"A coffee table?", asked Peter with mild disgust, "What in blazes was he thinking?".
"Well I am quite sure he wasn't thinking at all." Jibbles answered in a reproachful tone.
"Too bloody right he wasn't fucking thinking!" Anthony shouted in a loud and deep voice. "He left chain marks all over my favourite piece of god damn furniture!"
"Really Anthony. There is no need for profanity." Jibbles announced, his chin fat wobbling contentedly.
"Fuck you fatman! See how you like it when he decides to get his perverted jollies in the wardrobe your Aunt Virginia left you!" Anthony screamed.
He was starting to get angry. Speaking to these two idiots about the pains of perverted friends and expensive furnishings combined was beginning to tire him. "Fuck you both I'm leaving!", Anthony shouted.
"You sit your overbearing, power hungry, self righteous arse down you sack of shit!" ordered Peter. "We are here to discuss what to do with Michael and neither of you are leaving until I am satisfied."
Turning his head to Jibbles, he continued. "Now, you saw what happened Jibbles. You mentioned livestock?"
Jibbles re-adjusted his bow tie and his coat tails and went on. "Not just any livestock. A chicken, a horse, and a lama."
"That fuckdrain of a stinkfist took animals into my house? I will fucking defecate on him for this!", exploded Anthony, spraying the half mouthful of coffee in his mouth all over the table in front of them and crushing the fine china in his hand.
"Anthony. If you do not contain yourself I will have you sedated. Also, fuckdrain is not a word Anthony. Do try to keep your hatred within the confines of our language." Peter scolded.
Anthony looked at him as though to punch his well dressed social superior but thought better of it
and returned to glaring at Jibbles.
After staring a bit longer at Anthony, peter continued.
"We will not go into what went on with the animals because some things are just too lude. But I
wan't to know, You said he wasn't alone?"
Jibbles, excited to tell more of his story, started to gain momentum. "Well he kept referring to someone as his big black friend and someone screamed a little bit and then he said his big black friend was all covered in muck and blood and…"
"I KNEW THOSE WEREN"T WINE STAINS ON MY FUCKING PERSIAN RUG! You assfucker! I am going to rip your spleen out and make you fucking snort it!" screamed Anthony, jumping to his feet and overturning the table, spilling food and coffee everywhere, and making Jibbles squeal like a plump rodent in a ridiculous suit.
"Sit-the-fuck-down!", commanded Peter with well contained rage reverbrating in his voice.
He was immediately obeyed and order was at once restored.
The slaves came bobbing in to clean the mess and shortly after they had left Peter returned to the summary of the situation.
"So in essence, Michael likes to be chained down and sodomised by all manner of livestock until his rectum tears and he cannot take the pain any longer. After which he has a presumably large friend of the african persuasion clean up the mess and remove certain things from his rear?", finalised Peter.
"That's not all", mumbled Jibbles.
Peter threw a stern look at Anthony who sat quivering with more contained kinetic energy than a volcanic eruption in a suitcase and said, "Go on."
"Well." Stammered Jibbles, worming uncomfortably in his chair. "I distinctly heard the voice of Pastor Dennis during the commotion. I couldn't see him but I am sure he was there."
Anthony was vibrating at this point.
"Pastor Dennis?" Asked Peter. "The same Pastor Dennis who told our children at Sunday School that the size of God's phallus was why he was called "The Almighty"?"
Jibbles nodded very slowly, his eyes never leaving Anthony who, at this point, had become very still.
"He was in my house" said Anthony in a dangerous voice. "My house… My house. What did he say?" he asked placidly.
Jibbles squirmed under the unblinking gaze of Anthony, afraid of the cacophony that was going to come. "He said "Maybe this show of God's love will make a heathen host convert to the word of our savior." or something like that"
Anthony stood and strode towards Peter's study. He had been in there for a minute or so when he returned and sat calmly in his seat. Looking Peter straight in the eye he said. "Need key to gun cabinet."
Peter looked at him and said."Use your own god damn guns"
"Too far. Need to murder now." monotoned Anthony.
Peter was a very shrewd man and he could see that Anthony's need to murder did not necessarily mean just Michael. "Second desk drawer, little wooden box with an elephant on it."
Anthony nodded once and went back into the study. He then walked past with three pistols in his belt and four rifles.
"Happy hunting!" Chimed Jibbles as Anthony strode intently through the living room towards the back door.
Approximately twenty minutes later, police sirens could be heard in the distance.
"Do you think they could be for him?" Asked Jibbles.
"Jibbles. Our dear friend Anthony wanted blood. If all went well he has killed a Priest, a wealthy vineyard owner, a horse, a lama, a chicken and probably an African fellow if he found out who he was. Of course they are for him you fat little tit!" Peter smiled at the green meadow out his window and said. "Perversion, mystery and murder. This would almost make a good novel."
Jibbles looked at Peter and said "How would you end it?"
Peter pondered on this whilst drinking his coffee and answered. "I would just stop writing."
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Wizards and magic.
A wizard is unlike most stories told. For example; Wizards are seldom attractive. They rarely have good if any people skills and they are often overweight.
Wizards often refer to themselves as the most didicated users of magic. This is because they have to spend years studying. Now please understand me when I say years for I do not mean three or four. The average scholarship of a wizard is roughly one hundred and twenty years. This length of life is possible because the repetitious use of magic will extend the life of the practitioner (this is not done by some mystical means of soul leaking or energy enhancing. Magic has the same effect on humans as vinegar does on fresh goods. In other words. Magic will pickle its user.).
Wizards only gain power through study. This makes it possible for anyone who has always been exceptional in educational endaevors to become a wizard. The longer you study, the more powerful you become. The most powerful wizard in history was spent over seven hundred years in study, dying just before he finished another book. It is believed that he never used any of his magic for practical purposes but simply kept studying.
Wizards are known as non-naturals to magic as they cannot do it from birth as sorcerors can. This makes them clumsy. The leaning tower of Pisa is a perfect example of wizardry gone awry. The leaning tower was opened and shortly afterwards a young wizard of only eighty years was trying to impress a girl. In his attempts (all of which failed) he made the effort to affect gravity enough to enable him to walk up the side of the then not-leaning tower. Unfortunately his spell not only encompass him but also the general mass of the object he stood on. Thankfully the spell was a weak one and incapable of moving hundreds of tons in a perpandicular direction to natural gravity so it broke after a few milliseconds. This still left the tower on a lean, the young wizardling with a broken arm and the girl unimpressed.
Magic is in essance a study of everything. You want to be able to walk on walls? You have to study physics. You want to subvert another's mind to your point of view? You have to study psychology to ensure that you don't turn harmless yet cute girl in harmful cute psychopath. And possibly the best example is if you want to turn someone into a toad.
Turning someone into a toad is easy. Ensuring they survive is hard. The first step is the transmogrofication. You subvert every cell in the body of an individual to that of a toad's DNA. This required anotomical education beyond that of a brain surgeon. You then need to be able to calculate the mass and energy levels of a target (physics). After figuring the mass out you need to convert the mass down to a smaller degree (more physics) whilst enchanting the mass to have the same energy levels to keep the individuals mind and idnetity in tact. You must of course adjust the vocal chords and mouth structure to enable human speech and alter the brain to be capable of performin at human levels without exploding due to energy combustion. The final trick which is often overlooked is to create a small protective shield around the target at the exact instant the change occurs to stop the inrush of air into the vaccuum previously inhabited by the previously large being from pulverising the poor, newly amphibious person.
As a common misconception, it is believed witches turn people into toads.
This is wrong. Men do it. Women are to smart to study for two hundred years and hence they just kill the target and put a frog in it's place.
It was once said by Feygrim the Academic (fifth level wizard) that studying magic is akin to studying philosophy. Whe you have finished studying, you realise you didn't learn how to do it. You learn how it was done and how hard it was. You also only end up hanging around juveniles but that is a whole different box of potatoes.
:D
Wizards often refer to themselves as the most didicated users of magic. This is because they have to spend years studying. Now please understand me when I say years for I do not mean three or four. The average scholarship of a wizard is roughly one hundred and twenty years. This length of life is possible because the repetitious use of magic will extend the life of the practitioner (this is not done by some mystical means of soul leaking or energy enhancing. Magic has the same effect on humans as vinegar does on fresh goods. In other words. Magic will pickle its user.).
Wizards only gain power through study. This makes it possible for anyone who has always been exceptional in educational endaevors to become a wizard. The longer you study, the more powerful you become. The most powerful wizard in history was spent over seven hundred years in study, dying just before he finished another book. It is believed that he never used any of his magic for practical purposes but simply kept studying.
Wizards are known as non-naturals to magic as they cannot do it from birth as sorcerors can. This makes them clumsy. The leaning tower of Pisa is a perfect example of wizardry gone awry. The leaning tower was opened and shortly afterwards a young wizard of only eighty years was trying to impress a girl. In his attempts (all of which failed) he made the effort to affect gravity enough to enable him to walk up the side of the then not-leaning tower. Unfortunately his spell not only encompass him but also the general mass of the object he stood on. Thankfully the spell was a weak one and incapable of moving hundreds of tons in a perpandicular direction to natural gravity so it broke after a few milliseconds. This still left the tower on a lean, the young wizardling with a broken arm and the girl unimpressed.
Magic is in essance a study of everything. You want to be able to walk on walls? You have to study physics. You want to subvert another's mind to your point of view? You have to study psychology to ensure that you don't turn harmless yet cute girl in harmful cute psychopath. And possibly the best example is if you want to turn someone into a toad.
Turning someone into a toad is easy. Ensuring they survive is hard. The first step is the transmogrofication. You subvert every cell in the body of an individual to that of a toad's DNA. This required anotomical education beyond that of a brain surgeon. You then need to be able to calculate the mass and energy levels of a target (physics). After figuring the mass out you need to convert the mass down to a smaller degree (more physics) whilst enchanting the mass to have the same energy levels to keep the individuals mind and idnetity in tact. You must of course adjust the vocal chords and mouth structure to enable human speech and alter the brain to be capable of performin at human levels without exploding due to energy combustion. The final trick which is often overlooked is to create a small protective shield around the target at the exact instant the change occurs to stop the inrush of air into the vaccuum previously inhabited by the previously large being from pulverising the poor, newly amphibious person.
As a common misconception, it is believed witches turn people into toads.
This is wrong. Men do it. Women are to smart to study for two hundred years and hence they just kill the target and put a frog in it's place.
It was once said by Feygrim the Academic (fifth level wizard) that studying magic is akin to studying philosophy. Whe you have finished studying, you realise you didn't learn how to do it. You learn how it was done and how hard it was. You also only end up hanging around juveniles but that is a whole different box of potatoes.
:D
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Morning!
The below three posts are stories that I wrote in my spare time at work. (That is a complete lie and I definately did not write them at work because of a signed contract that makes them property of the company I work for if I did so) So I definitly did not write them in my spare time in the office.
I hope you enjoy them whoever you are. They are all based on random darkish humour.
Zac.
I hope you enjoy them whoever you are. They are all based on random darkish humour.
Zac.
Four's Great Plan
The confused and bewlidered mouse crept slowly along the causeway above the head of the banal computershare workers. This mouse prided himself on his guile and stealth. If he had enough intelligence to pride himself on, he would have prided himself on that too. There wasn't much to the life of a mouse. Especially a mouse whose parents had, in a perfect example of rodential lack of imagination, named him "four". Daily routine basically consisted of:
Eat, Gnaw, scarper, scamper, eat, squeek, eat, scarper, lift heavy objects*
*This activity, for the sake of appearances, is only allowed to be performed by Mighty Mouse. Four had always been agitated that the Mighty Mouse was an hereditary title, simply because Mighty Mouse's son, Mighty Mouse, was a gimp.
So, Excluding the last activity made Four's life somewhat bland. His head swam with delusions of granduer whilst he was fededing/defecating in the coffee jar. His existance just seemed to him to be slightly… well… Lame. The peons of computershare would swarm down below him in their dance of senseless obedience, selling their life in hourly nuggets, twenty dollars- o.n.o. It was sometimes interesting, thought Four. Tiny little mice being able to watch this hilarious version of a line dance performed by drunken redneck monkeys with no sense of coordination nor self awareness that was to often referred to as "office bustling". Four often liked to look down. Of special interest to him was the workplace relationships. As all people know, not only do mice have superrodent* strength, they have superrodent* hearing.
*Superrodent - Like superhuman but smaller, fuzzier and definitely more rotund.
The way in which one of these Officelings would ave polite banter with someone which seemed completely courteous, and then turn to another and proceed to abuse the exact people whom they were so friendly with. Either that or comment heartily about their physical attributes. "absolutely shocking" Thought Four. It seemed that the wourld below the walkways the mice use as "big steel flat things for scarpering and other rodential shenanigans" there was what could only be called squeegi*
*Mice don't use soap so they could not possibly have thought "soap opera"
Four had a brilliant idea at this point. Perhaps he could open up some sort of cinema, charging the other mice and showing them this haphazard world of scheming, backstabbing, bits-admiring and all other forms of bored-human activity. The problem with this idea was that he would have to have at least a small amount of sex and a lot of violence in this emotional epic. After all, entertainment isn't entertaining without at least a minimal level of debauchery.
This itself was quite the problem. How does a mouse get humans to do some sexing/fighting? Four pondered this four approximately 7.82 seconds, and then he had it!
CHEESE!
Mice will do anything for cheese. Perhaps he could put cheese between two of the more muscular males in the office below and watch them rip each other limb from limb in cheese fuelled madness untill even the victor was unable to eat it due to his jaw being ripped off and thrown somewhere over yonder. So that solved the fighting problem. What about the sexing? How about… no… Wait….. Maybe… Perhaps he could spray the female humans with cheese essence. Would that be sufficient to warrant madness? Four believed it would.
Unfortunately for Four's great idea which he had dubbed "Fortune for Fours Forceps Fortress" he ran into a Speed-mountain*
*like a speed hump but bigger
Three days before he opened for his first viewing it was "bring you pet to work" day.
KIDDIE ENDING:
One of the employees brought a cat. His name a peter and he and Four became great friends. They ran off to have many adventures and the prince married the princess too!
GROWNUP ENDING:
One of the employees brought a cat.
Eat, Gnaw, scarper, scamper, eat, squeek, eat, scarper, lift heavy objects*
*This activity, for the sake of appearances, is only allowed to be performed by Mighty Mouse. Four had always been agitated that the Mighty Mouse was an hereditary title, simply because Mighty Mouse's son, Mighty Mouse, was a gimp.
So, Excluding the last activity made Four's life somewhat bland. His head swam with delusions of granduer whilst he was fededing/defecating in the coffee jar. His existance just seemed to him to be slightly… well… Lame. The peons of computershare would swarm down below him in their dance of senseless obedience, selling their life in hourly nuggets, twenty dollars- o.n.o. It was sometimes interesting, thought Four. Tiny little mice being able to watch this hilarious version of a line dance performed by drunken redneck monkeys with no sense of coordination nor self awareness that was to often referred to as "office bustling". Four often liked to look down. Of special interest to him was the workplace relationships. As all people know, not only do mice have superrodent* strength, they have superrodent* hearing.
*Superrodent - Like superhuman but smaller, fuzzier and definitely more rotund.
The way in which one of these Officelings would ave polite banter with someone which seemed completely courteous, and then turn to another and proceed to abuse the exact people whom they were so friendly with. Either that or comment heartily about their physical attributes. "absolutely shocking" Thought Four. It seemed that the wourld below the walkways the mice use as "big steel flat things for scarpering and other rodential shenanigans" there was what could only be called squeegi*
*Mice don't use soap so they could not possibly have thought "soap opera"
Four had a brilliant idea at this point. Perhaps he could open up some sort of cinema, charging the other mice and showing them this haphazard world of scheming, backstabbing, bits-admiring and all other forms of bored-human activity. The problem with this idea was that he would have to have at least a small amount of sex and a lot of violence in this emotional epic. After all, entertainment isn't entertaining without at least a minimal level of debauchery.
This itself was quite the problem. How does a mouse get humans to do some sexing/fighting? Four pondered this four approximately 7.82 seconds, and then he had it!
CHEESE!
Mice will do anything for cheese. Perhaps he could put cheese between two of the more muscular males in the office below and watch them rip each other limb from limb in cheese fuelled madness untill even the victor was unable to eat it due to his jaw being ripped off and thrown somewhere over yonder. So that solved the fighting problem. What about the sexing? How about… no… Wait….. Maybe… Perhaps he could spray the female humans with cheese essence. Would that be sufficient to warrant madness? Four believed it would.
Unfortunately for Four's great idea which he had dubbed "Fortune for Fours Forceps Fortress" he ran into a Speed-mountain*
*like a speed hump but bigger
Three days before he opened for his first viewing it was "bring you pet to work" day.
KIDDIE ENDING:
One of the employees brought a cat. His name a peter and he and Four became great friends. They ran off to have many adventures and the prince married the princess too!
GROWNUP ENDING:
One of the employees brought a cat.
Morals Make The World Go Round.
It started out as what could be perceived as a magnanimous error.
(Of course, the leprechauns wouldn't view it like that but that would be why they are leprechauns and not humans)
The ISR, (who's name will not be mentioned here *coughmichaelcough*) had looked into the wrong file. In any overly large file system there is always that one file which contains: 3 peanuts (half gnawed), 2 pencils, an eraser, 6 marbles, 1 dead camel and ofcourse, a panoramic view of the universe providing vast detail about the centrific nature of black holes. When it comes to this last little item which happens to be no larger than your average sock (strangely it smells similar too.), the problem lies with the fact that it is completely impossible to exist*
*Every filing cabinet which extends more than 3 metres in any direction always contains something that is a physical impossibility, be it a sock shaped vision into the vastitudes of space or a librarian that isn't scary.
and the connective problem that michael had viewed it. Michaels mind was immediately tainted. The knowledge of the universe was reverbrating in his skull like a very disconcerted platypus in a saucepan screaming at the woes of fate. Such knowledge was never supposed to be in such a small and pathetic mind, ill fitted for the most menial of tasks. it is believed that michael was hunting for "a life" because he had been told to get one. in this hunt he found what was never meant to be found. Needless to say around such a logic defying and utterly imposssible mind, strange things started to happen. the most interesting one was when four people were warped into one super intelligent being, who in the habit of super intelligent beingscould not walk, communitcate or use their body in any coherant matter. Now, the knowledge inside michaels head which henceforth will affectionately be know as the platypus had an agenda of its own. it had to escape. the mind of a moron is a very confining thing. confined to one viepoint, confined to stupidity so of course the paltypus was confined. All that it could hope was that michael would have such an accident that his skull would be rendered into a capacity where it would be open (shattered) and the platypus could get free. Then the platypus would be free to attack those that it found unworthy of life (all but the superbeing who happens to be completely useless at anything but talking with a computervoice and the true ruler of the universe: A disabled chicken named Glibble that is the pet of a blind old lady named Gertrude*)
*Gertrude is also deaf and has very little sense of touch left. How do we know Gertrude has little touch left?.... She thinks Glibble is a cat.
Now. Let this serve as a lesson to you. Know this: If michael's skull is cracked open, the platypus will escape and the universe will be left to the ruling of a human who is as utterly incapable of anything other than calculating the reason for black holes, and a chicken.
Moral of the story: You may want to crack someones skull open with a gluestick. But be nice or a platypus will devour your soul.
(Of course, the leprechauns wouldn't view it like that but that would be why they are leprechauns and not humans)
The ISR, (who's name will not be mentioned here *coughmichaelcough*) had looked into the wrong file. In any overly large file system there is always that one file which contains: 3 peanuts (half gnawed), 2 pencils, an eraser, 6 marbles, 1 dead camel and ofcourse, a panoramic view of the universe providing vast detail about the centrific nature of black holes. When it comes to this last little item which happens to be no larger than your average sock (strangely it smells similar too.), the problem lies with the fact that it is completely impossible to exist*
*Every filing cabinet which extends more than 3 metres in any direction always contains something that is a physical impossibility, be it a sock shaped vision into the vastitudes of space or a librarian that isn't scary.
and the connective problem that michael had viewed it. Michaels mind was immediately tainted. The knowledge of the universe was reverbrating in his skull like a very disconcerted platypus in a saucepan screaming at the woes of fate. Such knowledge was never supposed to be in such a small and pathetic mind, ill fitted for the most menial of tasks. it is believed that michael was hunting for "a life" because he had been told to get one. in this hunt he found what was never meant to be found. Needless to say around such a logic defying and utterly imposssible mind, strange things started to happen. the most interesting one was when four people were warped into one super intelligent being, who in the habit of super intelligent beingscould not walk, communitcate or use their body in any coherant matter. Now, the knowledge inside michaels head which henceforth will affectionately be know as the platypus had an agenda of its own. it had to escape. the mind of a moron is a very confining thing. confined to one viepoint, confined to stupidity so of course the paltypus was confined. All that it could hope was that michael would have such an accident that his skull would be rendered into a capacity where it would be open (shattered) and the platypus could get free. Then the platypus would be free to attack those that it found unworthy of life (all but the superbeing who happens to be completely useless at anything but talking with a computervoice and the true ruler of the universe: A disabled chicken named Glibble that is the pet of a blind old lady named Gertrude*)
*Gertrude is also deaf and has very little sense of touch left. How do we know Gertrude has little touch left?.... She thinks Glibble is a cat.
Now. Let this serve as a lesson to you. Know this: If michael's skull is cracked open, the platypus will escape and the universe will be left to the ruling of a human who is as utterly incapable of anything other than calculating the reason for black holes, and a chicken.
Moral of the story: You may want to crack someones skull open with a gluestick. But be nice or a platypus will devour your soul.
Little Thomas the Hullucinating Somersaulting Gary Coleman Canine
Little Thomas trudged out onto the stage. He didn't want to be there. All the people looking at him as if he was the last doughnut in the police headquarters breakroom. He thought of what he was doing. How he hated it so much. But it paid well.
Pfft. He thought to himself. I am making the same complaints as a stripper
Truly, the only difference between Thomas and a stripper was that strippers attract rich business men and know how to gobble rod.
Whereas Little Thomas was a halfbreed mongrel of a street dog who hullucinated charismatic chickens and had conveniently (for his starving stomach) learned to do somersaults whenever he tried to walk backwards.
As the reason that this is beneficial may not be truly apparent, let me elaborate.
Imagine you are a kitchenhand in a grubby inner-city restaurant and you are carrying a plate of leftovers. You see a little scruffy little puppy (Little Thomas is actually 36 in dog years. He is like a canine Gary Coleman… But less creepy) who is quite frightened. But as the gorgeous little tyke starts backing away, his back legs start vibrating like 200 dollars well spent in a dubious shop, catapulting his rear into the air to have him land in the sitting position slightly dazed and with a slight sense of vertigo. What do you do? You either laugh and carefully boot him away, wary of the diseases he is carrying. OR, you sneak back inside and get a freshly basted steak and chuck it to the little fella. Because at that stage you are on the verge of beastiality… You goddam freak!
But now back to the story at hand, or is it at paw?
Baddum Tschh
AT HAND!
As Thomas slowly walked onto the stage he felt the telltale signs that he was going to have a problem with this performance.
His bladder was complaining like a pregnant woman, his heart palpatating like that of four hundred kilogram man who rests just 3 twinkies shy of a major Coronary.
Thomas trudged gloomily out to the centre of the stage, a shy fake grin on his face. He was just about to take his first step backwards for the group of onlooking teenagers, all wanting to see the stupid little puppy knock himself unconcious again, all holding delectable snack for when he did.
And the he heard it.
Cluck
Surely this couldn't be. It had never happened when he was in view. NEVER.
Bwaaark Buk Buk Buk.
Oh god! Oh damn. And then. He saw one. Winding its way through the feet of his onlookers was the chartol heston of chickens. If he was human he would be Johnny Depp, Joan of Ark, James Spader, William Shatner, Jesus himself is goddamn chicken form. As the chicken approached, thomas took one vibrating step backwards then another. And then…. He launched forward. He knew this was the end. It was all over. With a THUD Thomas hit the pavement rear end first. The shock running up through his sphincter and into his spine, causing all his limbs to go to jelly (not the delicious colored jelly but the gooey jellyFISH kind that hurt like buggery if you touch em)
Now the chicken was before him. It smiled it's clairvoyantly charming smile and said to him.
"Hello there Chum! Fancy a drink"
In other news, a stray dog has been found that seems to be completely insane. Scientists and veterinarians alike are very excited because mental illness in a dog may be their first step into evolving the ability of self-awareness.
Heres tom with the weather.
Pfft. He thought to himself. I am making the same complaints as a stripper
Truly, the only difference between Thomas and a stripper was that strippers attract rich business men and know how to gobble rod.
Whereas Little Thomas was a halfbreed mongrel of a street dog who hullucinated charismatic chickens and had conveniently (for his starving stomach) learned to do somersaults whenever he tried to walk backwards.
As the reason that this is beneficial may not be truly apparent, let me elaborate.
Imagine you are a kitchenhand in a grubby inner-city restaurant and you are carrying a plate of leftovers. You see a little scruffy little puppy (Little Thomas is actually 36 in dog years. He is like a canine Gary Coleman… But less creepy) who is quite frightened. But as the gorgeous little tyke starts backing away, his back legs start vibrating like 200 dollars well spent in a dubious shop, catapulting his rear into the air to have him land in the sitting position slightly dazed and with a slight sense of vertigo. What do you do? You either laugh and carefully boot him away, wary of the diseases he is carrying. OR, you sneak back inside and get a freshly basted steak and chuck it to the little fella. Because at that stage you are on the verge of beastiality… You goddam freak!
But now back to the story at hand, or is it at paw?
Baddum Tschh
AT HAND!
As Thomas slowly walked onto the stage he felt the telltale signs that he was going to have a problem with this performance.
His bladder was complaining like a pregnant woman, his heart palpatating like that of four hundred kilogram man who rests just 3 twinkies shy of a major Coronary.
Thomas trudged gloomily out to the centre of the stage, a shy fake grin on his face. He was just about to take his first step backwards for the group of onlooking teenagers, all wanting to see the stupid little puppy knock himself unconcious again, all holding delectable snack for when he did.
And the he heard it.
Cluck
Surely this couldn't be. It had never happened when he was in view. NEVER.
Bwaaark Buk Buk Buk.
Oh god! Oh damn. And then. He saw one. Winding its way through the feet of his onlookers was the chartol heston of chickens. If he was human he would be Johnny Depp, Joan of Ark, James Spader, William Shatner, Jesus himself is goddamn chicken form. As the chicken approached, thomas took one vibrating step backwards then another. And then…. He launched forward. He knew this was the end. It was all over. With a THUD Thomas hit the pavement rear end first. The shock running up through his sphincter and into his spine, causing all his limbs to go to jelly (not the delicious colored jelly but the gooey jellyFISH kind that hurt like buggery if you touch em)
Now the chicken was before him. It smiled it's clairvoyantly charming smile and said to him.
"Hello there Chum! Fancy a drink"
In other news, a stray dog has been found that seems to be completely insane. Scientists and veterinarians alike are very excited because mental illness in a dog may be their first step into evolving the ability of self-awareness.
Heres tom with the weather.
The opening credits.
This is the first of what is hopefully going to become many posts in my new blog. I have decided to open this as a vent to my writing and possibly a way to get some more people interested in my work/play. If you like what you see in this blog, please let your friends know and maybe that way some people will come to like my writing, thus making it easier to publish work.
That is the ultimate goal.
:D
Zac.
That is the ultimate goal.
:D
Zac.
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