5/28/2012
Lumberjack Kody.
“Welcome,” giggles the eight foot
tall lumberjack, named Kody. “To my home. It’s a nifty place. Like my Volkswagon
beattle? Plays great music. Say hi to Normen, the Gnome as you walk in. Hi,
Gnormen. Like the bling I put around his neck? Come. Air conditioner’s not
working, but here, I’ve got a cola fer you if yer thirsty. No? Sorry. Fresh out
of water.
Come on in, come in. S’been a while
since I’ve entertained. Just move that
stuff there and sit yerself down.” You leave the stuff on the chair.
“Finally have a use fer the table
besides storage. Gonna have an insect zoo on it. Bought the containers the
other day. O Like my bird? The name’s Roger.” There’s a flash of fluttery pink
feathers fluttering against the bars.
“Oh, hold it, I’ve plum near
forgot. Cookies in the oven. Hungry? Gran made them. Bless her soul. Lost her
life hunting. Right Gran Gran!??” Gran Gran shouts back from the adjacent,
paper-filled room, never moving her glasses from the video game with fluffy
pink bunnies bouncing around on it.
As Kody, goes into the kitchen, his
head bounces off the chandelier. He takes off his shirt, showing massive
lumberjack muscles, and opens the smoking oven. Using his shirt, he takes the
charred cookies out and plops them on the stove with a clutter.
“Ah. There we go” he says. “Now
where’s that darn cat? Bobalina. He’d hate it if he missed ya. So long since
we’ve had folks over. I got him cause he
looked rebel enough to guard my stuff. Didn’t find out till later, he’s as
harmless as a pillow. Couldn’t hurt a fly. Bobalina! Here Bobalina! He’s real
good at keepin the mice away though. Here Bobalina, Bobalina. Bobalina. Here.
Bobby. Bobalina. Bobbalin’. Ah! There you are. Bobalina” “MEAOW!!!! A haggard
cat hisses, extending his claws. Kody laughs mirthfully, and chucks a penny at
it. “Cute as pie,” lumberjack Kody says.
Popping open a cola, he drops back
down in the tattered yellow couch. It is a tacky fifties fashioned, cluttery
living room. Dark drapes and all. “Hmm. Now, what do most people do when
they’ve got folks over? Could give you a tour, though reckon, you’ve seen most
of it already. Living room and foyer’s right here. Gran Gran’s in the office,
and her room’s right there. Oh. Wanna see the bathroom? S’got a cool mirror
with shells. Na? Okay. Should check out the back yard too. S’got a neat little
fountain looks just like Lindsay Lohan with wings. Useful for practicing my
paint ball gun. Use the birdbath too. I don’t believe in real guns though. Way,
I see it, best way to do anything is with your bare hands. Less you’re shooting
paintballs or hawking up lugies or… Where do I sleep? Why outside, course.
Pretty little stars. Once, I saw a bear. Big massive creature with gappin jaws.
Reckon she was hunting for food fer her cub, so I went and bought a big gallon
of ice cream fer her. She comes around these part, every once in a while. Oh
don’t mind that noise. That’s the clown suite in the dryer. The nose always
makes a racket. Not as much as the time Gran fergot ta take Bobalina out of his
winter sweater vest before she washed it. Woowee. That cat can make a racket.
Ha. Ha. Sure you don’t want to see the bathroom? Them shells are mighty nice.
Yer leavin? But you just got here? Oh. Okay, I guess, I could understand that.
See you another time then. POW!!! He launches himself at the cat, startling it
into a meowing tantrum again. Taking a swig from his cola, lumberjack Kody
chuckles merrily. “Alright, Thanks. See
ya ‘nother time,” he shouts, waving as you shut the door to your car and start
your engines. You turn to Elena, the white rabbit dressed in a tuxedo, and ask
her, “How’s this guy supposed to protect the ruby locket?”
Power. Everyone seeks it. Yet we
fail to realize that sometimes the most empowering thing we can do is to serve.
Let me tell you of a Brit who fought for his country, his queen. His queen told
him to kill his bunny. He did. The queen, in his head, told him to kill his
cricket he did. He died a very lonely man. That’s not a very good example now
is it. How about a monkey named Quinco, who played upon a harp every day to a
lord? Lord of something…cotton candy there we go. So the monkey played to the
Lord of Cotton Candy, and soothed the LCC’s constant nightmare of little kids
eating him. LCC would go off in raging torments and slaughter thousands of
fluff every time he had this dream. But old Quinco, the monkey, loved LCC and
served him no matter what.
One day a beautiful girl, the chosen watchdog
came into town. She was head police of Columbian High, the place where the
monkey and Lord of Cotton Candy lived. Her name was Sally. She thwarted all of
the evil schemes that Lord of Cotton Candy cooked up: the evil scheme to poison
every child with grapes, to brain control every child with video games, to sick
child eating lizards after them. But try as badass policewoman Sally tried, she
could not defeat evil Cotton Candy Lord himself. Quinco with his little fez
hat, and twitchy noise watched all the action from the side, and slowly, ever so
slowly, plot destroyed by destroyed plot, the monkey began to change. He began
to discover a world away from the harp. Meanwhile, Policewoman Sally started
getting frustrated trying to wash the cotton candy out of her hair. She devised
one last plan and went to the store to get some supplies.
So, one day, LCC had another
nightmare. He went to the harp playing Quinco for soothing jazzzz. Quinco
pulled out his harp and began to play a really soothing song that conjured up beautiful
images of a policewoman killing LCC. LCC grew enraged and threw things at Quinco.
Quinco didn’t stop. A smile perched on Quinco’s lips as he played on ever more
and more violent images of kids and Policewoman Sally devouring color changing cotton
candy, first blue then green, then purple, then red and pots and flowers crashed
into Quinco, and blood began to drip from Quinco’s eye, and still, the little
monkey played on. Finally LCC grabbed him by the neck and launched him across
the room. Then LCC snapped the harp in half, strings flailing. Blood dripping
from Quinco’s eye, he smiled, then pulled out a flute, and played a sleeping
spell on LCC. “That’s better” Said LCC as he yawned. Then slowly he curled up
on the couch. Quinco went over and patted LCC’s fluffy pink head. He put LCC in
a box and put him in the freezer. A knock at the door. Quinco went over to the
door and opened it. There stood Policewoman Sally standing there with a bazooka
on her shoulder. Quinco smiled and said, “The deed is done. He is all yours.”
5/25/2012
Breakfast with the Cooks.
One sunny morning at the Cooks'
residence…
“Don’t just sit there. You’re turtling
up in that puny shell again. You always do that, leave all of our
relationship problems on that stupid table, unspoken, untouched, unresolved,” said Emilia Cooks.
“What’s wrong with that?” said
Roger Cooks, putting his red flip flops on her table, leaning back in his chair and
popping a cheerio in his mouth. He wore a wife beater and plaid pajama pants. “By the way, we need milk.”
“Because they’ll never go away, we’ll
never be happy, and they’ll come right back to eat us. Besides, it’s like
stopping the movie right in the middle. It’s annoying.”
“You’re still upset about that aren’t
you? Anyway, who cares about the ending? I mean who even cares about the problems?
I like you angry.”
“Ughh..."She
dug her nails into her hair. She slammed her hands to her
side. She dug her nails into her palms. Then, while continuing to pace
around in her bunny slippers, jabbing her finger at him, she said, "You
know what?
You’re a coward, that's what you are. You just don’t want to face the
fact that we have problems here. You’re
too chicken to deal with them. All you want is what's happening right in front of you.”
“Sticks and stones love,” quoted
Roger. Crunch went a Cheerio.
“Look
it! You’re dropping cheerios
all over my carpet! The maid just cleaned! What about the party!!
What're are the Johnsons gonna say when their little baby starts eating
cheerios off the floor? What?
Stop staring
at me like that!! It's your fault. Do this, do that, Stop it, Stop that.
clean
this, clean that. I'm always the bad guy around here. What am I!? The broken doll of
Stalin?! The broken record!? Its all so frequin' cliche!! I can't take
it!!"
"One minute, 27 seconds. Getting better," he said, looking up from his watch.
"Ughh! Stop it!!! I'm tired of all your...your..your... Uggh!!”
"One minute, 27 seconds. Getting better," he said, looking up from his watch.
"Ughh! Stop it!!! I'm tired of all your...your..your... Uggh!!”
“I’m surprised you haven’t left
yet,” said Roger, smiling.
“It’s my house!!!” said Emila. She
stormed off, grabbed the door handle, and paused. Her body settled in place as she
put a hand over her mouth, breathing, thinking.
"You know you're terrible at being angry. Needs more cussing." Crunch. Roger leaned forward and really got into it with big hand gestures. "And you're supposed to storm all the way out.You know leave me in peace. And slam the door real hard. As hard you can. Just like that. Come on now, your turn. Try it. I know you can do it. Just like you ran over that cute little squirrel. Just one good slam. Then run up those stairs. The squirrel wouldn't mind." He couldn't help hiding his smile now.
She stood still and thought. Then a smirk crept up from beneath her ring laden fingers. She turned back and said, “I’ll call your Mother.”
"You know you're terrible at being angry. Needs more cussing." Crunch. Roger leaned forward and really got into it with big hand gestures. "And you're supposed to storm all the way out.You know leave me in peace. And slam the door real hard. As hard you can. Just like that. Come on now, your turn. Try it. I know you can do it. Just like you ran over that cute little squirrel. Just one good slam. Then run up those stairs. The squirrel wouldn't mind." He couldn't help hiding his smile now.
She stood still and thought. Then a smirk crept up from beneath her ring laden fingers. She turned back and said, “I’ll call your Mother.”
“Sure go ahead.”
Noticing how the cheerios
paused for a moment, before he plopped them in his mouth, she smiled.
“You know. The reason it’s annoying
when you stop in the middle of a movie is that you never see the results. But
you probably don’t care about whats gonna happen do you?”
“You and your movie metaphors.”
Crunch. She smiled. She turned and left the room, muttering to herself,
"Perhaps you do...You know. My talking about this script
we're creating for ourselves is really meta. Or am I making things up
again?"
She picked up the
lime colored landline.
Ring. Ring.
"Hi.
Mrs. Cook? Yes. No. Yes. Hey um...Yeah, it was really great. Listen.
No. That's tonight. Hey, um...Yeah, I'm excited about it too. No, we're
not ready yet. Almost though. Hey listen, I'm calling about Roger..."
Muck Basketball
There was David. Ball in hand. Last shot. Tie game. Set. Jump. Release. Then
the bell tolled and the rim shook. His shot askanced sideways. Lightning stuck, plunging the still roaring crowd in darkness. Emergency
power came on. That’s when David saw it. A troll, with a gaping mouth, massive
fist, tall as the basket etc. At the troll’s gnarly foot stood Muck the goblin,
with David’s shiny shamrock shoes. Why would Muck show up with a live man-eating
troll? What David didn’t know was that Muck had become part of a secret
organization called Muck’s Unite for Better Earth or MUBE. In short, MUBE was a
bunch of crazy Goblins coming together to save Earth from magical beasts like the
troll with the beastly mouth gaping to eat David.
On the other
side of the galaxy an alien, named Cindy Lou, felt a disturbance in the force.
So she teleported to the basketball court grabbed David and teleported back,
safely out of danger. Keep in mind that the crowd is still roaring in the
Grinaldo Mid Western Basketball Coliseum. When Muck discovered the
disappearance of David, his shamrock shoes allowed him to see the gaping warp
hole that Cindy used. He promptly teleported over there, grabbed David and
teleported him back to the Coliseum. Poor David, a series of rapid
teleportations back and forth caused by Cindy and Muck made him very sick.
Finally he shouted: ENOUGH!!!
Everything stopped. A little bit of drool
dripped from the half eaten backboard. David looked up and found the troll glaring
down on him, death in its eyes. For the first time the crowd noticed the troll.
Of course, they did what most would do in a situation like this. They panicked.
Chaos ensued. David watched Muck and Cindy squabbling over each other, deciding who
would save who. The troll lifted his foot and began to descend right on top of
the squabbling pair. David tackled the two out of the way. Suddenly he found
himself transported once again straight into a lake. As they
paddled back to shore, they finally breathed a sigh of relief. They had escaped
the man eating troll. What they didn’t know was that the troll had followed
them into the portal as well. He stood at the bottom of the lake,
waiting for his opportunity to strike…
Dragon Revenge
Meanwhile the aliens from above
watched. They had a keen interest in dragons. It was postulated that despite
the anatomical differences which were major, aliens and dragons were not at all
different. For one thing, humans had never seen either. Well that’s not
entirely true. For one thing they were both carnivores. They killed when
hungry. That’s what separated them from the humans. So when Willy went out to
kill Dharvus for revenge, he was destroying his chances of being a natural
dragon. Irony?
Julia, the princess, thought so,
trapped in her tower. She had a forty-five page essay on the plausible uses of
the draconic root due tomorrow. No way out of the situation. Her eyes
formed tears dripping over the manuscripts forming brown faded blobs much like
the black splotches of her dripping ink. Hopeless. Someday a dragon would come
and save her.
But today, Willy was distracted
with revenge: That Knight, Dharvus, had a date with death. When Willy found
Dharvus’s motel room, he leaned his great head down so he could peer through
the colorful window. There was Dharvus, lying on his big belly on his soft
cushions, his clothes still on, empty fruit bowls strew across the floor
and a grape stain licked his lips. Willy tapped the window with his claw. It
broke. The man still snored. After gulping a bottle of Coca-cola, Willy artfully crafted his flame breath so that it
filled the scope of the room. The blast rent through the room with a roaring
fiery inferno that blew the roof right off.
The flames wove above the sleeping Knight, barely singing his pointy
ears. When the flames extinguished, leaving trailing smoke, Willy realized with
dismay that the man continued to snore. Well this is lame, thought Willy. He
decided to go home, planning on coming back another day when the knight was
awake and more entertaining.
21 shot salute.
Bang, Bang, six shots direct to the abdomen of
the rhinoceros. The old fellor didn’t stop. Bang. Direct to the head. Still the horn flew
towards its target. Bang the Rhino lost balance and slid into the six foot
hunter with his socks pulled up to his shorts. Bye, bye hunter. Poor dude. He
had a short life. 21 shot salute to the poor hunter who perished in a Nano
Rhino attack. You see, the shots were staplers and the rhino was nano sized.
The hunter only died because he pricked his big toe, and the toe got infected,
and within a week, the hunter died.
His wife, Slasherina, didn’t make
anything of it. She got all the money. Some mischievous malander would say
she was the one who sent the rhino. But anyone who knew the hunter at all would
know he liked hunting. He also liked chocolate, which was why they buried him in
a chocolate coffin.
Mysteriously, some fifty years later
his grave would be dug up by an evil scientist, only to find the coffin had
vanished. There must have been a chocolate coffin robber somewhere, the grave
robbers wondered. They didn’t consider the possibility that the chocolate
simply decayed over time. I mean, how long would chocolate last underground
anyways?
At the funeral, Jerry Jackson,
veiled his face, pretending to mourn the loss of this great hunter. Really, he was laughing. The hunter’s wife,
was also giggling underneath her veil. It is here that I reveal that Slasherina
and Jackson were lovers, and now could peacefully enjoy each other’s company. So
they thought. Instead, the hunter haunted them for life: barging in during
mealtimes, noon-time walks, dates, weddings and other intimate moments.
A Muck in Time.
Jackson Five continued playing. A
friendly little band. The cute kid was gonna be a star. The Time traveler thought.
The Time traveler was drinking his milkshake at a bar late one night, with
a whole lot of other worries dragging him down that he is trying not to think
about. Larry is a good name for him. He’s a sarcastic feller that doesn’t know
about Michael Jackson yet. Who knows if he ever will. Dramatic irony. A sauntering
leggy chick slides into the stool next to him. She pips up some drink, like it’s
her usual and waits and listens to the bands, her toes jiving to the rhythm. A
couple of remarks to break silence. Then the two were lost in conversation.
Larry all gloom, and Gloria with a smile very becoming of her.
Now for some plot- well Larry had
the mob after him, his job wasn’t going so well, oh! And his wife hates his
guts right now. She’s leaving him. It goes against what I believe, but it
doesn’t go against what Larry’s wife believes, so I suppose she must leave him.
Do writer’s have to write to their characters? Are they enslaved to create the
truth? Or can a writer mold the character to his own design, to help brainwash
the reader? Hmmm. Writers try to encapsulate the truth, but also writing is
power, and can make a serious impact on the truth, and if unchecked, serious
consequences can occur. So truth or responsibility? An argument for a later
date. Gloria, was red hair, lips, two eyes and a nose. No blemishes on her
skin, a part from a mole under her left eye. A little birthmark, a gift from a
God, that makes her beautiful smile stand out ever more.
Ah. Did I mention Muck? I mentioned
Larry was a time traveler right? Well Muck walks into a bar. Goes up to the
bartender. The bar tender asks him what he’ll have. Muck says, “A pair of lucky
shoes please.”
Finally, Larry in his sunken
state, lets slip that he is a time traveler, much to Gloria’s bemusement. But
Larry insists and Gloria begins to believe as her smile begins to fade. It was
replaced by something more. A joy inside so bright it outshines the smile. The
joy of adventure. Soon Larry takes her outback, and fiddles with his watch,
casually asking her where she would like to go. But. Something is wrong. Muck
appears out of thin air, with a wicked smile. He slips the watch off the man’s
wrist with speed that left Larry’s finger touching his wrist. Then Muck simply
vanished away. Note- This was before the shoe incident when Muck learned not to
steal.
Gopher.
Upon a time, there lived a bear
named Gopher. He lives in his own little hut in the woods, by an early
twinkling stream. One particularly raspberry day in the heat of September, the
balmy Marmoset set his sights on the wooded hut, with smoke trickling out the
chimney. Ah. Here is a place to cool off for a bit, thought the marmoset. But
when he entered the hut, it was way too hot, considering the boiling fire for
Gopher’s stew. So before anyone noticed, Marmoset went back outside, filled a
bucket of water from the stream, went back inside, and bathed the whole room in
water, putting out the sizzling fire, drenching Gopher’s fur.
This of course upset Gopher terribly.
He stormed and raged at the Marmoset, until the Pigeon, back from his holiday
from suburbia flopped up. He considered himself a diplomat, but he wasn’t,
thanks to his pea-sized brain. Instead he sent gray Gopher storming off through
the woods.
Marmoset curled up underneath the
blanket in Gopher’s house. After his nap, he brushed his teeth with Gopher’s
toothbrush. Meanwhile, Gopher nearly stepped on the poor little bunnies of
Rabbit’s little hovel. He didn’t care for he was grumpier than a badger,
badgering the sunbirds nesting at the top of the trees. He even stomped on the
shrieking leopard’s tail. Then Gopher went to Suburbia. The people there didn’t
much appreciate the broken windows and flipped over cars, thanks to Gopher’s
grumpiness.
When Marmoset was done with his
teeth, he went outside lapped up some water, and decided he wanted to draw. But
with what? He went back inside and found Gopher’s shiny flute. Marmoset began
drawing pretty drawings in the dirt. Suddenly Raven grabbed the shiny flute
from marmoset’s hands and flew away. Marmoset didn’t mind. He went back inside
to find something else to draw with.
Meanwhile, Gopher found himself
behind bars with a gloomy face. A hopeless face. Luckily, there was a girl, a
much better diplomat than Pigeon. She could speak Gopher and Marmoset. She
listened to Gopher and his troubles. She paid his bailout and took him back to
the bear’s home.
There was Marmoset, wearing
Gopher’s favorite hat, in the middle of the big mess of that had become of Gopher’s home.
Marmoset’s muddy drawings covered Gopher’s books. The girl pulled out her
shotgun. Cocked it. Wide-eyed, the Marmoset ran off into the woods. The girl
stayed to help Gopher put his hut back to. Gopher and girl were great friends ever
after.
1/16/2012
Sam
the Penguin
Sam the Penguin walked down the
lane with a lame hat on. Well, an awesome Santa hat with light blue and white
with a purple tinged puffs sitting lamely on his brow. Sam. No. Jerry is his
name. Sam is his evil twin’s name. So there Jerry was walking down a dark and
shimmering alley (filled with moon and snow’s illegitimate child), glitter.
Serene. All of a sudden a wisp of wind made the poor penguin’s feathers stand
on end. A pair of red eyes staring at him from the darkness. What could have
red eyes? What could possibly have a grin with such evil teeth? And was that
drool? I hope not. At first Jerry thought it was Sam, his evil twin. He was
correct of course, but he didn’t know that. How could twin penguins have fangs
like that? Besides why would Evil Sam have any reason to hurt poor nice Jerry,
aside from spite? It was spite.
Sam recently found a mask at the local party
store; he wanted to try out. A little bit of arts and crafting skill and voila!
The most evil looking mask ever! It was so evil that Jerry fainted. It was so
evil that at the convention of Evil Masks hosted by EPI (Evil People
Incorporated) the most evil mask sitting on display fainted from the site of Sam’s own hand-crafted mask. It was a miracle Jerry didn’t die just from the site of that evil
looking mask.
Now I might be masking what happens
next, because obviously any story needs to progress or risk being a
mathematical text book. Although a story that goes sideways would be a very
clever story to produce. So again, word of the day, stalling. I am sure you are
all wondering what happens to poor Jerry when he awakes from his fainting? Does
he wake up with his toes tied to the ceiling, or hanging over a cliff into some
unknown abyss? Suspense is a fun little friend to hang over everyone’s heads…
Okay, now I am just being mean.
Jerry, to satisfy your hopefully boiling
curiosity at this point, is not dead. He is …well just sitting in the snow
right where Sam left him. You see, like I said, Sam only scared Jerry for
spite. He had other reasons for donning the mask other than defeating his poor
little twin brother. He donned the mask to rob the pet store adjacent to the
alley. Cat-nip. Gets people every time.
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