12/24/11
Eastward Racoons
Let’s talk about a caravan of
raccoons heading out west. Raccoons, not grapes. Remember, there are no wrathful
grapes to kill us in this story. Where were we? Oh yes. Racoons. Caravan.
Heading west. Wait. Sorry, they are heading south. South to the great lands of
Narcolepsy. Rumour says there is so much trash in Narcolepsy it touches the
sun. Every raccoon must journey there.
Tiny Tim, one raccoon, decided to
stray from the pack: a bad decision made by one too young to understand the
full calamity of such a bad decision. You see, he got lost in the woods. Of
course, his mommy, with as many little raccoons under her claw as a bunny under
its paw lost count, and so left poor tiny Tim behind lost in the never ending
woods. Did I say woods? Sorry, I meant city, with cars zimming in and out,
people chittering and chattering, walking or waiting at a bus stop. Ever waited
at a bus-stop? Then you know what Tiny Tim felt traipsing through the streets,
searching for his family journeying to Narcolepsy.
Want to hear a secret? Narcolepsy
doesn’t exist. It’s just rumour’s red
herring. The bustling caravan of three or four wagons battled the battles one
must battle journeying through the great city of San Antonio. Like crossing the
street. Nasty business that. Almost lost three of the youngins not holding hands
as they were told. Did I say this was in San Antonio? I meant California. Don’t
ask.
Back to poor Tiny Tim. He’s in a
pickle. Or was he? All things happen for a reason. There was this girl: lonely:
sitting on the steps crying because her dog had just passed. Timmy cautiously
walked up to her and put a lone claw on her knee, his eyes delving deep into
hers, except hers were behind her arms soaked in tears. Well. Seeing cute
little eyes like Tiny Tim, with one claw on your knee and sucking the other with
his tail in hand, it does things to you. Overcome with joy, Shelby picked up
the raccoon, and squeezed him hard. She dragged him inside, forced a bow around
his neck and said “I’m going to name you Jim. Jimmy, Jim, Jim. Oh Jimmy! You
are the cutest!!!!”
Goblin’s Shoes
At night, shoes glow under David’s bed. Tennis shoes, size
7, mostly white with a shamrock on the side. The shoes are also magical. But it
isn’t the glowing that make them magical: that’s all huff and puff, like Disney
magic. A Disney mage wouldn’t last the two beautiful seconds in the same ring
as a real wizard, like Rincewind.
Did I mention that the shoes had a shamrock on
the side? Can you guess what makes the shoes magical? Nope. You’re wrong. The
shoes are magical because who ever wears them can suddenly step through walls.
They have other related and deeper attributes connected to wall stepping, like
stepping through portals into other universes and time travel, but no ordinary
person knows enough to access these properties.
David still
doesn’t know how to use them. He discovered them yesterday and today he spent
busily feeding his school of Salmon. That’s when, keeping a weary eye on David
leaning over the fish tank, Muck, the greedy goblin, slipped into David’s mess
ridden room. But right before Muck was about to switch the shoes for the ransom
note he intended David’s little brother walked into the room. He took one look at
Muck and whistled. The Four foot Great Dane bounded out of no-where like a
ninja in the night. He struck out with a long tongue and nearly drowned the
goblin with his slobbering kisses. Suddenly, the shoes glowed and the goblin
vanished. The goblin found himself running through the jungle clutching the
shoes, while a mob of hollering farmers ran after him with torches, pitchforks
and shouts of witchcraft. That’s when Muck learned not to steal.
12/24/11
Purple-eyed Ballerina
The Gnarly Gargle spit-blast of the
gargling Zander porpoise is the best class of glass when deep fried. A little
gross for big screen yes, but on the market, with the best artists, oh, the
glass beauty. Wanda came home from one of the fabulous gargle blast auctions
marveling over her newly acquired ballerina glass statue with purple eyes and a
raspberry bonnet. It was weird. Especially when you have staring contests with
it. Wanda found this out the hard way staring deep into those purple permanent
eyes...pause while she stares. .. Okay Wanda lost.
One day, Wanda was having a staring
contest with the teddy bear sitting next to Ballerina. Suddenly out of the
corner of Wanda’s ear she heard a burp. To satisfy a strangely created
suspicion, she looked at the ballerina. Sorry folks. No change. The ballerina
looked just as creepy. So, of course, Wanda began a staring contest with it. The
clock ticked and ticked and all four eyes stayed as wide as tortillas. The sun
went down. No change. Suddenly, two purple eyes, blinked.
Wanda blinked. Did she really just
win a staring contest with a creepy pink statue? She looked over at Sherlock Bear
for answers. If he could, he would shrug, but life has a policy on inanimate
objects. They aren’t allowed to move. She looked at the ballerina again.
Nothing. That crystalline doll-like figurine stood there, one leg raised like a
dog, two hands spread out like a swan capped with pink gloves. The long neck
completed the swan picture.
But you never saw any of that because you were
too busy watching the two purple dots dead center on her face. How could Wanda
beat such eyes? Hmm. This really was a
serious mystery for the master detective, Teddy Holmes. No matter. Before her boyfriend Willy Dilly came over,
Wanda blasted the Ballerina to shards with her eco friendly Blastmaster
Lazergun 3001.
Fighter
The crowd roared. The drunk swayed, his thoughts
on Eileen, on Cassidy. He never could make that transition between life and the
fight. Wham! The guy hit him and he took
it like a man. It was loud, hot, and the smoke filled his nostrils in the
bright arena. Wham! The gloves met his face again. If he had a coin for every time he stepped in
unprepared… Cassidy likes coins- shiny things.
Wham! Okay. What do we have here? The
fighter scrutinized his opponent. He brought his gloves to his face. Wiff. The
gloves sliced through his loose hair.
Let’s see. He moves his feet around a lot.
He’s known for his right arm so he probably uses it a lot. He sets it up with
two japs and the last one yep. Dodge. So
it’s just a matter of waiting for the right moment, and there. As his opponent’s head went back, the drunken
fighter swayed dangerously, slurring something indistinct… I should buy Cassidy a robot. Robots are shiny. Man, this guy is predictable. The fighter
saw where the opponent was going to be long before he was there—Wham! Wham!
Wham! In the locker room he thought about a pony, but then he’d have to feed
the thing. Wiff. Wiff. Wiff. Wait for it.
Now for the hook. Wham! Wham! He landed another one across the opponent’s
face. Follow It up… Wham! Wham! Bunnies? No. bunnies aren’t Shiny. They’re
fluffy. Fluffy is good. His opponent moved quickly out of range. Wiff. He
saw it a mile away. Step to the side, wait
for the opportunity, like right about… now. Wham!!! His opponent stumbled
and fell to the ground, bounced back up, just in time to meet the fist. Let’s end this so I can go home. Wham! Crunch.
Thud. The guy stayed down, with a punched in face like a Koala Bear. A Koala! Girls like cute things. He was
going to get Cassidy a real, live Koala for Christmas.
Ruby White Rabbit
Lamplight alit on the cobblestone street.
Elena, if that be the name of the white rabbit, bouncing down said street,
suddenly stopped. Lo, observe as she twitches her ears. She is listening for
the sounds of the mighty doom troll hot on her fluffy toes. But ho, she heard
the sounds no more. What new is afoot? Perhaps it was Super Jackrabbit to save
the day!? Nay. He is on vacation. Before the hair on her nape reached full
height, she was gone, among bushes.
Her hair was
right. Something more sinister stalked the air. A drizzle began to pour, and
soon a witching spoon began to twirl, speaking double trouble, thrice the vice,
four the horror, and five, that once dead is now alive! Spin and find the twin. Death finds life, and life, death. The troll
stopped because the evil in his veins sensed a greater evil to come, and the
cowardess in his sunken valor told him to slink back. Blood. Whatever it was.
Blood is what it sought. Not the blood of water in veins. But the blood of a
soul, tied to a shiny ruby. The evil searching for said item was…shall I reveal
that foul mouthed hooligan? Na. Wait awhile.
Back to Elain, or Elen or Elena, Allyana, I never
remember her name. If her small little heart beat any faster, it would spontaneously
explode the little critter. She hopped on, bounding ever faster, leaf, branch, weeds,
grass clawed as she hopped through the silver night lit forest. In perfect
balance, a body build to run, the white creature camouflaged with the silver
reflections of the moon. Don’t worry. She doesn’t die. The horror I shan’t
mention until the last word, is not concerned with her. Instead, he is
concerned with a bloody ruby of magical alterations, the size of his palm. He
seemed to have misplaced it. Or so he thought. He would not believe it was
currently bouncing on the fluffy white chest of a running white rabbit. No, stepping
into the lamplight, the thought never crossed the mind of the undead panda.
Alien Carrots
Ice cream dripped off her chin and
onto a tee- shirt given to her by a Mohawk guy she liked. It was a hot summer Sundae.
They were bicycling home. A windy day. Na. No more than usual. She nearly
nicked her father’s shiny blue truck as she pulled into her garage. Her younger
brother, Billy called out to her. His bike lay on the grass, wheels turning. A
Seagull squawked. It was a quiet life out in Seaville. Until the aliens came…
It began happily of course. They beamed themselves
down and started juggling for local residents. They quoted their best poetry
and performed their most popular plays. But then things changed horribly. They
became dull. For hours on end they sat on porch steps, and did…well nothing.
They just sat there. When asked why, they just watched paint dry. Eventually,
old Martha cook grabbed her nearest broom and brushed them off her porch as if
they were leaves. The butcher cut one up as an experiment. The aliens even
tasted dull. Some seriously speculated they had become vegetables. A local veliceraptor
at first enjoyed the taste of Martian, but soon even he became board and sought
other things to hunt, like that seagull.
All the while the sinister castle
at the top of the sandy cleft loomed over the small town. The Adams didn’t like
the taste of alien either. Finally the town banded together and shoved all the
aliens out to sea. The aliens floated back on the tides. What to do. It was a
real problem. Billy sat sucking his thumb as though giving the problem some
real thought. But he was only scheming to steal cookies from Mom.
No Krill
Flip. Flip. Flip, Nope. Nothing. Click.
The polar Bear with his coke in hand shuts off the television. Meanwhile, Jamie
September went to her well and for once there was something. A glimmer. What it was she could not figure in the gloom.
If Jamie had found the massive eye staring at her she would have started a
massive expedition to dig out the trapped giant squid: trapped by his hunt
for Krill. But alas. She had not the human curiosity. She went about her
business fetching water. When the bucket thudded the bottom, the side of
the hill shook. Jamie thought something odd. She chucked a rock into the
well checking for depth and the entire countryside trees nearly uprooted. She figured the well magical.
People would pay millions to chuck a rock down the well, shaking the country
like a rattler’s tail.
Far and wide, they came, lines up to the horizon of people chucking stones, and coins and what not down into the magic well. But the squid was ever faithful, hoping good would come of staring up at the deep dark hole with the light at the end. A bunch of hillbillies in their truck vroomed up with a rock, just under the size of the well’s circumference. They let it drop. Silence while we wait for the boulder to hit something. Ground heaved, and trees uprooted, houses crumbled, and a car shot around twenty feet. A little boy found a sick wet root-like stick stick out from the ground. Well, you and I know it was one of the squid’s tentacles, but they don’t know that. There was much experimentation and after a long shaking night, three more roots had sprung out of the ground. Soon a massive imprint the shape of a squid covered the entire countryside. Luckily there were some sailors there, because many had never seen a giant squid before. With time and effort they pulled the old guy out and carried him to the sea.
Far and wide, they came, lines up to the horizon of people chucking stones, and coins and what not down into the magic well. But the squid was ever faithful, hoping good would come of staring up at the deep dark hole with the light at the end. A bunch of hillbillies in their truck vroomed up with a rock, just under the size of the well’s circumference. They let it drop. Silence while we wait for the boulder to hit something. Ground heaved, and trees uprooted, houses crumbled, and a car shot around twenty feet. A little boy found a sick wet root-like stick stick out from the ground. Well, you and I know it was one of the squid’s tentacles, but they don’t know that. There was much experimentation and after a long shaking night, three more roots had sprung out of the ground. Soon a massive imprint the shape of a squid covered the entire countryside. Luckily there were some sailors there, because many had never seen a giant squid before. With time and effort they pulled the old guy out and carried him to the sea.
Dolphins Running
Dawn mist air fades
over fresh morning dew. Santa Clause himself breathes in the fresh scent. He
dons his cookie swim trunks, and sidles out to the dolphins for his morning
swim. But as he’s about to step out into the waves, a pipsqueak of a clunder
sounds from behind. He looks back to find a boy. Clause knows his name of course,
Billy from Pennsylvania. He also knew that Billy was seven and a half and three
days, though he always seemed much older. Dr. Claus knew that Billy had been a
good boy, for the most part, though he could stand for eating less.
“Billy?” The boy jumped back, at the mention
of his name. His eyes spoke of fear and determination. He was a boy on a
mission. But what mission? You’re about to find out.
Santa smiled at the boy and asked
about Billy’s mission and Billy did not answer. Santa bent his great weight
down to Billy’s level, kindly asking the boy again.
“Umm..” stammered the boy. “It’s
just that I, well I didn’t get the sleigh I wanted.”
“Hmmm.”
Mused the old man, tugging on his beard in great thought.
“So you traveled all this way, somehow managed
to not only discover my private summer hideout but break into it as well, just
to tell me you did not get the sleigh you wanted for Christmas?”
“Yes sir.”
Said Billy.
“Well. Billy
I am impressed. Not many adults could do that. I have my reasons for not
sending you the sled, and unfortunately, I feel I must uphold those reasons. Understand?”
“But. Sir. Was…”
“No. No. Billy, it’s not because
you were a bad. As a matter a fact, you were splendidly good. But your mother doesn’t
feel you are ready for a sled and while you have proven yourself worthy, I must
respect your mother’s wishes. Do you understand that?”
“Yes.” Billy said, bowing his head in defeat. It’s hard to
argue with a man who has been around for centuries.
After a few moments of pointless
debate, Clause would take the boy in for some cookies and milk and send him
back with his reindeer. That done, he ran over to his diving board and
performed a perfect cannonball, all the dolphins squeaking away from the
oncoming tsunami.
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