots and pans, all creating wonderful noises and coming together, bonding each participant in a common experience. They were wary at first when they saw me until they realized I was around their age, for they had various devices for the use of smoking marijuana around them and some were obviously experimenting with deeper, more intellectually-stimulating enhancers, but they relaxed and I smiled at how they could connect to each other and collectively open their minds. Truly, this was an example of humanity at its finest.

At this moment, a clean cut man of similar age but dressed in clothes that fit a bit more normally and were less distressed with age approached the group and asked, "Could any of you tell me how to get to the library?"

The group all looked at each other, but each was a little too caught up in the mind-expanding experience to be cognitive enough to properly explain the necessary steps towards reaching the library. "What a waste," the man said, before walking away.

I was a bit befuddled, for I could not extrapolate a commentary on the nature of true human experience from what I witnessed, so I ignored it and joined the group.

[John Thirten]

"Isonomia! Demokratia!" the crowds shouted. The fervor had smashed the gates of Athenai. An army of Athenians were sweeping through the streets, carrying pitchforks, torches, spears.

Isagoras had sought to concentrate his power over Athenai by exiling all those who opposed him so that his laws would be pushed forward without any opposition. Indeed, Isagora's power within the city was invincible but he had exiled so many Athenians in the process they now formed an army, an army bent on revenge.

Isagoras's lust for power could not be controlled. Kleisthenes, proud son of the cursed noble House of Alkmaionidai, was Isagora's greatest rival for power before Isagoras had Kleisthenes exiled. The grounds were due to the tragic curse that was placed upon Kleisthenes's ancestor Megakles long ago for his misdeeds against the city of Athenai. The very Kleisthenes, who was declared by the Oracle of Delphi to be the one who would liberate Athenai; the very Kleisthenes, who had gained the support of the warriors of Sparte; the very Kleisthenes, who had overthrown the tyrant Hippias, who had cowardly fled to Asia. This was the man being accused as a danger to the freedom and safety of Athenai and banished.

Isagoras had once offered hospitality to the Kleomenes, King of Sparte, who in turn felt a debt to Isagoras. To even further strengthen his sway over the Spartan king, Isagoras sent his wife to Kleomenes like a common whore, for the Spartan king to do as he pleased with her. There was no cost too great for Isagoras when it came to power. It was only a matter of time, then, until Isagoras used the 300 soldiers Spartan King Kleomenes had sent to Isagoras's aid to suppress Kleisthenes's "revolts" and "defend" the Athenians to turn against the time-honored elder council of Athenai, claiming they too were cursed along with Kleisthenes and must be exiled.

When the city refused, Kleisthenes and his supporters marched on the town. The struggle against Isagoras was swift. "Remember the Tyrannocides! Remember Harmodios and Aristogeiton!" they shouted. In the frenzy of the night, men arose from their beds and rushed to the streets, donning their panalopy of war and armor. The swing of a club and your nose was crushed, the strike of a sword and your arm was severed, the trust of a spear and your testicle was cut loose. Both sides pushed until Isagoras and the 300 Spartans retreated to the Akropolis.

For two days Kleisthenes and the armed people of Athenai besieged the Akropolis. Finally, the doors were burst and the citadel swarmed. The Spartans were allowed to leave peacefully, but Isagoras's men, the traitors against Athenai, were slaughtered. Finally, Kleisthenes, showing both great mercy and great irony, ordered Isagoras and those who still lived that backed his regime before him.

A traitor for destroying the institutions of the people of Athenai, for using Spartan power to crush Athenian liberties, by all means Isagoras should have been killed atop the Akropolis. But instead, Kleisthenes spared him, exiling him from Athenai as Isagoras had done to him.

In the vacuum of power, with a collapsed tyranny behind them, Kleisthenes established a new form of governance that would endure throughout the ages. Kleisthenes gave the power, the kratos, to the people, to the demos.

[Special K]

The Coast

I hadn't seen snow in a couple of days. Eventually I had just bunny hopped a small snow bank and landed on dirt, though it became painfully evident how lost in the woods I had gotten myself. The temperature still remained below freezing, and my attempts at angling the compass in different directions so I could possibly get a glimpse at the needle all failed.

The clouds cleared up eventually, and I awoke one morning to the sun glaring in my eyes. I stood up too quickly and felt the blood rush out of my head, leaving me dizzy for a moment. This happened to me often, I would stand up and wobble around for a moment, shaking my head clear. Strangers would sometimes ask if I were drunk. I wasn't, I must just have had poor circulation or something.

As I was riding, the trees stopped, and I skidded out from underneath the cover of the forest. In front of me lie a cliff, about twenty feet high, with and out from it lie the Pacific Ocean. Somewhere in the Yukon I must have overestimated how east I was going. I couldn't even be sure if I was technically in Canada or in Alaska, though it didn't matter really. I never legally entered Canada, and so I'd never legally exit it either.

The waves below crashed upon the rocky cliff bottom, and a few coastal birds floated above the white crests. My mind drifted to the Pacific Northwest level of Need for Speed II: Special Edition. I had gotten it as a Christmas gift a long time ago and used to play it with my sister. I was a lot better, and so I'd always try to make her crash into other cars. This particular level had a crazy downhill that almost guaranteed loss of control.

The coast wasn't a good sign, however. I had planned on following the Rocky Mountain chain south through the US. I feared if I used the coast I would end up on the wrong side of the Gulf of California. I needed to be more east than I was. I decided I'd take some time to try to warm up my compass so I could get back on track.

[John Thirten]

"Tell me Excelsior... Do I know you from another life? ...Or perchance a midsummer night's dream?"

King Zog took a sip from his goblet, a human skull with large gems set in the eye sockets.

Excelsior stroked his beard as he peered down at King Zog, seated stiffly on an ebony throne at the far end of a banquet table set for enough food to feed many fat, hungry people. "Your dialogues intrigue me, Lord Zog."

King Zog's laugh was cackling, if not odious. "Well, like your mind, your body too gets tired. You must refresh it with wise sayings. But please, young Excelsior. There is no need in my abode for such frivolous formalities... You may call me Zog."

Excelsior picked at a small piece of peasant stuffed flamingo on his plate. "The limits of your humility are boundless."

"Yes." King Zog took a long sip from his goblet. "They are."

...

...

...

"...So... Tell me, Excelsior, what do you know about... doors?"

Excelsior casually nibbled on a gelatin made of ape brains. "When you open a door, it leads you to a new place."

"Yes!" A glimmer of franticness glinted in Zog's eye, though Excelsior could barely see his pupils from the far side of the table. "A new place! But... what if that door were closed? Sealed, I dare say, from entering? How do you get the door to... open then?"

"I'd say you'd get a repairman."

Zog pounded his fist on the table, rattling a platter of pickeled shark fetuses. "Yes! A repairman. One not too unlike yourself, hmm?"

Excelsior opened a hard boiled Dodo egg. "Well, I suppose not."

Zog's ugly smirk was being showcased from multiple directions as he vigorously nodded his head. "Yes... One not too unlike yourself. Someone smart, and capable, and who knows how a company... opens doors."

[Special K]

I pulled put my hand on my head, covered with my Colorado Rockies baseball cap. My hand was trembling. I reached down to my Coors Light, nestled within my Rockies beer can holder which laid on top of my Colorado Coaster. Behind me was a Matt Holliday poster, matching my Holliday jersey.

The TV was glaring. The volume was way too loud. The final pitch...

The Boston Red Sox had beaten the Colorado Rockies.

I was speechless. First, I stared at the TV screen, my eyes glazing over. Then slowly my head turned upward. Until then I had been a devout Christian, devoting my life to the services of the Lord Jesus Christ. But that night, I cursed the name of God.

The Colorado Rockies were everything God could have wanted in a baseball team, and indeed it had appeared as if they were His chosen sons, destined to win it all. And yet, in their hour of need, he abandoned them. He abandoned me. God revealed himself to be not the benevolent, loving ruler I had previously seen of him, but as a malicious trickster more akin to the Devil himself then to a savior.

I threw my Coors into the TV screen and ripped off my Matt Holliday jersey. All of my long, devout life I had been a Colorado Rockies fan. Denver is a false Jerusalem.

I live only for the darkness now.

[John Thirten]

"Jimmy, we've hit a leak and are taking in water fast!"

"Call me captain, dammit."

"I really don't think that now is the time for--"

"I'll tell you what time it is and you'll listen to me. Am I understood?"

"...Yes, sir."

"What's your report?"

"Captain, we've run aground on the starboard at 45°. We can still try to pull off the bank if we hit hard at reverse."

"...I see. Very well, then. We have no choice. Full engine speed on reverse."

...

"Sir, look, we've made it off the bank!"

"This is good news. ...Look! Moving off the bank has revealed a gash on the starboard larger than we expected. I don't think we have much time."

"Sir... I don't know..."

"Shift the ballast! Move the ballast to port aft. I think we can tilt the vessel just enough to pull the gash out of the water and prevent future seepage."

"Captain, that would be suicide! A simple gale could tip it over!"

"Dammit, do you see any other alternatives?"

"Yeah, I could go hang out with someone that's fun. You suck, Jimmy."

"Yeah, well fuck you Charles. All you ever do is just bitch, bitch, bitch."

"Hey, look, Jimmy. Your fucking remote control boat just sank in the pond. That's what you get for being a total prick. I'm going to smoke some cigarettes in the parking lot, queer."

"Hey, fuck you and your mom!"

"Later, tard."

[Special K]

"I'm not a mistake. Knowing you exist allows me to realize where I fit in this world."

"I can't be a part of this."

"Listen to me. I've spent my entire life reading comics. I believe they offer a glimpse into our human conscience. Behind the trumped up veneer that modern illustrators use to attract mass audiences, comics speak to a unique human myth of good and evil. We all have it within us."

"No, you cannot be right. Life is not like Superman or Captain America. I cannot possibly be what you think I am."

"I'm not talking Superman, immortal..."

"Don't call me that."

"...I'm talking about...Family Circus. Tell me, when was the last time you had a witty thought? When was the last time you said something that made someone else laugh? A few days ago? A few weeks ago? Never?"

"I don't know what you are talking about..."

"My entire life I've been funny, making people laugh, not knowing where I belong. Now that I know there is someone on the opposite side of the spectrum, I know who I am."

"But you killed all those people..."

"To find the one who could survive a death that seems inevitable, or even justified. I ask you, how has Family Circus survived all these years? It defies reason, logic. It implies immortality. I think it no stretch of the imagination to call you immortal."

[John Thirten]

Steven was just a mundane accountant. Not even a good one. He was lame. He wore a white button up shortsleeve dress shirt with a black tie. He couldn't even play the bass. He was that lame. But things would be different this time.

Steven took out a piece of chalk and drew a pentagram on the stage floor around a dead chicken. Steven tossed a match down on the bird, which erupted into flames.

"S-Satan!" Steven called out in a weary voice. "G-G-Give me the p-power of ultimate bass!" The chicken burst into a sudden explosion of fire, smoke utterly engulfing him.

The clouds spiraled around Steven before culminating into the shape of a laughing, horned figure. Then came a growl. Fierce as a puma, loud as a cougar, mighty as a mountain lion. The cloud of smoke wisped away evanescently with the sudden boom. It was the power of bass.

It was the power of ultimate bass.

Steven's shirt was torn off, in it's stead was a large, blood red pentagram emblazoned on his chest. 666 read the lettering on his forehead. Steven's eyes were entirely white as he stared into the souls of the audience.

Slap after slap. Bass chord after bass chord. Complex finger boarding. Rapid string plucking. Four constantly trembling strings. It was a cacophony of notes so low you could feel your bones rattle, but beautiful in it's subtle elegance.

In the midst of the orgasm of throbbing bass, Andrew strode into the middle of the stage and Steven slinked into the background, his bass pouring out loud pulses of audile phantasmagoria.

Andrew stared over the clamoring audience, silencing themselves before his presence. "Tonight it ends, you worthless pukes. Night after night we give you everything you could ever want, but you're never content. 'Give us more' you say. Well, I'm going to give you more. More than you could have ever bargained for."

Andrew threw off the long black cape he was wearing into the crowd before him. In his hand was a single, long syringe. "No more," Andrew yelled. "No more will I listen to your pleas." Andrew thrust the syringe into his arm and quickly shot out its contents.

"I have injected myself with pure poison! In two hours time, I will be dead. In two hours time, I will no longer be mortal, but a god. A god of rock." An explosion of pyrotechnic effects exploded around from behind him as he grabbed the microphone and screamed into it. The drummer leapt from off stage to his kit and the night was on.

Andrew unleashed a barrage of power chords of unimaginable frenzy, Steven laid waste to the ear drums of all around him with his sublime bass, and the drummer drummed.

An hour and a half of pure rock, opiate in it's untouched form, transpired upon the audience, bewildered by the epic magnificence of the evening. Andrew smashed his guitar and threw it's shards into the audience as the band went backstage. When they returned, the audience experienced the greatest moment of their lives.

Andrew was bedecked in Victorian funeral attire, his pale face shaded under his top hat; his body framed by his jacket with long tails. He was playing a rendition of Mozart's Lacrimosa as he strode on to the stage. Steven approached behind him in black, his bass complementing perfectly. The drummer stood crying as he watched Andrew march onto the center stage.

From the right and left stage came a choir, their performance elevating the operatics of the night into the majestic. Andrew and Steven stood at the front of the stage, overlooking the awe-smitten audience as a procession of pallbearers marched into tempo to the music with a massive ebony black casket upon their shoulders.

Wireless guitar in hand, Andrew stepped in the beat of the music into the coffin, which was then closed as the rhythm of the song eclipsed into overwhelming genius. The crowd parted as the pallbearers marched down off stage and into the hearse awaiting them. Steven and the drummer climbed into the hearse along with the coffin, the song and Andrew's guitar suddenly silencing as soon as the car doors closed and they drove off to the cemetery.

All agreed.

This. Was. Rock.

[Atropine Mama]

I love this thread.

:lovestruck:

[Special K]

The Rocky Mountains

After leaving the coast I had managed to steer myself east enough to find the Rocky Mountains. My plan was to follow these as far south as they would take me, and hopefully getting into Mexico would not be an issue.

I had not taken any road to get to the first mountains that I found, so riding my bicycle was a tedious exercise in dodging shaky outcroppings, riding up steep slopes, and holding on for dear life as I skidded and hopped into valleys.

Occasionally, when I was able to reach a high altitude and take a pause, I would look out and think about the view. I didn't know the names of any of the specific ranges or peaks, but before my current trip I had never been at such a high altitude and been able to see for so far. I had been raised on coastal flats, deciduous forests and views hampered by commercialization. I don't think I could live anywhere else, though. I figured it would be difficult to get little things I enjoyed like Slurpees and records in a more empty setting.

I dated a girl once who often visited Utah and would tell me all about how dry the air was and how beautiful and calming it would be to sit down and stare at the mountains and think about nothing but the scenery itself. The kinds of stuff I could never do because I could never slow down and detach myself from my thoughts. She always said she'd bring me out to Utah. I didn't know where my current location was in comparison to where she was, I doubt I was even within that state, but I was thinking about it anyway. We never did go out there together, she broke up with me. She said I was too selfish, and I told her "I know," and had in fact often talked to her about how I thought I was too selfish, but until then she'd always shrugged it off and said I wasn't really selfish I just didn't have enough self esteem. At one point I thought maybe she was someone who could fix all the things that were wrong with me, but now I just like to think about how red her face would get when I'd joke around and play her songs on the guitar that she loved but I could never get into. I learned them anyway, it gave me something to do on the days when I could never shake that anxious, paranoid feeling I get sometimes.

The right side of my handlebar collided with the side of a thin tree that I hadn't been paying attention to, and my bike cut suddenly to the side. My momentum was too strong and I fell off. My knees would have been cut up had I not been wearing jeans, so I escaped with only a blunt pain that I hoped a few minutes of continued riding would shake off. However, after a few hours of riding up and down hills, my muscles were burning. My crash was unfortunate in that while I was still going I could justify my continued movement based on superstitious theories of momentum and endurance, but now that I had stopped it would be a matter of willpower to get myself going again. So instead I took a sit down on a rock nearby and wiped some of the crusty mucus from my nose onto the sleeve of my sweatshirt.

I thought I felt my cell phone vibrating in my pocket, so I reached down before I remembered that I never brought my phone with me, I decided to leave it behind so that I could be alone.

[John Thirten]

The Eternal Night
By Pedro Satanica

The Eternal Night, it is a fright
With terrible horrors in the night.
The fear I feel, it is real
That I might become a monster's meal
In this malignant prison of my soul.

The time has come! My body is numb!
Frozen and my tongue is dumb.
The terror has shown, the seeds are sown
In my heart, I fear the demons now own
All that was left of me.

The pain I see, all of it in me
Is crippling my every longing to be
Something other than what I am.
The wreck that I have become as a man
Is because I was hated by all.

The cruel being, a smiting sting
To who I was is because of being
Abused by those around me. I may
Not have been strong, but now I say
I shall make them all pay today.

The pain I have suffered,
Shall make me become buffered
To feeling any guilt or shame
As I punish them all in this game
And turn the tables on them.

I blacken my eyes and in the night repise
All those I despise
And the torment I have endured
By all their cruel words
Directed against me.

This monster I am
Makes my gun go blam
I'll track them down and make them shout.
When it's all over I'll shoot my brains out
In the Eternal Night

[Special K]

The Council gathered together in the darkened room, their huddled shoulders casting ghastly shadows across the bare, wooden round table in the center of the room. Their black cloaks hid their faces from the light, masking their intentions like a fog creeping across a sullen meadow, devouring its inhabitants.

One of the Council stood out among the rest, his cloak a grisly crimson, his long, gray beard emerging from within its hood down past his chest like a walkway from a wizened mouth whose purpose was to allow a proper place of rest for the profound words which years of study in the Council allowed to come forth with great effort and concentration.

Slowly, his jaw slackened, then opened up. All in the Council hushed and waited to hear what he had to speak. "What of this...silent rogue? Is he a hero, a menace...or a myth...?"

...

"Nobody can say for sure, Wise One. No man alive has ever looked upon his face without dying a most swift death," spoke one of the Council.

...

"Do you suggest...then...that this man of the darkness...does not walk among the living...?"

...

A hush scattered through the council, as if they were scared to even utter what they were thinking. One spoke up. "Some say he is made of the Earth, infused with the spirit of the Hot Springs of Katsui...But others say that him and The Sword are one and the same...forged from the same metal...like a golem..."

...

The Wise One spoke. "I would like...very much...to speak with this one...before death takes me..."

...To Be Continued...

[John Thirten]

Walt sat back on his sofa and watched the TV screen. Reruns of Dallas. He cracked open a can of Horatio Fogwood's Premium Draft and took a loud sip. All was good.

A few minutes in, however, the screen flickered and two little green men appeared. "Attention Earthlings. We have come to your planet from our far off home of Glaxmosis IV. Our intent is conquest. Slavelords are now approaching your major population centers as we speak. Anal probes will be distributed to all--"

Walt changed the channel to Wheel of Fortune. "Goddamn kids, I'm tryin' ta watch Dallas."

[Special K]

Psych and Trinity wandered into an empty building, barely surviving the destruction the town had faced.

"I do not know if its safe in here," Psych murmured.

The roof caved in, and a beam of wood landed across Psych's legs, breaking both of them.

Suddenly, the roof caved in, and before Psych could react a beam of wood landed across his legs, breaking both of them. Psych cried out in agony, as Trinity, who had jumped outside, lifted her head and yelled "Psych! PSYCH!"

Trinity jumped back through the doorway and began throwing pieces of debris out of the way until she reached Psych, breathing heavily and restraining himself from yelling out in pain. "I, I think my legs are broken," he strained.

He couldn't see, but Trinity got a view of his left leg, which had snapped at the femur. The higher end of the bone had broken through the flesh and was exposed. "Oh Psych..." she whispered, failing to hide her sudden concern.

"What...how bad does it look?"

Trinity only shook her head, tears welling in her eyes.

[John Thirten]

My Life, No More
By Pedro Satanica

My life is no more, it was a bore
Everyday living was a chore
The daily grind of trying to find
Any sort of peace of mind
Is no more, for I am dead

My infinite displeasure was the measure
That made me decide to take the measure
Of making my slow crawl to the grave
All the more brave
By doing it myself

In gym Aaron always picked on me
But soon I shall make the jocks see
All the pain they gave to me
By leaving slanderous remarks on my Myspace page for all to see
On the Internet for infinity, because I'm dead and cannot update it

All shall soon know the suffering they dealt
When I hang myself with my belt
On the rafters in my home
Because on my last D&D session the DM wouldn't let me be a gnome
And that just pushed me off the edge, because I wanted to be an illusionist

[Special K]

John Cleaton was a young, headstrong man of average build. Idealistic he was called, for he believed that there were many injustices in the American society that needed to be corrected.

He opened the main entrance to the Griffon Factory, located in Griffon, New Jersey. It was owned and operated by one Joe Griffon, one of the wealthiest local businessmen in the area. Cleaton had long suspected that the factory was using questionable business practices and had gracefully been allowed a full tour of the factory, courtesy of Griffon himself.

The first room he entered was a mostly empty lobby. A young, dirty girl stood in the corner, her head bent down. Her breath was labored, and occasionally she would let out a loud series of coughs. The series would last so long and sound so painful that John could hardly bear to stand there without being able to help in anyway. "Em, do you know where Mr. Griffon is, young girl?"

The girl simply nodded and ran through the only door not the exit in the room. As the door swung closed, John caught whispers of noise from further within the massive building.

After an almost agonizingly long wait, the door's swung open again, and this time a jolly man wearing bright red suspenders and a flannel shirt, in the front pocket of which hung an ornate chain to an equally ornate pocket watch, came bursting through, laughing. "Ai, sorry! Finishing up lunch!" In a quick series of movements he brought a bottle to his lips, finished the remaining fluid inside, and tossed it into a barrel nearby. The sound of the bottle crashing inside indicated it had been used for similar purposes before without having been emptied. "So you're Johnny! Johnny boy!"

"Um, yes, eh. Do you think it is appropriate to be drinking on the job around such young ladies?"

"Whatever, Jack, its almost lunch time. Gotta start early, right?!"

John was taken quite aback, but agreed to continue with the tour despite the fact that Griffon was slightly inebriated. He preferred it even, knowing it would give more ammunition for his eventual report on the factory. He did resent being called Jack.

They walked through the doors and the horrendous odor of disease was the first thing that struck John's nose. The factory stretched for what seemed like 1000 yards, and was comprised entirely of lines of young girls heads bent, sewing. The faint sounds of their fingers moving thread culminated to form a loud whizzing, above which could occasionally be heard sobbing. John stood, eyes wide, mouth gaping open. Speechless.

"Well, this is Griffon factory, whoopdy-freakin'-do. Are we done yet?"

"This...this is unbelievable...look at these poor girls! Do something, let them go!"

"What're ya', nuts? Fuck that."

John started to run between the aisles, before stumbling upon a new realization. The giant room was filled with a low roar, the source of which was coughing coming from almost every single child. "I recognize that cough. Mr. Griffon! I believe many of these girls have whooping cough!"

"Many? Try all, numnuts. Wouldn't have it any other way."

Cleaton was utterly befuddled. Joe Griffon was operating a factory employed entirely by young girls, every single one of which had whooping cough. This was illogical! Immoral!

"Why have you done this, Mr. Griffon?!" John yelled, a burst of anger suddenly overcoming his surprise.

"Why not? They're kids, practically fucking retards." Griffon stretched out his foot and tripped one of the girls walking by, getting a brief chuckle out of it. "Get up, tard. I don't pay you to sit on your ass, hehe." Griffon snickered, walked up to John and playfully elbowed him, "...not that I pay them at all, am I right Jimmy? Up top!"

"My name is John, and this is outrageous! When my report reaches the local government they'll come down on you hard, sir!"

"Look kid, it ain't the 21st century, nobody gives a shit. Hey you! Keep sewing!"

"You must stop this! It is unfair! These girls will die!"

"Will you get the sand out of your vagina? Seriously, you're killing my vibe!"

"I will end this somehow!"

"Listen, Jeff, come here. Maybe this'll change your mind. Take it as a gift from big Griffon." Griffon reached over to a table and unfolded a freshly made pair of bright red suspenders. A single black button fell off as he unfolded it, rendering the right strap useless. It was obviously uneven, and various loose strands of thread stood out everywhere.

"How can you even sell these? They are of the worst quality!"

"Frank, look at whose making them. Tards, Frank. Little stupid girls who cough all the time. What do you expect?"

"What do you expect?"

"Respect, damn it!"

"For what?"

"Get out of my country!"

"America should not stand for this kind of subhuman treatment!"

"Get out, you god damn redcoat!"

A little girl tripped in between the two men and started coughing uncontrollably. Blood started pouring out of her mouth.

John Cleaton chuckled a bit, before saying, "Ew, gross."

Griffon grinned. "Gross indeed."

[John Thirten]

It's Greatly To His Credit


We sail the ocean blue
And our saucy ship's a beauty!
We're sober men and true
And attentive to our duty!
When the balls whistle free
O'er the bright blue sea
We stand to our guns all da-ay
When at anchor we ride
On the Portsmouth tide
We have plenty of time to play.
Ahoy! Ahoy!
When the balls whistle free...
Ahoy! Ahoy!
O'er the bright blue sea...
We stand to our guns, to our guns all day...


Jameson paced down the hall of the backroom of the St. Claire Theatre, clipboard at hand and pen behind his ear. He'd called the police almost a half hour ago but they still had yet to show up. As they say, the show must go on, but when threats of murder are at hand, one must question that saying in particular...


"I am the Captain of the Pinafore,"

-- "And a right good captain, too!"

"You're very, very good,
And be it understood,
I command a right good crew."

"We're very, very good,
And be it understood,
He commands a right good crew."

"Though related to a peer,
I can hand, reef, and steer,
And ship a selvagee;
I am never known to quail
At the fury of a gale,
And I'm never, never sick at sea!"

"What, never?"
"No, never!"
"What, never?"
"Well... Hardly ever!"

"He's hardly ever sick at sea!
Then give three cheers, and one cheer more,
For the hardy Captain of the Pinafore!"

"I do my best to satisfy you all –"

"And with you we're quite content."

"You're exceedingly polite,
And I think it only right
To return the compliment."

"We're exceedingly polite,
And he thinks it only right
To return the compliment."

"Bad language or abuse
I never, never use,
Whatever the emergency;
Though 'Bother it' I may
Occasionally say,
I never use a big, big D!"

"What, never?"
"No, never!"
"What, never?"
"Well... Hardly ever!"

"Hardly ever swears a big, big D!
Then give three cheers, and one cheer more,
For the well-bred Captain of the Pinafore!"


The police officer sat down on the folding chair opposite of Jamesson in the small backstage room.

"So, you're trying to tell me that you recieved a death threat that if you didn't perform the Pirates of Penzance instead tonight, that you'd be killed somehow at the last act?"

"Yes, that's correct."

"Then why didn't you cancel this show?"

"Tonight? Never. I could not tonight. This is my 500th and final performance of this show in this theater. This is my last time directing and I'm damn well seeing to it that my show finishes!"


"I grew so rich that I was sent
By a pocket borough into Parliament.
I always voted at my party's call,
And I never thought of thinking for myself at all."

"He never thought of thinking for himself at all!"

"I thought so little, they rewarded me
By making me the ruler of the Queen's Navy!

Now landsmen all, whoever you may be,
If you want to rise to the top of the tree,
If your soul isn't fettered to an office stool,
Be careful to be guided by this golden rule –"

"Be careful to be guided by this golden rule!"

"Stick close to your desks and never go to sea,
And you all may be rulers of the Queen's Navy!"


Jamesson began pacing again, nervously looking around. Act II had begun, and the show was slowly wrapping up. Jamesson was dedicated to this show. He'd never cancel a performance. Not for anyone, not ever. This was going to be his last time directing eitherway the act closed.

Jamesson suddenly felt his heart beating in his throat; the boatswain's man was on stage! The chorus was behind him! Jamesson gripped his clipboard so hard he felt it might snap. Was that the sound of footsteps? He felt the curtain rustle next to him.


"He is an Englishman!

Fo-o-o-or he himself has said it,
And it's greatly to his credit,
That he is a Hinglishman!"

"That he is an Englishman!"

"For he might have been a Roosian,
A French, or Turk, or Proosian,
Or perhaps Ital-eye-an!"

"Or perhaps Itali-an!"

"But in spite of all temptations
To belong to other nations,
He remains a Hinglishman!
He remains an I-hi-hi-hi-hi-hi-hi-hi-hinglishman!"

"But in spite of all temptations!
To belong to other nations!
He remains an Englishman!
He remains an E-he-he-he-he-he-he-he-englishman!"

[Reventon]

Madlibs by Li'l Billy

Four bottles and seven years ago our handlebar moustaches brought forth on this discotheque, a new dance floor, conceived in Glenfiddich, and dedicated to the proposition that all seafood are created super awesome delicious.

Now we are engaged in a great drive-in movie, testing whether that dance floor, or any dance floor so appropriated and so ruminated, can long endure. We are met on a great bandstand of that drive-in movie. We have come to defecate a portion of that stand, as the final harmonica performance theatre for those who here gave their lives that that dance floor might live. There is altogether too much hairgel that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not defecate -- we can not urinate -- we can not falsify -- this ground. The brave seafood, stagnant and moderately tired, who struggled here, have urinated it, far above our poor laxatives to add or detract. The surplus peanut butter jars will little note, nor long remember that stuff happened with lots of lights and sounds and a moderately good laser effect show that was reviewed favorably in the local newspaper. It is for us the stagnant, rather, to be defecated here to the assortment of bodily fluids which they who drank heavily here have thus far so violently expelled.

It is not really important for us to be here defecated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these moderately weary moluscs we take increased narcotics to that bathroom to which they gave the last full measure of vagina -- that we here highly resolve that these moderately tired souls not have catnapped in hammocks -- that this dancefloor, under a garage full of Scotch, shall have a swig of scotch -- and that a consensus of tavern patrons, of Steve McQueen, by Steve McQueen, for super awesome delicious seafood, shall not perish from the rollerderby place.....thing.

[John Thirten]

Clancy sat down at his bowl of Wheaties and poured a glass of water into it.

He sighed. Being poor sucks.

[Reventon]

The Volkswagen Reich Mk III

Why buy a mere Volvo or Toyota, when you could be driving away in the Fuhrer of the automotive world?

Based on long archived designs of Volkswagen and Porsche founder, Dr Ferdinand Porsche, the Reich Mk III is a return to the iron discipline of true Teutonic engineering. A true rear engined, rear while drive automobile, it is given masses of traction to its drive wheels – wonderful for rolling across the French countryside. Yes, the very world beneath you will surrender to the Reich Mk III’s technical perfection!!!

The Reich Mk III is not only an engineering marvel and a wonder to drive, it is also luxurious beyond belief. It contains one of the most advanced satellite navigation systems on the planet! It is able to map out over seventy million individual routes, each and every one arriving in Poland. Our seat heating has endured rigorous testing at Auschwitz, and our Climate Control Air-conditioning is appropriate even for Siberian Winters.

For a limited time only, the Reich Mk III is available with a 1000 year warranty.

Volkswagen: Aus Liebe zum Lebensraum


*** Also includes front and rear cupholders.

[Special K]

The Rocky Mountains 2

I woke up one morning, almost rolling into the charred remains of last night's fire. This trip had been awhile in the progress, but still most mornings I woke up thinking for a moment that I was in my bed and that if I were getting up this early it meant I had some prior engagement that I most likely I did not want to attend to.

Since beginning on that one road that headed south up in Canada, I had not seen a single human being. I just realized that now, and it sort of startled me. It was refreshing, it seemed like a stark contrast to all that time I spent back in school when every time I'd try to take a walk between the houses late at night crowds of people would pass me and skew my concentration. I hated how, while they might be judging me but were more likely ignoring me, I was distinctly judging them.

After several hours of bike riding, I climbed one final incline before my view, having been blocked by mountains for the past few days, suddenly cleared up, and I could see the brown of the mountains transition to sand. I coasted down the final slope before the advent of the desert, maybe New Mexico or something. I wasn't quite sure, there were no roads in sight, but my compass indicated I was heading dead south, so I continued straight, turning only to follow the decline smoothly before hitting the flats. I worried how well I'd be able to keep up my pace in the sand.

[John Thirten]

"Jenny, there's something I need to tell you." Brad leaned back in his chair and frowned as he spoke. "I... Everything I've told you is a lie."

Jenny's eyes widened as he spoke, her lips trembling.

"When I first met you in our art class I told you that I liked your laugh. I told you that I liked your smile." Brad looked her plainly in her green eyes. "I lied. I'm not saying you don't have a pretty laugh or a great smile, I'm just telling you that I'm not attracted to them. Or to you."

Tears began to form at the edge of Jenny's eyes as her hands began to shake.

"The only thing I told you when I first met you that wasn't a lie was..." Brad looked down at his hands; he couldn't bring himself to look at her as he said this. "... Was that I liked your painting. No... I loved it. When I saw your first sketch for it... It was breath taking. I knew I... I knew I had to have it."

Jenny's jaw dropped as her face began to turn red.

"...I wanted that painting, so I lied. I pretended to like you. I pretended to care about you. I did this... I did all of this so that I could get closer to you and your painting." Brad continued to stare at his hands. "I said anything I need to say to get just a fleeting glimpse of that painting. It's been consuming me for the past three months. The times we had together weren't bad, but they meant nothing to me. You mean nothing to me. Only your painting does."

"Jenny, I seduced you so that I could have your painting."

Jenny's nipples were errect with rage. She began to cry but was equally furious, at both Brad and herself.

Brad stood up from the table and walked towards her easel. "And now that you've finished this painting, I'm taking it." Brad lifted up the painting and opened the door. He turned his head over his shoulder one last time as he looked her in the eye. "Good bye, Jenny... I never loved you."

[Reventon]

The Awakening, Part One

"Boys, I'm gonna have to ask you to move along now."

The sullen skateboarders hunched their shoulders and glowered with all the smouldering, determined wilfullness that is the province of thirteen year olds. For a moment, Bob fealt a fluttering of fear behind his stony expression. What if one of them has a knife? Or a gun? Fuck, what if one of these punks just up and takes a skateboard to my head?

After a long moment, they picked up their boards and fell into line behind the alpha sheep, adopting the same charicature of loose limbed, relaxed arrogance, their callow swaggering only emphasising their ridiculously low slung, baggy trousers and ill fitting shirts.

Bob's shoulders visibily relaxed, followed by the muscles around his eyes. Adults never even managed to elicit a hint of nervousness from him, but a pack of teenagers skating near the fountain caused doubt and fear to rise in him without fail or exception. Not merely because of the sense of danger that came with him, but because of the consequences that could arise. A mall security guard in Virginia had just been imprisoned for fighting back after a pack of goddamn punk kids had jumped him with hockey sticks.

For refusing to be crippled, he was sentenced to ten years in prison. Four years before parole, three before divorce and accompanied visitation. He took the shortcut and hung himself in four days.

Every time Bob had to leave the security of being inside the mall to deal with groups of kids, or ones just like this, his guts would clench in the most godawful ways. At that moment, he could feel the urge building, and quickened his step to the staff lavatories. Squeezing his bulk into the tiny cubicle, he turned and latched the lock in a swift movement, before going to remove his trousers. As his zipper came down, the lights in the toilet area went out, plunging him into darkness and cold concrete.

His cry of frustration was cut off as the door to his cubicle exploded open and he was forced against the toilet, his back jarring painfully on the ceramic. Bony hands closed around his neck, pulling him forward and slamming him headfirst into the wall, then wringing him bodily so that his face was in the toilet bowl. His face was submerged in toilet water and Bob began to flail his limbs in vain, until blackness consumed him.

[Special K]

"Look at it!"

"Its a store-bought pie. Apple. Big fucking deal."

"I'm telling you, it wasn't on my counter this morning. And look at the sell by date on it! Just look, come on!"

"09/2030. Are you sure that is the sell by date and not like a product number or something?"

"Positive."

"Its a typo, then. Again, big fucking deal. Your dumb ass prank isn't going to work on me."

"I'm going to eat a piece. I wonder what'll happen."

"You are dumb."

Joey curiously went up the pie, took a slice, and ate it. Nothing obvious happened.

Grant grabbed the pie and threw it in the trash. "I'm out of here."

"No, wait! As soon as you threw the pie in the trash, my stomach felt empty. The pie, its gone! Its gone again! Its traveling through time!" Grant was already out the door.

Joey ran to the trash can.

...

It was empty. It was very, very creepy.

[John Thirten]

Lightning crackled against the black sky, briefly illuminating the outside of the Taco Bell on 13th Street. A man stepped into the doorway, with water dripping off his heavy raincoat and thick, gray beard. A battered old oil lamp hung from his left hand. His large boots squeeked loudly with each step. His long stride quickly closed the gap between the door and the counter.

A fat, zit riddled teenager was leaning on the counter reading a newspaper. The headline read 'The Whaler Strikes Again!' He put it down and leaned up from the counter. "Whatchya want?" He said, his double chin rippling.

Stone faced was the stranger. He looked the teenager dead in the eye. "Oil. ...I need oil."

The kid looked around a bit and scratched his chin with his fat, stubby fingers. "Uh... 'scuse me?"

The stranger's voice was harsh like gravel. "Oil. I've come for oil."

"Yeah, uh, we don't have oil here, mister. We sell tacos."

A manic glimmer illuminated the man's gray eyes. "Oh, I'm not here to buy anything. ...I'm here to make it..." In a flash the man threw open his heavy raincoat and brandished a harpoon. "Make it from your blubber!"

[Reventon]

Battle of Zama: The Musical

Publius Cornelius Scipio stands tall and resolute, his arms folded over his chest. He surveys his victorious soldiers, the men who had finally broken the military might of Carthage and ended the strategic supremacy of Hannibal Barca. His second in command, Nobus Jobus, rushes behind him eagerly, his normal homosexual effervescence buoyed to supreme levels by the afterglow of victory and being surrounded by sweaty, semi-naked men.

Nobus: Sir, you have done it! Not that there was any doubt, of course, but....you will be a legend from this day, truly!

Scipio: Hmmmm.

Scipio merely continues to stare into the distance.

Nobus: Surely, from this day on, you will be known as Scipio Africanus! Glory in Rome and a place in the histories awaits you, sir!

Scipio: ...perhaps, my friend. But if that is so....then why do I feel as though we truly lost this day?

Nobus: Sir...?

He is clearly baffled

Scipio: Yes, we ended the threat that faced Rome - such could be nothing but a good thing. In defeating Hannibal, we defeated our greatest foe...a worthy foe, such as the world shall never see once more. The tragedy is that in all this, there was never a moment when he faced anything but the full might of Rome, united as we were...and as we still are. We faced a man laid low by the schemes of ....politicians...

*Scipio Africanus spits the word out*

Scipio: ...and as such, a man who fought not only the greatest empire the world shall see, and defeated us near comprehensively, but who also battled a series of limitations that would have crippled any other general. We have laid low a man whose name will sing in history's pages long after mine has faded to silence, and to say such causes me no grief, Nobus.

Nobus bows his head as the band picks up the tune for the Doors' "The End", and Scipio lowers his hands by his side as he begins to sing....


This is the end
Beautiful friend
This is the end
My only friend, the end


In the background, Nobus comes to attention and salutes, fist over his heart. Several of the nearby extras do the same

Of our elaborate plans, the end
Of last triarii stands, the end
No Trasimane surprise, the end
I'll never look into your eyes...again

Tears in their eyes, the infantry begin to sigh a background accompaniment to Scipio's throbbing, sorrowful tenor

As an exile, can you be
So limitless and free?
Desperately in need...of some...stranger's hand
In a...desperate land

Lost in a Roman...wilderness of pain
And all the children are insane
All the children are insane
Waiting for the summer rain, yeah

This is the end
Beautiful friend
This is the end
My only friend, the end

It hurts to set you free
But you'll never follow me
The end of laughter and soft lies
The end of nights we tried to die

This is the end

With a solitary tear running down his face, Cornelius Publius Scipio Africanus makes his way through his camp, watching the festivities. Though his sorrow is marked, it is clear he does not begrudge his men their merriment. Nobus Jobus quickly joins in with the other jocular homosexuals in a spirited song and dance number, short tunics flittering about and "swords" bumping and grinding in very unmilitary places

The Carthage soldiers sing in hell,
Doo-da, Doo-da
The Carthage soldiers die quite well
Oh, de doo-da day

Goin' to raze all night
Goin' to raze all day
I'll get my money in a looting riot
Somebody's sure to get maped

At this point, the mood overwhlems Scipio, who breaks out a pair of spoons and begins playing them on his thighs, and on the helmets of drumming soldiers - who are indeed drumming by using the severed heads of Carthaginians as bongos.

Oh, the big old palace and the long concourse,
Doo-da, doo-da
Gonna loot and pillage my way across,
Oh, de doo-da day

Goin' to raze all night
Goin' to raze all day
I'll get my money in a looting riot,
Somebody's sure to get maped

I went down there with my helm caved in,
Doo-da, doo-da
I came back home with a pocket full of tin
Oh, de doo-da day

Goin' to raze all night
Goin' to raze all day
I'll get my money in a looting riot,
Somebody's sure to get maped

[Special K]

"Mr. President..."

"What is it? I'm so incredibly busy trying to properly run this country that I only have time for important news."

"Sir, we've just received word that both Taco Bell and Chipotle have gone out of business within the hour."

"...Who is behind this?"

"Sir, our industry has not responded to Mexico's taco embargo as readily as we thought it would."

"This is not good. Taco Bell and Chipotle are major contributors to our party. Our corporate interests must be protected."

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

"Good evening, nation. This is your President speaking, from the White House. As some of you may know, Mexico, in an act of protest against our involvement in nation building in Latin America, has refused to ship tacos to our country for the past month. In response, I attempted to galvanize our industry to nationalize taco production.

"Unfortunately, this measure has not been enough. So, I regretfully have sent to Congress my proposal for a declaration of war on Mexico. I believe that it is in our nation's best interests if our Armed Forces protect our citizens from threats to our nations liberty, way of life, and dietary habits. I ask that you give our Men in uniform your full support."

[Reventon]

"I'm telling you honey, it's just not right for them to look at marriage. We just don't know whether or not she's after his money!"

"Come on now, dear, Bruce's judgement isn't that bad, and Jan seemed like a decent enough woman when we met her."

"You can't tell me that any woman would want to consider marriage after losing a husband of so many years... it just doesn't seem right."

"Look, even if you are right...really...so what? Bruce is 82."

"And she's 72! The gold digging hussy."

"Hey! That's pretty damn unfair."

"Well she-"

"Look, the point is....how long's he going to live?"

"That's not the point at all!"

"Yes it is. The guy's lonely...he lost his wife of fifty years after she spent the last four in a damn home due to being completely ruined by Alzheimers. Can you really blame him for just wanting someone around, even if her intentions aren't pure?"

"But to marry her....and if he dies, she pretty much gets the lot!"

"So what? He doesn't have any kids, anyway."

"....hmmmm..."

"...what?"

" ...actually he does."

"Say what now?!?"

"He had a son out of wedlock pretty early on in his marriage."

" ...well fuck. I never would have picked him for it. Must be why he wants to get married fast."

"What?"

"She's an old fashioned girl and he's a horny old bastard, from the sounds."

"Ugh!!!"

[Special K]

Two men sat across from each other in the Eastern Mystic Sun Tavern, the thick smoke and low light concealing from view the entirety of their faces. The man on the left appeared uncomfortable, his shifty eyes flirting from side to side constantly, surveying the inhabitants of the Tavern as a wealthy man spies upon the beggars and miscreants that lie on the streets searching for a target for their forced crimes of survival.

The other man was much larger, and upon his face was a thick, black beard. A large scar tore through his face, crossing his eye and giving him a constant grimace. He held in his hand a parchment and a small bag of coins. "This comes from the Shogun, then?" he said, his voice gruff, barely concealing his love of battle and glory.

"Who it comes from is not important. What is important is that the job is completed," the first man answered.

"What if the rumors are true, and that he successfully kills the Shogun?"

"ENOUGH! The Shogun has nothing to do with this!" The shifty-eyed man's face suddenly glowed with anger, his snivelly face glowing with a previously unseen passion. "Believe me. Rumors of the Shogun's death may or may not be true, but this issue does not concern him. The Shogun has played his part, and frankly my employers care not if he survives. What matters to them, and therefore to you, is the life of this Silent One. He is your only concern. This gold is yours as a sign of good faith, let all of your...colleagues...know of this bounty. Proof of the this Shadow Warrior's death will make my employers very happy..."

...

...

Two tables away sat a man clothed in a noble blue, eavesdropping on the conversation held by the two men whose intentions were clearly borne of an ill purpose. Young Takanami did not know this Silent One but felt in his heart that he did not deserve death. Takanami's conscience guided his actions, and his heart was youthful and pure. He felt, though he could not determine why, that he should find this Shadow man, and warn him of the fate others were doling out to him.

...

To Be Continued...

[John Thirten]

Today was going to be just like any other day. Then, without warning, the red phone went ringing. And the red phone always means trouble. The red phone means it's time for more...

ACTIONS OF ADVENTURE!
A WINCHESTER L'BOMBE STORY


"Winchester!" the Comissioner shouted over the red phone. "Communist rebels have seized Airforce One and have kidnapped the President of the United States of America! They're planning on using the president as a bargaining piece to spread the toxic tentacles of global Communism. You must stop this situation at any cost!"

Winchester bit down on his cigar and ran his hard hands through his blond hair. "Looks like I'm needed again..." he growled.

WINCHESTER L'BOMBE
IN

--DEATH MARX--
OR

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MISTER PRESIDENT!

Winchester kicked open the door to his fantastically large SUV as he parked infront of Idlewild International Airport. "Well," Winchester growled as he put on his aviators, "Looks like it's time to save the free world..." He pulled back the slide lock on his Colt. "...Again."

A mysterious breeze blew across the tarmac as Winchester raced towards the grounded Airforce One on the back of one of those go kart-like things the guys who load baggage into airplanes use. Powerfully and suddenly, the sudden screeching sound of a megaphone turning on echoed across the tarmac.

"Do not come any closer, American pig-dog!" came the bellowing of the Communist rebel leader from the plane. "If you do, we shall kill your president!" The Communist leader was standing in the doorway of the plane, holding the president in front of him like a human shield, with a 9mm semi automatic Glock 19 with an extended magazine inserted into it with a black plastic finish pressed to the president's temple.

Winchester's walkie-talkie clicked on. "Bzzt. Winchester, you need to use any means possible to eliminate the Communist Threat! The Communists are going to use the president as leverage to turn our nation of hardworking, God-fearing citizenry into an atheist welfare state! You can't let that happen! Over. Bzzt."

Winchester growled, "Any means necessary to neutralize the Communist threat, eh?"

Winchester pulled out his gun and shot the president in the head.

"Now you have no leverage, you Communist rebels," Winchester growled. The Communist leader was aghast: Winchester was right! SWAT snipers promptly shot all the Communists dead.

Winchester ran his hand through his hair as he turned dramatically in the direction of the Commissioner. "Looks like another situation saved. Now go find the Vice President... It's time to swear him in."

THE END

















...........? Or is it?!!!

[Special K]

Chyun Sin, the wife of the pure hearted Takanami, sat in front of the fire, whose leaping flames flashing hues of red and yellow warmed the small room, holding at bay the bitter chill of the night air. In her hands she held a needle, which she weaved effortlessly through a bundle of cloth which was to become a robe, a gift to her righteous husband, a display of affection that would only confirm her unending love and devotion to their bond of life.

A knock came at the door. Chyun Sin approached the door and opened it, reproaching slightly from the wind which sprung forth. Standing there waiting was her neighbor, a younger, tall man, with short, sharp hair, and eyes that gleamed with an inexplicable anxiousness. "Hello, Chyun Sin..." he said, shifting from one foot to the next. "Takanami is not here, I see?" he said, a mischievous smile coming over his face.

"No, he is not, but I think you should leave..."

Chyun Sin went to close the door but the man stuck his firm arm in the way, and forced himself inside. "I've watched you for too long without taking action, Chyun Sin. I think its time I made you mine..."

"No!" Chyun Sin screamed, but she could not stop him from forcing himself upon her...

...

...

Takanami came home that night to find his one, his only, sobbing on the bed, blood covering much of her face. "My beauty! What has happened to you this night?!"

"It was...it was our neighbor..."

"No! He will pay for this violation of our trust! I will take revenge on him, as a show of my undying love for you, Chyun Sin!" With that he unsheathed his katana blade and stuck it in the ground, letting out a mighty cry.

...


...To Be Continued...

[John Thirten]

"Ha ha ha. You punative earthling children desire to play tag with me?" Ulan-Bator laughed as he stood in the middle of the playground, his bloated reptilian head bouncing in his spacesuit with each loud chuckle.

School children ran in terror as death rays scorched the slides and toppled the swings. "Then it is tag we shall play!"

[Special K]

The Desert

My first impression during my time spent in the American Southwest was about the size of my abdomen, and left in the sand as soon as I reached the bottom of the last mountain of the Rockies and my front tire sunk into a small dune. I simply shot over my handle bars and landed with a thud, my face about half a foot away from a cactus patch.

I took a few seconds to stand up, wipe the sand off my clothes, and move my glance from my fallen bicycle to the desert's horizon that stretched indefinitely to the south of me, and back again. I decided I would walk along next to my bike for awhile, hoping that eventually I'd reach that sort of red, rocky desert that I associated with things like the Grand Canyon or those weird plateau things that stuck out in the middle of nowhere that I had seen in pictures. I oddly remembered this one time when I was younger, I had a brand new bike that I had just purchased with my own money, and I was hopping up and down curbs with some friends. Then, on one go up the curb, the back tire slammed into the concrete and blew. It was ok, I guess, though I was mad. But I was only a block away from the house, and the walk would only take five minutes or so. But later, either that day or within that week, I'm not quite sure, I was riding my bike near the library and the same thing happened. I was definitely at least fifteen minutes away from my house, which I suppose isn't much to me now. But at the time, the walk along those busy streets with my bike with a flat tire felt like I was climbing the hill to be crucified, and I could swear everyone was looking at me from their cars.

Later I found out that shard of metal was sticking inward from my bike's rim, and I never had problems with the tires anymore. Anyways, it was odd that I remembered that because those friends of mine moved away to Hawaii and I didn't really end up using that bike as much as I thought I would when I bought it. As I grew up I just started walking everywhere. I guess that made my current trip seem a little ironic, but I couldn't be expected to walk as far as I wanted to go.

I found I could cut open cacti and suck water from them. Whenever I found more than I was thirsty for I'd cut off portions and carry them with me in my backpack. The sand was rough.

At times I thought I could hear rattling, but I think my mind was tricking me. I was scared that I'd step on a rattlesnake. I found a small cave to stay the night in, but I didn't sleep much. My eyes had difficulty focusing because the contrast between the fire I had made and the darkness confused them, and so everything beyond a few feet of me faded into dark, moving shapes that I assumed were things that could only hurt me were they a little closer.

[John Thirten]

Zog leaned over the table and stared at Excelsior. "Can you see it? I can see it! I can see it burning in your delicious blue eyes! You have that flame of genius that animates true men of greatness like you and I. But you and I are not so different, are we not? You are an artist much as I. Your medium dazzles the eye with delight on screens with film. But I am an artist of my own rights! The art of the genome! I have bred the perfect battle-animal, or as we in the industry call then, battamals. Behold!"

King Zog clapped his hands twice and a large television screen lowered from an opening in the rafters above them. Zog leaped to his feet as the screen flickered on. "Pumas! With the strength of a panther, and the wits of a mountain lion! What doors could keep closed on these? None! Nothing! Nothing can halt their feline-ical battamalism! Never!"

Zog fell into fits of euphoric delight, constantly mouthing the word "Yes!" over and over while the screen depicted a screaming man being attacked by ordinary looking pumas. As they dragged their quarry off screen, Zog turned his face and stared at Excelsior, who merely returned a polite smile with his hands folded on his lap.

The silence continued for a long time.

"Who was that man on the screen?"

Zog turned back to the now empty TV and laughed loudly. "Oh, you need not worry yourself with his plight. He is just another former arch nemesis." While chuckling, Zog took a long swig from his goblet. He began coughing loudly.

Almost a minute of loud hacking passed before, red eyed and with a soar sounding voice, Zog muttered, "Now, where were we?"

Excelsior scratched his beard. "I believe you were coughing."

"Ah. Touché my delightful friend. Your wit is delectable! But be wary, for the tongue is a beast, and if it is let loose, it devours. Ho ho!"

Excelsior blinked a few times. "Wit?"

Zog took a long sip from his goblet.

[Special K]

The bomber plane lowered its altitude, swooping in towards its target. "We'll be at our destination in 2 minutes," the pilot communicated to the men who stood in the plane's drop bay.

"Roger that, opening launch bay doors," replied a young soldier, anxious to help his countries cause. Next to him stood his superior, an older, grizzled gentleman who cared for his men, his country, and his orders. And his orders were clear.

"One minute."

"Sir..." the young soldier asked to his superior, surprised. He had suddenly realized a fatal flaw in their operation. "Sir! We have a problem!" He pointed all around the drop bay, waving his arms. "We have no bombs, sir! Our mission will fail for sure, what are we going to do?"

"Bombs?" The old man smiled. "Bombs were never a part of this mission."

The pilot radioed. "5...4...3...2...1..."

"The mission," the old man continued, "was you." The orders were clear. He took a step forward and pushed the young soldier out of the drop bay, then watched him drop to his death in the middle of the Indian Ocean. "Lets turn her around. We're going home, boys."

[John Thirten]

The sound of hydrolic pistons shifting hummed over the prairie. Ferns bellowed and rustled and pines began to sway. A red light flashed in the cockpit and the helicopter lurched off the ground and slowly accelerated forward, running rapidly over the sea of ferns below.

The sun outlined four or five large animals slowly moving along the horizon. The computer locked on the targets. 5... 4... 3... 2... 1... A scaly hand pressed down on the trigger. Twin missiles streaked towards the slowly grazing tenontosaurus ahead as the deinonychus raced forward in their gunship.

The early Cretaceous just got a lot more dangerous.

[Hastur T. Fannon]

Robert pulled back the dressing and we all recoiled from the smell.

“I'll get more morphine and the bone saw,” said Cathy, leaving the room to pick up more supplies from Bradley-6.

On the table, the patient groaned in his fever dream. His friend, the self-appointed “doctor” to this tiny Haven was pale and panicky, well beyond the limit of this knowledge.

“Well Dwayne,” said Robert, “You let this wound become infected, probably with the bacterium clostridium perfringens. Myronecrosis has set in leading to sepsis, toxemia and that funny smell. It'll have to come off.” The last was said in a rather strange imitation of an English accent.

“You're kidding right?” Dwayne looked like he was about to faint.

“Nope,” Robert pointed to the sore in the calf, the edges red and inflamed, the interior the color and texture of apple sauce, “You can practically see that thing growing. If we act now I can save the knee and there's enough uninfected skin to make a good stump. Otherwise I give him twenty-four hours, max.”

“Ok...“ Dwayne said, uncertainly.

“Now come round here and I'll show you how to apply a groin tourniquet. Oh yes, and in the immortal words of Claudius Galen, father of my profession,” Robert grinned evilly, “'Am I going to get paid for this?'”

[John Thirten]

Tom sat at his desk, rapping the tabletop with his pen. His apartment was small and dingy, he could barely fit the table into the room and it only seated one other person. Roger took a slow sip from his coffee.

Sirens raced down the street below. Tom's hand began to shake and sweat started forming on his forehead. Roger set down his mug on the table and leaned back in his chair.

Gunshots rang out in the streets. Tom's eye's dialated and he let out a yelp. Roger stood up, leaned over the table, and slapped Tom across the face. Tom began to wimper and he drew laborous breath.

"You can't get Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder from playing laser tag." Roger sat back down in his chair with a thump. "Jackass."

Faintly, Tom thought he could hear the words "game over" rebounding in his ears.

[Hastur T. Fannon]

"Darlings! The light of your lives has returned."

Every eye in the bar turned towards the newcomer, a very tall, very muscular, but still very elegant lady wearing the first cocktail dress I'd seen since the Rising and her hair piled up on her head like Audrey Hepburn. Somehow she even managed to make the pistol on her hip look like an accessory. Sam would tell me later with some jealously that it was a genuine percussion cap Colt Navy Revolver - it's typical of the Knights of the SCA to use a weapon for which they could make the ammunition.

Then I looked again. Oh.

"Lady Sally!" exclaimed the barman, putting down the glass he was polishing and starting to mix a complicated-looking cocktail, "I didn't know you were back in town."

"Just got in tonight, dear," replied the drag-queen, picking her way through the tables.

She passed by a table of Marauders that'd we'd tagged as potential troublemakers - all stubble and bad hygiene. One of them must have made a comment - I was too far away to hear - because Sally stopped dead, grinned evilly and turned to face them.

"That's quite right, darling, but unfortunately for you I don't date outside my species."

Sam slipped one hand beneath the table. Greg noticed this and glared at him, muttering "This isn't our fight." Karl had already fished his earplugs from his breast pocket and was inserting them into his ears. He still insisted on using them, despite our ribbing.

By the time I'd taken my attention off my family, one of the Marauders was on his feet and throwing a punch at Sally. "She" pivoted easily out of the way, parrying outside and swiveling to put a punch in his kidneys that would leave him pissing blood for a week. Sweeping his pint out of the way before he collapsed onto it, "she", oh what the heck, she, drained it during her next two steps towards the bar. Without looking backwards, she tossed the tankard over her shoulder where it bounced off her attacker's head. Spluttering abuse, he started to draw his pistol.

I winced and jerked my head back as Sam's pistol discharged not two feet from my face, the muzzle flash leaving spots on my retina. A single bullet entered the thug's forehead, leaving a neat entry hole, but splattering blood and grey matter into his comrade's drinks. In unison they looked at Sam's guns, up at his impassive face and then down to the tin star on his chest.

"He was about to shoot the lady in the back," said the Lawman, "Does anyone have any objections?"

No-one did. The marauders carted the dead body outside and didn't return. The gentle hum of conversation returned to the bar as Lady Sally made her way over to our table.

"Thank you sir," she said to Sam, "May I buy you a drink?"

"Actually," Karl stammered to his feet, trying to simultaneously remove his earplugs and fumble in his ammunition pouch for currency, "C-can I buy you one?"

Lady Sally put her head to one side, sizing Karl up, "Of course you may sir," she said after a moment, "I'll have a 'Headless Prom Queen'; Derek should just have finished making it."

Karl blushed furiously as Sally offered her arm to him and they walked to the bar together.

I think someone's in love.

[John Thirten]

Herbert stared Clinton in the eye. A faint tremor ran down his jaw. He clutched the handle in his sweaty grip. Then came the ball.

Ping. Pong. Ping. Pong.

It was relentless, unimaginable, the speed was a blur of white fluidity. Ping pong was a thinking man's game. Herbert prodded, tested, explored the weaknesses of Clinton's defenses, hunting for the chink in his armor. Slowly, confidently, Herbert noticed a flaw in how Clinton held his paddle. His top-spin wasn't at the speed it needed to be to prevent a sudden move directly to Clinton's center. Now it was time to strike.

Herbert pinged to Clinton's pong. A rush of adrenaline flowed through Herbert's body. He raised his paddle up. Now was his moment of glory--

No! Herbert crashed to the ground in seering pain, clutching his right hand. Two medics raced forward, throwing open a medical bag. The referee dashed forward, obvious confusion on his face. A medic barked something at him in a low voice as they carried out Herbert on a stretcher.

The referee turned around. The audience was in an uproar of chaos and anarchy. He raised his hands and the stadium fell silent. An omnious feeling of destiny struck the referee as he stood there, before those gasping throngs. Now would be the moment he would forever be etched in their minds for. Now would be the moment he told them the tragic truth.

"Clinton wins this round by technical default. Herbert has been withdrawn due to a severe case of paddle-finger."

Not an eye was dry. Truly, was there nothing sacred in Babylon?

[Hastur T. Fannon]

I've just had to give Emily "The Talk". You know? The one about where babies come from? I think I handled it better than my mother even though I had much harder questions to answer.

There's no real privacy in a Bradley. I knew it was inevitable that the children would have seen something, but it was still a surprise when Emma asked, "Does it hurt when Daddy puts his pee-pee inside you, Mommy?"

I knew at once that she'd been talking to Lita, the feral kid that we're attempting to socialize. There were two clues, the first was her calling it a "pee-pee" (we've always used penis and vagina) and the second in the idea that Greg might ever hurt me. I laid aside the rifle we'd been cleaning, pulled her onto my lap and held her tightly while I searched for the right words.

"No honey, it feels really good. It's called making love and it's how grown-ups start making a baby."

"Then why do you make those noises?"

I do not make noises. Early on in our relationship Greg commented on how quiet I was during sex. I just told him that I wasn't a porn star and he shut up, but she's obviously heard something and it needs explaining. I looked down into those beautiful green eyes - Greg's eyes - and prayed for inspiration.

"You know how when something tastes or feels really good and you go 'um-mm'?"

She nodded.

"It's like that. We're letting each other know how good it feels."

She wasn't convinced. "But Lita says that it hurts."

I knew it. "And she's right. If you're too young or if the man doesn't love you it can hurt a lot. But if you're a grown up and you love each other like your Mom and Dad love each other it's the best feeling in the world."

She thought some more, her expression much too serious to belong on the face of a little girl. "Is that why you killed those men? Because they hurt Lita?"

"That's right, princess. And because they wanted to hurt you and they wanted to hurt me."

"It really doesn't hurt?"

"No honey, it really doesn't” Incidentally, Diary, this is not a breach of my rule about never lying to my children. Getting shot hurts. Pulling Greg inside me so he didn't chicken out when he encountered an unexpected barrier was nothing and a five year-old girl doesn't need to know about her hymen.

"Does this mean you're going to have another baby, Mommy?"

"Maybe. Making love doesn't start one every time."

"Can we have a little brother?"

"We'll see, honey. You can't tell until the baby's born."

"Ok, Mommy."

With that we went back to reassembling the M4. My mother used to tell me that monsters didn't exist. Emma knows that isn't true, but she knows that we kill monsters - both the living and the dead. Hopefully that'll be enough.

Now I've got to find where Lita has hidden herself and have this talk all over again.

This is one truly fucked-up world

[Hastur T. Fannon]

(ok, that last one might have been over the line for this thread, but since we've been discussing "The Talk" in the other thread, I felt I had to pull it out)

[Hastur T. Fannon]

“Well lookie-here,” said Buck loudly, causing us all to look in his direction. He was part-way through field-dressing a cow that had wandered too close to the camp and something had caught his attention, “Take a look at this, Emma.”

Insatiably curious about anything gory, Emma ran over to her uncle and crouched down. Buck gestured with his knife, “Now what's that?” he asked.

Emma peered at the organ, “The liver?” she guessed.

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“The liver,” Emma replied, more definitely, “'Good eatin'”

“Except that this one isn't. Can you tell me why?”

Emma looked again looked a bit closer and let out a squeal. Finally we'd found something that made her squeamish.

“Exactly. Those little beasties are the reason why we never, ever drink unfiltered water. You don't want one of those living in your belly, do you?”

Emma shook her head, mirroring Buck. I'm so proud of my family.

[Special K]

Three weeks ago I got offered a job that was incredibly high paying. I could've been rich.

Two weeks ago I got asked out on a date by an incredibly attractive woman. I could've gotten laid.

One week ago I got invited to a party by a group of people I always wanted to be friends with. I could've been popular.

I turned them all down. Happiness is only so fleeting when the overbearing guilt of a lack of happenstances is the only thing I feel. I won't be tempted to turn from the path, I think.

[GhostWolf69]

I'm no good until I get hit the first time.

Tony says I'm a slow starter.

But once I get going, nothing can stop me.

I never quit. Never.

I looked across the ring. I'm fighting a black guy tonight. Bosco, I think his name is.

It doesn't matter what his name is.

This is the first time I saw him. They don't let me face the other guy at the weigh-ins anymore. Sometimes, I go after them right there. I have to save it for the fight.

He's a little bigger than me, but he's still inside the weight limit.

He's younger than me, too.

But I've been around a lot longer. You can see it on my face. And all over my body. Experience counts for a lot in these fights. You can't tell if a fighter's any good until he gets nailed the first time, that's what Tony says. Then you find out about his heart.

They say it's in my blood, fighting.

But I really only do it for Tony.

I love him.

He's been with me since I was real little. He gives me everything.

I train the old way. Special food. No sex before a fight.

They say that's why we started fighting. For sex. To have our pick of the bitches.

But I could have sex even if I didn't fight. I fight for Tony.

I work out all the time. Tony even built a special treadmill for me, to build up my endurance.

If you get tired in these fights, you lose.

I never get tired.

I watched the black guy across from me, waiting for the signal to start. I watched his eyes. He wasn't afraid.

They never are.

Down here, the purse is nothing . . . all the money comes from betting.

Tony always bets on me.

I'd never let him down.

I'd die first.

I'm not afraid of dying. It's just sleep. And you don't wake up.

I faced the black guy. Tony rubbed the back of my neck, getting it loose.

The crowd screamed.

We bumped once and the black guy came at me.

He was quicker than me. I took his first shot right in the chest. The fire exploded in me and I tried to tear his head off.

He went down, but he got right back up.

The referee separated us a couple of times when we locked together, but they never stop these fights.

It was a long time before I took him out.

Tony carried me out of the ring.

I couldn't see Tony, my eyes were torn.

The other guy hurt me real deep.

I was going to sleep.

I heard Tony crying.

I felt his hand on my head.

Patting my bloody fur for the last time.

/wolf

[Hastur T. Fannon]

"There's three sorts of women, sluts, bitches and sluts that act like bitches. Don't you dare look at me like that, Becka, I'm just telling you how it is."

"Cindy's a slut. That's not an insult, that's a description. See how quickly she got her nails into Buck? She's got what she wants - someone to protect and provide for her - and he's got what he wants; a warm, wet hole that makes squeaking noises. And good for her - good for both of them.

"You're a bitch. You've got this huge, aggressive, pseudo-masculine front. You need to prove that you're stronger, tougher and better than any man, because otherwise they might try to rape you. As a survival strategy it's not a bad one, but there are worse things than being raped, trust me, and being a bitch is lonely."

"Me? I know what I am. I like to fuck and I like to be fucked, but always it's on my terms and I'll kill any man who tries to take what isn't on offer. Maybe some day I'll find 'the one', but I don't think he exists. Or she exists. Hey! Don't knock it until you've tried it, Princess Pollyanna."

"Right now, we have two problems. You're an unattached girl in a community of single guys and horny men are basically vagina-seeking missiles. They'll start competing with each other to get your attention like a troupe of monkeys. Now if you want to stay single can teach you how to handle this, but you might have to kill one of them before they all get the message that you're off limits."

"Yeah, I didn't think you'd like that idea."

"Our second problem is more serious. We need a CO. I'm a loner, Buck's a follower, Sam, bless him, has all the strategic instinct of a badly house-trained labradoodle and of the rest only Greg has the relevant training - and Greg's a basketcase. I don't know exactly what happened in that hospital, but I can guess. He's lost all confidence in his skills as a leader and leadership is all about confidence. He needs a serious ego boost, he needs someone he can fight for and he needs to get laid."

"Yes Becka, that's exactly what I mean. I'd do it, but I know that long-term it wouldn't work out between Greg and I. You like him, he likes you and this is the closest thing you're going to get to the white wedding you promised your mother."

"Now you can stay inside that shell, let Greg develop a fully-fledged deathwish and I'll do my best to turn this mess of individuals into a fighting force. Maybe things will work out for us, maybe they won't."

"Or you can go to Greg, tell him you need someone to hold you, stick his hand on your tit and let nature take it's course. Let him make you into a woman - yes Becka, I can tell - and turn him back into a man."

"It's your choice, but, for the good of the team you'd better make it quickly."

[GhostWolf69]

-1-

When we were all little kids together, Bobby was the bravest. He was the first to go from one end of the Projects to the other over the rooftops. I remember following him, all of us in a line. The last jump was the worst—the wind was blowing hard and there wasn't room to get a long running start. Bobby lit a cigarette and took a drag. Then he threw the pack over to the other side. He took another drag and snapped the cigarette over the side of the building.

"I'll have a smoke wherever I land," he said to us.

"It's too far, Bobby," Rodney said.

"I don't care," Bobby laughed.

You could see he didn't. He went over the gap between the rooftops like it was nothing, soaring.

Everybody cheered. Nobody followed.

If I'd known how to voice such things then, I would have said that I loved him.

-2-

Me and Bobby were ten then. We were born almost on the same day. Bobby would stay at my house sometimes. Sometimes he would even tell other kids we were brothers.

He was very brave, but he was cruel and ugly too. He threw a cat off the roof once. He liked to set fires too.

Even when we were real little kids, he was like that. You know how kids have their games ... their superstitions? Step on a crack, break your mother's back? Bobby saw Joey skipping down the sidewalk one day and he called him a girl for it. Joey got mad, but he didn't want to fight Bobby. Nobody did. Anyway, he explained it to Bobby ... he wasn't skipping like a goddamned girl, he was just making sure his mother was safe.

Bobby said it was okay. He even said he was sorry for calling Joey a girl.

-3-

My mother was giving me cocoa the next morning like she always does when it's cold.

"I saw your pal Bobby early this morning, Jason, when I first got up. He was practicing."

"Practicing what, Mom?"

"I don't exactly know ... It looked like hopscotch to me."

Bobby hadn't said anything to me about practicing. I knew he wouldn't play hopscotch ... Only girls did that.

I couldn't sleep that night. I know Mom always got up real early. It wasn't even light outside sometimes. She had to do everything in the house before she went to work.

I was up even before Mom the next morning. I looked out the window but we were up too high to see much of anything. I put on my coat and went downstairs. Bobby was there, all right, just like Mom said. He was running down the sidewalk back and forth, but he was running funny, like he was drunk.

"What are you doing, Bobby?" I asked him, stepping out.

His face got all red. For a minute, I thought he was going to come at me.

"It's a secret, Jason."

I walked over to him. "Tell me, Bobby. You know I'd never tell. You're my pal."

"You'd tell," he said.

I didn't say anything—I just walked away. The wind was cold—it made my eyes water.

I heard him coming after me but I didn't even turn around. I felt his hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Jace."

"I never told, Bobby. Not about anything. Not even about the cat ... "

"Shut up. I know. I said I was sorry, didn't I? Stop crying."

"I'm not crying!"

"You are!"

I punched him in the face and then he did come at me. I was doing good for a while but he was stronger and finally he got me down.

"You give?" He held his fist right over my face.

"No!"

But the punch never came. He got off me. After a while, I got up.

"It was a tie," Bobby said. "Even up. Okay?"

"Okay," I said. "You want to come up for some cocoa?"

-4-

Upstairs, my mother looked at my clothes and asked me what happened. Bobby told her some other kids jumped us and we fought them.

"I don't like you to fight, Jason," Mom said. "But it's good you and Bobby stick up for each other."

She washed my face and put orange stuff on the cuts. She washed Bobby's face too. He didn't try to stop her.

After Mom went to work, we had some cookies and then we went in my room so I could put on my school clothes.

"Jason ... "

"What?"

"You know what I was doing this morning?"

"You don't have to ... "

"I want you to know. I want somebody to know. You're my pal, like you said. You know what I was doing out there? Trying to step on every single fucking crack in the sidewalk."

It was the meanest thing I ever heard anyone say.

-5-

Later, I asked my mother. She told me it was just a stupid superstition—it didn't mean anything. "Bobby could step on every sidewalk in the city, honey," she told me, "and it wouldn't break his mother's back. It's just a saying, not a truth."

Me and Mom lived alone together. My Dad was killed. In the war. The stupid war, my Mom always called it. Bobby used to tell the other kids that his father was killed in the war too. Right next to mine. But he told me that he didn't know who his father was. His mother always had men living with her. One after the other. I asked Mom once, why she didn't have boyfriends like Bobby's mother. Mom said maybe she would, someday. Right now, she didn't have time for that stuff.

-6-

Bobby started to hate queers about the same time I knew I was one.

There was a place near the Projects, right near the river. We called it the Pier, but no boats came there anymore.

Fags would meet down there. There were some buildings, empty now. Sometimes they even did it outdoors. If you snuck up real quiet, you could see them.

Bobby and I were watching one night.

"I hate them," he whispered. Like a snake's hiss.

I said I did too, but I could feel things in me and I knew I didn't. I couldn't.

I was scared, but I knew I would try someday

-7-

It was just past our fourteenth birthdays when Bobby came over to my place one night. He said he had something real good for us to do. In the basement, we all got together. Seven of us. Bobby passed out the stuff we had stored down there: bicycle chains, tire irons, a couple of sawed off baseball bats.

We thought it was the Uptown Tigers coming down here again, but Bobby said no, it wasn't that. We were going to drive the fags out of our turf. Stomp them down to the Village, where they belonged.

We marched over to the Pier like an army. They ran when they saw us but it was too late for a couple of them. We busted them up good.

-8-

Joey told on us. He didn't mean to, but he was talking to his girl. The police came to the block and they took us all in.

My mother got me alone in the station house and she asked me if it was true. I tried to lie to her but it was no good. She didn't hit me or anything. She sat down and lit a cigarette. Her hands were shaking.

"I am so ashamed of you," she said.

I didn't care what happened to me after that.

-9-

We all went to court. My lawyer had long hair. Bobby said he was a fag. Everybody said they were there, at the Pier, but they didn't do anything. Except Bobby. He said he bashed the queers himself. Both of them. He told the judge, they didn't belong in his neighbourhood ... they made him sick.

We all got Probation, except Bobby. They sent him away, upstate. I took a bus up to see him once. He was happy to see me, but he said not to come again.

"It don't look good, Jason," he said. "Having a man visit you, you understand?"

I didn't understand, but I told him I'd do what he wanted.

-10-

It was almost two years before he came back. He was the same, I guess, but quieter.

Bobby never came back to school. I finished up, finally. Mom wanted me to go to college, so I enrolled at City. But I never liked it much.

Bobby went to prison for stabbing a man. The next week, I came out. I told Mom first. She was like I knew she would be. She gave me a kiss. My lover was outside, waiting downstairs. He said he wanted to go with me. In case Mom didn't take it like I meant it. But Mom said to bring him up. We all talked together.

-11-

I kind of staggered through college, passing my courses, but none of the things my friends wanted to do were for me. I could tell that things just didn't feel right.

I was walking up Christopher Street with Dave when I saw Bobby the next time. He was bigger, huge in his upper body, wearing a red T-shirt. He had tattoos all over his arms. Bobby walked right up to us, taking away all the air like he always did. He looked ready to spring.

"I'll see you later," I told Dave, so he'd leave us alone. Dave's small, kind of delicate-built, but he's got a heart like a pit bull. He looked Bobby right in the eye. "Maybe I'd better stay," he said.

"It's okay," I told him.

Finally, he turned and walked away. He looked mad. I couldn't tell at who.

"This is you now?" Bobby asked, reaching one hand out to touch the earring in my right ear.

"Yes."

"Why, Jason?"

"It's in the genes, Bobby. It's how I was born."

"Bullshit! I seen guys come in the joint straight, and come out faggots. They can turn you into a woman in there real quick."

"It's not the same."

"Sure. I never figured you for this, Jason. We came up together."

"I'm the same man, Bobby."

"You ain't a man at all, punk. Better check your equipment again."

I tried to explain it to him, but Bobby wasn't listening. Finally, he put a hand on my chest, pushing me back a little bit.

"You remember the time we had the fight?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Still think you could come out even?"

"No, but ... "

"But what, pussy?"

"But I'd still try."

He made a move with his lips like a kiss but the sound was a snarl. Then he was gone.

-12-

Dave was at the café, waiting.

"Well, what did Mr. Macho want?"

"An old friend ... "

"And now he's a hustler, I see."

"He's not a hustler, Dave."

"What then?"

I didn't know.

-13-

It was Dave who convinced me to join the police force. I didn't believe there were any gay cops in the city until he introduced me to one at a party. The man was out, too. Right in the open. "They'll test you," he said. "And some are stone freaks. Fag bashers themselves off-duty. But you'll have brothers inside, I promise."

The written test was easy. The physical stuff wasn't much either. And there wasn't that much trouble on the job. Two fights, one pretty serious ... but I always try and I never quit. Once they saw that, it was all right.

-14-

One night in Brooklyn, I was working a radio car with a big fat Irishman named Peters. Everybody called him Sarge. He'd been on the job since forever—he was too much a brawler and not enough of an ass-kisser to get out of uniform and into plainclothes—that was my ambition, but I didn't discuss it with anyone. We went up four flights of stairs to answer a Domestic Dispute call—the worst kind, Peters said.

He was right. The woman was beaten half to death, but she wouldn't make a complaint. There wasn't anything we could do.

"Reminds me of home," Peters said on the way down the stairs. "Your people ever brawl like that?"

"My dad was killed in the war," I told him.

"There's some who'd count you lucky," he said, lighting one of his stubby cigars.

I only got three blocks before he told me to pull over to the curb. There was an after-hours joint on the corner.

"I need a drink," he said.

"Maybe we should wait till we're out of this neighbourhood…"

"Ah, don't be such a fucking sissy—the monkeys make any noise, I'll throw them a banana."

"Sarge, you know what the Watch Command said about staying out of the clubs. Come on, we'll ... "

"Keep the motor running, sonny," he said and stepped out the door.

I sat there waiting. I smoked a cigarette almost to the end when I heard the shot. I hit the front door. Sarge was on the ground, face down, blood all over the back of his uniform. I went right over his body into three of them. One had a machete—I shot him in the chest. Something ripped at my left arm. They kept coming. I backed up until I was right against Sarge's body, firing at the far wall where they hid behind tables. Somebody shot back. I ran out of bullets. I was pulling my nightstick when I felt Sarge moving next to me. He forced himself onto his elbows, tugged his pistol free. I snatched it from him, kept blasting away while Sarge barked 10-13's into his walkie-talkie.

By the time the precinct cops came charging in the door, I had one bullet left in Sarge's pistol.

-15-

I woke up in the hospital, a red haze all around me. After a while, it faded to pink, and I could see the tubes running into me. I knew I would live.

Sarge was sitting there, next to the bed, white bandages wrapped all around his head. He had a "little fracture" of the skull, he told me, and he needed some stitches across his chest. He held up two lumps of metal.

"They took these out, my boy. Out of you. One from the arm, one from the thigh. You wasn't wearing your vest like a good little soldier, you'd be in the meat locker right this very minute."

I didn't say anything—there was a plastic thing in my mouth.

-16-

Other cops came in. Some people sent flowers. The mayor came by long enough to get his picture taken.

They moved me to a big, private room with a window and I got better. One day, Dave came in. The room was full of people. He leaned over the bed and kissed me on the mouth. One of the cops made a snickering nose. Dave turned red.

"You got something to say, you better say it outside. Say it to me, you think you're tough enough."

It was Sarge, shoving his fat finger in the chest of the cop who had made the noise. I didn't even know he was there.

I made Detective Third from that. I didn't feel much like a detective—I got to wear nicer clothes, that was really about all. But Mom was real proud at the ceremony where I got my gold shield. Dave was too.

-17-

They found the first body at the bottom of an elevator shaft, nude. The coroner couldn't tell if it was the fall that killed him, or the beating. There wasn't any doubt about the next one—his throat was cut.

When the body count got up to five, the mayor appointed a task force. But they kept dying. Gay males, all of them.

That's when the Commissioner called me in. I went undercover, working in the bars, but it didn't help. People recognized me—it isn't every day one of us gets his picture in the paper for a shootout with criminals. Nobody even tried to pick me up.

-18-

I talked it over with Dave. The killer wasn't working the bars—he went one-on-one for his pickups, got the victims alone, and did what he did.

There were no letters to the newspapers, no phone calls. We set up a hot line for tips and we got a lot of leads ... but they didn't amount to anything.

Mom still lives at the same place. With rent control and all, it wouldn't pay to move. Besides, she knows all the neighbors—she feels safe there. I go over every Thursday night, never fail. Sometimes Dave comes with me.

I was there when the phone rang. When Mom said, "It's for you, Jason," I knew who it was.

Maybe I knew all along.

"What's up?" he asked, like it was me who called him.

"You know," I told him.

"I'm tired," Bobby said. "I'm real tired."

"You want to come in?"

"No. I don't want to come in. I want it to be over."

"Just tell me where you are."

"You gonna play it straight, Jason? Just you and me?"

"Just you and me, Bobby," I promised him.

"At the Pier, then. Tomorrow midnight."

"Where it started."

"That's not where it started," he said. Then the phone went dead.

-19-

First Dave didn't want me to go. When he saw that wasn't going to work, he wanted to go with me. I wouldn't let him. I didn't say anything to anybody on the job.

A few minutes before midnight, I stepped onto the Pier. It was empty now, deserted. The killer had scared everyone off ... Nobody was cruising—they stayed inside the clubs. Safety in numbers.

One of the pilings was spray-painted with a swastika in white, the number 9 big above it. Nine bodies so far. Whoever the killer was, the skinheads loved him.

I walked toward the back building, sitting all by itself way out to the edge of the Pier. It was so quiet I could hear the water lapping beneath my feet. The boards creaked, some of the space between them big enough to fall through.

Step on a crack ...

-20-

The door was slightly open. I could see a flickering light inside. A candle, it turned out to be. A squat white candle on a table, burning. Standing next to it, a brown shoebox.

"Just stand there a minute, Jason."

Bobby's voice. I kept my hands at my sides, waiting.

"Just wanted to see if you really came alone," he said, stepping out of the shadows.

"Like I promised."

"You got the place surrounded?"

"No."

He lit a cigarette, handed me the pack. I lit one too.

"Big hero. I read about you in the papers while I was upstate. Think you could take me now?"

"No, Bobby. Not then, not now."

"I bought you a present, Jason. Look in the box."

I took off the cover. A couple of watches, a signet ring, an ID bracelet, a wedding band, some pieces of paper. I held it close and read it ... a driver's license. A Social Security card. Something that looked like a little, gnarled piece of sausage.

"What is this stuff?"

"Trophies. One from each of the queers I took out. The little thing you're holding up, that's a finger—the miserable fag didn't have a thing on him when I wasted him."

"Jesus, Bobby."

"They oughta make you chief behind this, right?"

"I don't know."

He drew on his cigarette. The tip glowed. His face was all lines and angles, a skull painted in fleshtones. "Why'd you do it, Jason?"

"Do what?"

"Turn queer. Why'd you turn out like them?"

"Bobby, it wasn't a choice ... It's just the way it happened."

He stood still as a rock. I could feel him watching, but I couldn't see his eyes.

"You ever do boys, Jason?"

"What!?"

"Boys. Little boys. You ever do that?"

Vomit boiled up into my mouth at the thought—it was the ugliest thing I'd ever heard a person say. "Are you crazy, Bobby? Where'd that come from?"

"That's what you do, right? That's what happens."

"Bobby ... "

"When I was a boy. A little boy, real small, one of my fucking whore mother's boyfriends, he did it to me. It hurt. Like fire inside me. I was bleeding. I told my mother, when she came home. You know what I got, Jason? A slap in the mouth. From my mother. She knew. When I still believed in God, I prayed for her to die. It didn't happen to me, you know. I never got queer. I'm a man. Ask anybody about my rep. The jailhouse or the alley, it's all the same. Bobby Trainor, that's a man."

"You always were, Bobby."

"Yeah. Well, now I'm done. Almost done, anyway."

He walked around in a little circle, hands at his side. And then I saw the gun. A silver automatic. He held it up, so I could see it in the candlelight.

"I was always jealous of you, Jason," he said.

"Me? Why?"

"I wished I had your mother."

"Bobby ... "

"Shut up. We're all done now. Here's the deal. Let's find out. You and me. You got a gun with you, right?"

"Yes."

"Take it out. Slow."

I unholstered my revolver, pointed it at the ground the way he had his.

"I'm gonna count to three, Jason. Just like in the movies. When I get to three, I'm coming up blasting. I kill you, I'm picking up my shoebox and walking out of here. You got a ring, Jason? Something I can take with me. Maybe I'll take your badge. Your pretty cop badge."

"Bobby ... "

"I'm not playing, Jason. You know I never play. You get me first, it's all yours. You don't ... well, another dead queer ain't gonna change things much."

"There's another—"

"One!"

"Bobby, don't be a—"

"Two!"

I tightened my hand on the gun.

"Three!"

My first shot took him low in the stomach. He went down to one knee, brought the pistol up and I fired again, twice. He hit the floor, the gun rolling out of his hand.

I dropped down next to him, my hand feeling for a pulse in his neck.

"You're a real man, Jace," he said. And then he died.

I waited for the sirens, holding Bobby's cold hand.

-21-

Much, much later, Dave stood next to me on our balcony, looking out at the city.

"Good thing you were wearing your vest," my lover said to me.

I didn't say anything to him, just held his hand. Thinking about Bobby. About our last fight. About what he said. About how I picked his gun off the floor. That deadly silver automatic ... with the safety locked on.

/wolf

[John Thirten]

Kenny said he wanted a pet turtle with a jetpack. He'd name him Tibby, and they'd go on great adventures all around the world. Kenny drew pictures of turtles all day long in school.

"God dammit, Kenny!" I yelled in the lobby of a Burger King. "You're such a fucking retard." I slapped him hard across the face. Several old people sitting at the tables look at me, but I didn't care. I had to set Kenny straight. Fucking turtles with jetpacks. If I don't stop him now, soon he'll just be collecting rocks in his backpack. By God, I'll be dead before I see that.

[Special K]

Takanami stood above the beaten body of his adulterous neighbor, his neighbor who had defiled his wife and betrayed the trust of friendship.

His blade lay next to the neighbor's body, shining with the taint of blood that remained on its fine steel edge. Takanami was motionless, and nothing but his eyes would reveal the intense swirl of emotions that clouded his mind. The guilt of committing murder swarmed his conscience as soon as the deed had been done, and he now stood and awaited the judgment that he knew would be brought swiftly. His neighbor had not died quietly, and Takanami was sure one of the neighbors would have heard and alerted the authorities. Surely he would be brought to judgment.

Moonlight poured in from the open front door, casting Takanami's shadow over his neighbor's corpse.

Suddenly, a figure in the doorway blocked the moonlight. The room seemed to be filled with an ethereal darkness, as if the figure not only blocked but absorbed the moonlight, feeding on its glow.

"I suppose you are one of the local constabulary, here to take me in. I will put up no fight, I am guilty of murder and deserve punishment," Takanami said, his back to the figure, head bowed.

"I am not who you think..." the figure returned. His voice was somehow toneless, yet louder than a whisper, as if the wind itself was speaking, and with the same sense of inevitability. "We must talk."

...To Be Continued...

[John Thirten]

There was tension on the border. The night air was warm but the light breeze was cold and wet. It smelled like salt and sulfur.

A single bridge spanned the river, the other two lay in flaming ruins. On the far side of the river, the trees were smoldering stumps and charred pillars. On our side was all that was left of a what was once a town. Several skeletons of brick buildings still stood. They were merely waiting for their turn to collapse. This historic jewel along the river had been razed and laid low, but at least it stood in our hands again.

I sat thinking of spiders. Crawling down their webs towards their paralyzed prey. Sucking out the innards as their victim watched helplessly. My nerves were nearly shot. I prayed my own web would break and save me from indesicion.

"It is time," my courier told me. I looked up and nodded. We rode out past an assembly of my men as we head towards the bridge. I felt like throwing up, but I had to look in command. My face was stoic and hard, my eyes almost dead.

They stood waiting on the middle of the bridge. My knees almost buckled as I put my foot down and walked towards them. The few yards from myself to them was the longest walk of my life. It smelled like salt and sulfur.

I stood before my enemy. He was taller than I by several inches, but I still remained resolute and strong to his face. We did not speak for several moments until, stiffly, abruptly, he bent down on his knee.

"In the name of my people which I represent," spoke he, the governor, "We submit to your conquest. Illinois is now under your dominion."

I extended my left hand to him slowly. He stooped his head and kissed my ring. I held my head loftily. The barbarians had been vanquished. Iowa would again enter into a new golden age.

[Special K]

The Desert II

I didn't sleep much that night in the cave. The rapid transition from warmth to coldness must have shocked my system a little, because even as the sun began to rise and I could feel the walls around me getting warm, my insides still froze, and I couldn't stop shivering.

I tried to estimate how much sleep I got that night, but I couldn't piece together which parts were spent with my eyes closed trying to fall asleep, which parts were spent staring out the entrance to the cave and fearing Gila monster attacks, and which parts were spent dreaming about the possibility of being attacked by Gila monsters. I've always hated nights like that, when nobody is around to talk with you about how difficult it is to fall asleep.

I had once been traveling with some friends of mine, and we were sleeping in the basement of some house in Lexington. It was uncomfortable, but that typically isn't a huge problem for me, yet for some reason my thoughts kept me awake long after all of my friends drifted off and started breathing loudly. I had talked earlier on the phone with a friend of mine, Shawn, who had not come along on the trip, and he kept talking about how lonely it was without us because he had nobody to hang out with. I had also talked with my then girlfriend, the same one who liked Utah, and knew that she had been spending a good deal of her time in our absence getting stoned with people who used to be my friends but eventually I just kind of drifted away from because they annoyed me. And the reason Shawn was so lonely was because everyone around him was stoned and he just wanted some people to get donuts or Chinese food with. And all I could think about was how much I didn't want to be in that basement in Lexington because even from the opposite side of the basement I could hear the breathing of my friends echo off all of the walls, and I just wanted to be home so that I could eat dumplings and keep my girlfriend away from the people I wished she didn't take influence from.

Eventually I settled into trying to tell myself that I was being unfair. I think I slept about half an hour that night.

At least now, in the desert, the only thing keeping me awake was a fear for my life. At what I guessed was about 8am I resigned myself to the little sleep I had collected previously, and drank some of the water I had kept. For the first time I doubted my journey. So far, my reasoning for traveling seemed ironclad, but now I wondered if it wouldn't be worth it because I'd die in the desert and the rescue workers would find me and wonder what I was doing in the desert with nothing but a bike and some poptarts.

[John Thirten]

I began by ripping my shirt off and dipping my hands into a bucket of baking soda. As I pulled them out, I cletched my maws into fists as the skin hardened, my knuckles sheathed in rock-like crystaline.

I wore my pants tight, so that I could not be gripped or grappled. I took off my shoes so that I would not lose traction. I waxed up my moustache so I would look grand.

My breakfast had been steak and eggs; the protein would make me strong. My brunch was a long jog; the exercise would loosen my muscles for the night. My lunch was sex; I like it that way.

I stepped into the ring of fisticuffs and fought many a kangaroo in a procession of an orgy of pummels. I then lay down to die from the hemorrhage of my spleen from a hard kick. I regret only not having a succession of illegitimate children to carry on my game.

[Special K]

"We must make haste. You cannot afford to be detained. You are too instrumental to my cause."

"Who are you? Show me your face!" Takanami demanded of the stranger. Suspicion overwhelmed him.

...

"Who I am is unimportant. Right now, as unbelievable as it seems, who you are is much more pertinent. But enough talk. The last remnants of a dying power seek to end us, and though the events of the night have irreparably damaged them, they can still hinder us if we do not flee immediately."

Takanami and the mysterious stranger ran out the back door of the slain neighbor's house and headed south into the woodlands. The stranger led, and each step was made with a directed deliberateness, as if he had walked this path routinely during his youth. Navigation seemed more instinct, and Takanami wondered more than once whether or not the stranger was just pretending to know where he was going.

After what seemed like several hours, they came into a clearing, which if seen from above would be shown to be a perfect equilateral triangle in shape, as if some ancient race had cut it out of the trees with a jigsaw. The moonlight seemed to shine directly on it and illuminate off the bordering trees, so that it gave the illusion of daylight.

The stranger stopped and turned to Takanami. His face was still hidden beneath his hood, and no matter how much effort Takanami put into trying to discern features, he could not gain any clarity. There was silence, and then He spoke.

"Much has happened this night. Powers have risen and fallen, moons have reached their fullness, and governments have been overthrown."

"Of what do you speak?"

"Tonight, the Shogun breathes no more. I will explain what I have done, and then, perhaps, why you are so important..."

...

...To Be Continued...

[John Thirten]

I prepared myself for the grave early. As a child, I had ambitions. I made myself a list, writ upon it were the things I must do before death. Here I held that yellowed paper in my withered hands, trying to read between the ragged coughs of my deathbed.

I surveyed my list, looking at my proudest accomplishments


Climb Mt. Everest
Have five children
Sail the oceans in a yacht
Employ two midget butlers
Eat corn on the cob


I blinked. I looked at an old photograph of my daughter on the bedstand which had been made into a collage reminder. (http://gallery.scrapfriends.us/data/29/eat_corn.jpg) It was haunting me. I... I had failed. I never ate corn on the cob.

I slit my wrists. Hell is only home to those that shun corn.

[Special K]

"So you've found me. The killer, the coward, who strikes from the shadows, here to take on the most powerful man in the East, and his two bodyguards. You are foolish."

"You cannot hide your fear from me. Enough pleasantries. I must kill you." The blackened figure stared at the ground, and then quickly knelt down, driving his fist in the ground. The collision erupted in a cloud of thick smoke, and time seemed to stop.

...

...

The winds of time swept through the room, bursting through the shutters and snuffing out all of the lights. Shen-Nyet and his men looked around, for the shadow man had disappeared. Suddenly, the wind grew louder, as if it was whispering to them, foreboding their coming punishment. It grew clearer, and began to take form and tone. The ears of the men were ringing, and they cried out. And then, all at once, the sound disappeared, and the single striking of a gong could be heard in the distance.

He came again, and with a single swift moment grabbed the skulls of each of Shen Nyet's bodyguards, and crushed them together. The blood from the collision shot into the air, and before it had landed the man in black had his sword drawn, the tip of which rested on the Shogun's throat. "The Katana of the Ancient Mystic Orient Power, it is mine, and I come for it again."

Shen-Nyet laughed maniacally. "I have it no longer. But it is no matter. I am the greatest swordsman in the land. It is you who will learn my power." He quickly batted his opponent's sword away from his throat, and the two assumed fighting poses. "Your style, it is new to me..."

"It is a forgotten art, taught amongst the elites in the Ancient times. Singular was its mastery of the art of swordcraft, and its holders alone stood unparalleled in the annals of history. I will teach it to you by example, but you will not live to see it put to use."

The two clashed in a meeting of the blades, and the air was filled with the singing of steel flying through the air. The room seemed to glow, as the two men danced fleetingly across the room. The ancient samurai swordsmen of old looked down from the halls of Heavenly Kings and smiled to watch the greatest display of swordplay since the death of the Old Kingdom and the subsequent disappearance of the Forgotten Ways of battle and ritual.

But the shadow man had the upper hand, and his style was clearly superior. Finally, in one quick stroke of the blade, both of Shen-Nyet's arms were removed. His blade fell clattering onto the floor, and the light in the room dimmed once again. Within moments, the dark figure's blade was at his neck. "Where is the sword?"

"I am not the master. I am merely the child." Shen-Nyet was dead. But his death only brought more questions, and the subsequent power vacuum would fill the land with much civil war.

...To Be Continued...

[John Thirten]

"Wot do yoo mean hi... No, I... Hi wot now...? I'll take care uf it." Billy Bean put the phone back into the reciever and sighed. He looked at Slasick. "Some oogly Jewish kid brooke in'o the warehoose un' stole all'r coontra-banned llama porn."

Slasick blinked a few times. Taps was picking dirt out from under his fingernails.

Bean scratched the back of his neck absent mindedly as he looked around the empty bar. "Look, how aboot yoo too 'ead down to the warehoose and check it oot? I mean, llama porn is the hottest thing un the streets raight now un' I doon't woont to be cooght wif me pants doon when oll the kids come clammooring for it, raight?"

Slasick muttered something in Polish as he got in his suped-up Yugo and raced down to the docks where they kept the warehouse. Slasick and Taps weren't the only ones there. Two midgets in pin stripped, double breasted suits and snap-brim fedoras were flanking the enterance to the warehouse.

Taps slung his M16 over his shoulder as he got out of the suped-up Yugo and looked at Slasick. "That one's Benny, and that one's Denny," Taps pointed out to a blank faced Slasick. "They say no one's ever heard them talk. They're both Mergovich's bodyguards. But... if they're here, that means..."

Mergovich stepped out of the doorway. "Greetings, gentlemen," he said, grinning under his waxed black moustache. "Surprised to see me, no doubt? Ha ha ha. You have fallen into my trap, and there's no escape for the two of you now. You see, I planted that Jew--" Slasick spewed dozens of rounds into Mergovich's chest. Taps looked at him in shock.

"If he really wants to be a supervillian cliche, he should also remember that when they're explaining their genius plans, the good guys always escape. Same diff." Slasick loaded a new magazine into his uzi. "Now let's go kill some midgets."

[Special K]

And so the dead lined up, marching single file towards the gigantic scales Jesus had erected in front of the pearly gates. One by one, the dead took their turn standing before Christ and having their sins weighed.

"Adultery..." Jesus spoke, as a dirty, bearded man stood before him. "To the flames..." He said nothing more, as the clouds underneath the man parted and demons grabbed onto his limbs, dragging him down to hell.

"Charity..." Jesus spoke to the next man, an old but kindly gentleman, whose face beamed with joy. "Welcome to eternal Happiness..." The gates opened, and the man entered.

Finally, an old, bent woman stepped up in front of the Lord. "Ah, Mother Teresa, I've been waiting for you..." Jesus spoke kindly, before his brow furrowed. "Impiety (http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/comment/faith/article2321124.ece). Eternal hellfire."

[John Thirten]

The lights went low as the audience began clammoring impatiently. Then a single spot light opened on the stage. A short, fat, balding Korean man was on stage with a microphone. Synthetic tapping and growling echoed across the room. The audience collapsed into mad cheering.

The man loosened his tie and began tapping out the rhythm with his foot. Several pairs of panties landed on the stage. His jowels shaking with the bobbing of his head, the man blew several kisses to the audience. Shreaks of joy filled his ears.

The middleaged Asian waved his arm. "Once I had a love, and it was a gas." Euphoric cheers nearly drowned his wobbly voice. "Soon turned out, had a heart of glass."

Body guards struggled to keep the hordes of women at bay, but nothing could stand between them and their love for this portly man. "Seemed like the real thing only to fi-i-ind, bunch of mistrust... love's gone behind."

[Special K]

Poor Choices: How United States Intervention in Vietnam Led to the Breakdown of a Nation

After World War II, the world was placed in a precarious situation as the two opposing ideologies of Capitalism and Communism prepared to square off in a conflict that would envelop the rest of the 20th Century. This was made all to clear in Vietnam. Long simply part of French Indochina, a French colonial holding in Southeast Asia, after World War II the Vietminh, led by Ho Chi Minh, formerly Nguyen Ai Quoc, claimed Vietnamese independence. The presence of OSS troops at the independence celebration gave Minh the impression that he had the backing of the United States in this endeavor, but in reality Truman had decided to agree to partitioning Vietnam temporarily to the Chinese and the British, under the assumption that France would retake control.

This bred Vietnamese mistrust, but perhaps more fatefully, this caused Vietnamese scientists to complete the experiments they had been working on for some time. Alone in the jungles of Tonkin, these men funded by the Vietminh created the first vampires. The subsequent Draculazation of Vietnamese forces would prove to be the deciding factor once US troops were deployed in the region to protect the besieged South Vietnam government.

As American troops came home from this conflict, many carried the infliction with them, and spread it to the American people. It was only a matter of months before the American population was completely wiped out, survived only by vampires who were forced to spread across the globe to find food. Only a barren wasteland now stands where the United States had proudly been before.

This should put the historical argument to rest. The Vietnamese conflict was a failure and should have never been undertaken. Thank you.

Teacher's Notes: Without a Works Cited, I can't verify your information. See me after class about a re-write.

[John Thirten]

It was twelve years ago I got the nickname Johnny Chapstick Eater. Back then I was just an amateur. Now I eat up to 5 tubes a day. My lips are smooth, my teeth are shiny, my bowels are lubed. I shit easily and comfortably three times a day. Once before breakfast, once before dinner, and once before bed. I like a good routine. I like myself.

[Special K]

Trinity picked up Psych's weary body, and held back her tears no longer. Both of Psych's legs had been ripped completely off, and the subsequent blood loss was causing his last clutches of life to slip away slowly.

"I...have no legs..." he strained.

"Shhh, don't talk." Trinity could barely speak, her sobbing had now taken control of her. She placed her face against Psych's, and the tears dripped from her eyes onto his lips.

When she looked up, both of Psych's legs had healed. "But...I..." she began.

"You've saved me." Trinity bent down and kissed Psych on the lips, feeling as if fate had given the two of them another chance.

[John Thirten]

I put on my tophat and stepped before the men. I was panting heavily and blood pooled out of my mouth. I licked my battered lips with my tattered tongue as I rolled my eyes in mirth.

Timothy had eyes of green as he looked at the stone in my right hand. Stolen from the stomach of Naga, I danced and laughed in delight at the subjugations of dravidian druidry. An empyrean orb clutched in my left, the balance between the two was enough to cause myself to diarrhetically rejoice. Though I did not.

It could have been the Moss Maidens themselves before me, and I could have rode out from the Halls of the Dead as it may be. Needless to say, they could well have been Sabines. I certainly thought so. Parthenoi filled my house until I tired of them and had their pensions cut.

Christ, I'm the best.

[Special K]

"I'm having trouble deciding which car to buy," Jim said.

"Sounds like you've got a case of Car Wars! Maybe you should go on a Car Trek and ask the advice of Cars Ulrich! Maybe read "The Bell Car", or catch some carly waves! Maybe look at the comics, read Carside! Maybe spend some money to help save Carfur! Or go to Chapel Hill and cheer on the Car Heels! What are you, a card?" responded Bill.

"You are dumb."

"Whatever."

...The Next Day:

"Who is Cars Ulrich?"

[John Thirten]

William called me the Clockmaker. I suspect this is because I used to build cuckoo clocks. I put a great deal of craft and care into them, carving and painting individual figures which would pop out of the doors on the hour, every hour, to announce the change in time. But I grew discontent. My labors were meaningless and unappreciated. Mere figures popping out of doors left no lasting impression on the fools around me. They laughed at my art. So I laughed at them. Dark hours in my basement I brooded over my creation. It was displayed once and only once. A small crowd gathered around it in the public forum, curious to see my latest creation. When the clock struck noon the doors opened and out swung a massive phallus carved of teakwood. Several women gasped, but I merely held my breath in delight. Moments later white fluid gushed out upon them. I smirked and laughed at those haughty beasts who derided me. They no longer let me make clocks anymore. I only get one hour of exercise per day.

[Special K]

"Well, this is a little awkward for us, Mr. Johnson."

"Just get his over with," Mr. Johnson snarled with clenched teeth.

"You've been sentenced to death by firing squad for the wanton murder of innocents. Normally, I'd have no problem taking care of heartless criminal like yourself, but another issue has come up, and frankly I'm not exactly sure how we at the correctional facility are going to deal with it."

"What's going on?"

"Well, it seems we have run out of ammo. We sent an officer into town to see if we can get our hands on some from a sporting goods store or something, but its almost midnight and so I doubt any place will be open. Normally I would just whip out my billy club and kill you myself, I just don't even give a damn. Unfortunately, my orders were clear. You were to be killed by a firing squad."

"I can't believe this bullshit."

"Sorry for the mistake, Mr. Johnson. We'll see you back here tomorrow, same time? Oh, and you only get one last meal, so its just bread and water tomorrow night. Alright, lets get out of here."

[John Thirten]

I thought she liked me. In truth, I was just fooling myself on purpose because I was so lonely. I was so wanting to be with someone, I pretended she actually wanted to see me. I know it was foolish, but I didn't care. And even today, I don't regret it. Those moments spent with her were so good, even if they weren't real. We would listen to techno music.

[Special K]

"So, I leave you with a choice. If you take the blue pill, you will return to your bed, and you won't remember tonight at all. If you take the red pill, I can show you what you want to see. But remember, there is no going back. So, make a decision."

I took the red pill, and washed it down with a glass of water. Then suddenly, a weird metallic like liquid enveloped my entire body, and before you know it, I woke up in a completely different place.

"Welcome...to the real world."

"It looks just like the fake world," I said.

"After the democrats lost the election for the state legislature, they secretly enslaved the human population of Maryland, using our bodies for energy and plugging us into what we call the Matrix. In this computer generated world, Maryland is heavily democratic and have no problems securing the state legislature."

"But, it seems like nothing's changed..."

"Nothing has. Its just the state legislature. Plus, its only been going on for about three months."

"How do none of the other states realize this? I mean, Washington is just a half hour away?"

"...None of us had thought about it that way...Jesus Christ, I think this goes deeper than any of us had guessed!"

[John Thirten]

"The bookstore is closed."

"But I need books!"

"Come back tomorrow."

"But I want to read now."

"Read something you already have."

"But I just want to get that one book on display about the Franco-Prussian War!"

"The bookstore is closed."

"I have exact change!"

"There's no way for me to know if you're lying or not. I've been hurt before. I cry each night."

[Special K]

"Welcome to your first meeting at the Universal Life Church of the Sworn Sacred Rose North, Darryl."

"I have to admit that I was a little hesitant, I've always been warned to be wary of, well, you know...cults."

"Cults? Ha ha, oh my my. You have nothing to fear from us, I promise you. Here, have a glass of water."

Darryl took the glass and gratefully drank it down. He was quite parched.

"Now come on inside with me." Darryl followed the church leader into the main hall. Lined up on either side were two tables, filled with people. And every single person was eating soup. "Would you like some soup, Darryl? Everyone in the Universal Life Church of the Sworn Sacred Rose North eats soup."

Suddenly, Darryl got nervous. "No, no thank you. I don't really feel comfortable here anymore."

"Eat the soup, Darryl! This is not an option!"

"No, you won't make me, you probably poisoned it!" Suddenly, Darryl's vision got blurry, and his legs weakened. "What's happening?"

"You fool! The water I gave you was poisoned, the soup has an antidote! It was an exercise in trust! You are going to die now, you should have listened!"

Darryl died and because of his lack of trust, did not receive his reward in the afterlife.

[John Thirten]

I entered the confessional booth. "Father forgive me, for I have sinned."

His voice was patient, though slightly bored. "Tell me child, what you have done."

"I... I... This is so hard for me..." I sputtered.

"It's alright, you're in the presence of God now. There is nothing for you to fear."

"Yes... Yes, alright. The other day... I took a peek at my idol."

"I forgive... wait, what?"

"My idol. I have a small golden calf. I couldn't resist the lure."

"Really? Huh. I've never heard of anyone breaking the first commandment before. Cool."

"But, I've sinned."

"Yeah, in some quaint sort of way. Well, have a good day. Next."

[Special K]

Bob served John the Big Mac he ordered. "Thanks," said John.

"Anytime," replied Bob.

...Later that night:

John had broken into Bob's house, and stood at the foot of Bob's bed, pointing a gun at both Bob and Bob's wife. "You lied to me! I went back, and it was closed! I could not get a Big Mac anytime!"

"I'm sorry," said Bob. "I guess I should have said anytime that we were open."

"Huh," replied John. "Well, I guess that makes a little more sense. Sorry to bother you and your wife."

[John Thirten]

"Oh Roxanne," I bemused. "You don't have to put on the red light. Those days are over, you don't have to sell your body to the night."

She laughed at me, and then promptly had sex with a man in front of me.

"I wouldn't talk down to you, I have to tell you just how I feel. I won't share you with another boy. I know my mind is made up, so put away your makeup. I told you once and I won't tell you again, it's a bad way."

"Hey, buddy. It's hard to fuck her with you talking, so shut up, would you?"

I wept. And I know, somewhere, a great bassist was weeping with me.

[Special K]

"What seems to be wrong with him?" Dr. Richards asked, staring at the unconscious man lying on the hospital bed in front of him. The steady beep of the heart monitor droned behind him.

"Bleeding from the mouth and rectum, and an intense weight gain over the last month. I haven't seen anything like this before," the nurse replied.

"What was his diet like?"

"...Potatoes. All potatoes."

"I have no idea what is wrong with him. I fear we will not be able to save him."

...One week after the patient's death...

"...Potatofluenza, how could I have not thought of potatofluenza. I could have saved his life..."

[John Thirten]

Tobias stood in front of the mirror and took off his shirt. Slowly. He sprayed water on his body, a light misting to making him glean. He flexed his muscles. The sight of his naked body was so powerful... so erotic. He licked his reflection's nipples in the mirror.

[Special K]

Gary lifted the pistol and aimed it at John's ugly, two-timing face. "You fucked my wife. Now I am going to kill you."

With a smile and sigh, John woke himself up from his daydream. "Oh, I'm sorry."

[John Thirten]

A Brief History of Brothworks

Founded in 1978, Brothworks was originally a gourmet soup company, reknowned for its delicious, high quality soup. Sadly, when the Great Soup Depression of 1981 (GSD81) hit, the cost of production bankrupted their high production quality soup, plunging the company into financial ruin. Founder, Theophilus Dorkin, hung himself in dispair by his own belt three weeks after the company folded. He was found three days later by his 10 year old son, his underpants stuffed with feces.

[Special K]

The Grand Canyon

The sand had of late gotten much more compact, and for the majority of the day traveling had been easy. I would have liked to have thought that this was an indication that the desert was coming to an end, though I anticipated that all of Mexico, which I was positive I couldn't have reached, was one big sandbox until the Yucatan.

I had been thinking a lot about how long it would take me to save up for a used 5150 and a couple of nice cabs. I really wanted to be able to go into my basement, set up the stack, cut the mids to zero and keep everything else at 10, and see what kind of sound I could get out of it. I was just thinking about my debates over guitar tone with my friends when I looked up and was forced to slam on the brakes to avoid shooting off the edge of the cliff that I had rapidly approached.

I looked at my compass to see if I had accidentally veered in the wrong direction. Unfortunately I had no such luck. I was heading dead south, and the cliff edge I had reached laid directly in my path. The cliff was only one side of a canyon, I assumed the Grand, which appeared about 300 feet wide at its shortest. There didn't appear to be an easy way either down my edge or up the opposite, so after several minutes of shouting curses and throwing rocks over the edge, I resigned myself to following the canyon east until I could find a place I could traverse it.

I maintained a steady distance of about 20 feet between myself and the canyon to ensure that should I accidentally slip and jerk to the right, I wouldn't fall to my death. I thought about back home when I used to dread driving over bridges despite the low statistical chance of crashing and jumping the edge.