tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19718207088178317932024-03-05T08:14:16.635-06:00Kryptonian Komedy and Elemental ArtThis blog is dedicated to the majesty of the planet Krypton and its countless eons of comedy and art that far surpass the scribblings of earthly endeavors. Kryptonian science has developed jokes so humorous that you would wet yourselves and suffocate from laughter before even hearing their punchlines. As for your literature: a newborn babe on Krypton would scoff at the crass, unrefined bombast of your Shakespeare, and bawl at the emotional pornography you call fantasy and science fiction.Ben-Elhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09514984244150609918noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1971820708817831793.post-39799417330937901622009-10-31T13:34:00.007-05:002009-10-31T13:41:40.493-05:00Gods of the TwilightA pagan god appeared not long ago;<br />His beard and brows were white and full of snow.<br />He shrugged and stared at me with empty eye;<br />The occult god was not from heaven-high.<br /><br />I could not look, nor could I turn away,<br />He said, "Asgard awaits the brave to-day!"<br />Into that blackness I was drawn—abyss.<br />I shook my head, for things, they were amiss<br /><br />"By all the muses, poet!" he then cried;<br />"I offer thee Asgard, why cast aside?"<br />He stormed, my spine an icy chill became,<br />"With Odin, come, the sire of Baldur slain!"<br /><br />"Thou cannot have my soul, and cannot take.<br />Go home to dead and leave, for heaven's sake."<br />I, having said the strongly words, then shrunk;<br />The god remained, and swore by World Tree's trunk.<br /><br />"Into my halls, and thou shall have rewards,<br />The worst, if Odin leaves, it in store is.”<br />"The fate I wait is worse?" I gave reply,<br />"For none is worse than thine: thou fell from sky."<br /><br />His anger rose above the clouds at least;<br />That god of death, the cold, capricious beast.<br />"Are worse than Greeks and Romans, Norse!" I cried,<br />"Did Homer write of toenail-ships with pride?"<br /><br />"Are clever, boy! But thou can not do much;<br />The Fates are not so like thy God and such.<br />Unkind be they, but worse some still are, see: <br />To-morrow thou shall meet the god Loki!"<br /><br />"But take what he away that thou can not?"<br />Then thought a moment Odin on the spot,<br />"And spoil the fun, the god's surprise-intact? <br />Content to know his choice is worse, you hack!"<br /><br />"An offer worse than Odin's, this I mean,<br />As I wish thee a Happy Halloween. <br />But know thou this, I have been sickly-sweet;<br />The trickster god will not but trick or treat.”<br /><br />The god then left me, seeing-eye nodding,<br />To think of Loki's dreadful cold plotting.<br />The trickster surely promised nothing good,<br />Yet could he be much worse than Odin would?<br /><br />As Odin rode on Sleipnir, quickly gone,<br />He trampled gaily over summer's lawn,<br />And I, a shiver shaking frozen skin,<br />Would not forget the olden god—Odin.Ben-Elhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09514984244150609918noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1971820708817831793.post-79552965423583087182009-10-15T15:57:00.002-05:002009-10-15T16:00:45.390-05:00Philosophia Scientiae“Ahem,” the white lab coat-wearing spokesman cleared his throat. “Now,” he said, “I think it’s quite clear we have a major problem on our hands. Many of you know what I’m talking about. But, for the sake of those few who may not be aware of the dangers ahead, I’ve prepared some very specific points to clarify the matter(s).” The spokesman, who stood behind a podium with a microphone mounted upon it, shifted a little as he turned to the next page in the pile of computer paper upon said podium.<br /><br />“You see,” he continued, “There is a great risk of the situation deteriorating, and rapidly. The situation I speak of, of course, is the environment of Earth’s primary satellite. Now, to understand the situation fully you would need many years training in the scientific fields—any of them would do—but since you, presumably, do not have this, you will have to take my—excuse me, ‘our,’ as in the consensus of this panel—word for it.<br /><br />“To begin, there is the rather drastic condition of life upon ‘the moon,’ as it is so commonly called. For—it may shock you—we know there is life upon ‘the moon.’ Surely you have heard of the ‘colonists,’ if not I’m afraid there is little chance of persuading you…” There was laughter in the press room. <br /><br />“Regardless, it is pertinent to point out that if there is some life, why is it so strange to believe there is other life?” Heads bobbed up and down in assent among the audience. “I think it is clear, at least, that there are living organisms inhabiting this planet’s primary satellite… if anyone disagrees, let him speak.” None of the reporters so much as raised a hand to question the statement.<br /><br />“Moving on,” he persisted, “from that we can also conclude many things. First and foremost, of course, is the need for regulation. But let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves…” and here he smiled. There was light—almost guilty—laughter in the room. “Second is the question of microbes. We know there are microbes. For where there are colonists there are microbes. Let us hope they have not given any blankets to the natives…” Loud guffaws followed, and extremely guilty ones at that, with covered mouths and shifty eyes looking at neighbors for direction. <br /><br />“Yes, this is a concern also,” he carried on. “But even without intent, there are innumerable threats these so-called ‘colonists’ pose to the environment of the largest orbiting body of Sol’s third satellite. For instance, while many ‘scientists,’ and I use the term lightly, for they were of former eras where even speculation and philosophy could be called such, have been hung up on threats to life, we must look beyond that. Let me explain. <br /><br />"You see, an ecosystem is a complex thing. So complex in fact, that no one really understands it. But,” he added quickly, “insofar as anyone does, I can tell you there is a high probability of soil contamination upon the object orbiting one of many other, larger, objects orbiting one of other yet larger objects that in turn are orbiting the Milky Way galaxy. <br /><br />“I think, then, it is obvious what must be done. But for those of you who remain skeptical, I submit to you the following: In the few years since ‘colonization’ began, the temperature of the body in question has risen—albeit only in certain areas—by over one hundred degrees! At this rate, in one hundred years the temperature—albeit in these admittedly few areas—may be hotter than the surface of the sun! If this is allowed to occur, the resultant fireball may very well crash into the Earth and destroy us all! <br /><br />“Surely <i>something</i> must be done! But what? Well, it is not within the realm of my expertise to say, but I think it should be obvious by now,” he paused for laughter, which he received, “that the only reasonable course of action—and action must be taken—is to immediately abandon all projects for further terraforming and resource-gathering upon the imperiled spheroid. And anyone who disagrees must be shouted down. We cannot allow such things to happen to our most precious commodities.<br /><br />“Although,” he added wryly, “we know the type of people these loonies are, and we’d be better if they did burn themselves all up. Unfortunately, we are all in the same boat, figuratively speaking, of course. In the past people on tiny islands thought they could remain independent, but the European Union proved this false. For their own good, and for that of us all, we must bring their self-destructive ambitions under heel!”<br /><br />Loud applause rocked the press room. Afterward, outside and overhead, a frown darkened the once bright face of Luna.Ben-Elhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09514984244150609918noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1971820708817831793.post-35242427427442903372009-06-18T21:16:00.003-05:002009-06-18T22:04:52.549-05:00The Unseen World, Chapter 5: White Queen to King’s Bishop SevenLily walked down the long, lavish hallway with fine carpeted floors, marble walls, and elaborate chandeliers. In one hand she was carrying a manila folder, neatly filled with papers, pressed against her blue-flowered low-cut blouse, while she dangled the other arm artfully at her side, complementing the exaggerated sway of her skirt-clad hips. Turning right, then left, at the end of the hallway, Lily emerged into a well-lit rotunda. Although entirely enclosed, it was decorated like a courtyard; a circular walkway surrounded a gravel base sectioned like a pizza into four by further walkways leading straight to the center of the rotunda, where what appeared to be an old, uncovered stone well stood starkly. The walkways leading to the well corresponded with the four cardinal directions, and each was labeled accordingly.<br /><br />From the entrance to the rotunda, Lily made her way a quarter turn along the circular walkway, or just past the East walkway, her high heels sounding off on the light colored paving stones as she went. She opened, with a creaking sound, one of two monumental bronze doors, labeled above the archway with the Roman numeral ‘CXIII.’ Entering, she released the door, which closed with a scraping metallic sound somewhere between a clang and a thud. Inside was a low light carpeted corridor intersected by another, forming a ‘T.’ Along the top of the T there were four Red Oak doors, two on either side of the intersection. Lily opened the door on the far right.<br /><br />Inside the room, her tall, dark and handsome new boss sat at a rather Spartan desk near the far wall, scribbling away at a piece of paper. He looked up, briefly, and then pretended he wasn’t distracted by the intrusion, seemingly returning to his work. But Lily knew better. First, she looked around to see what he had done with the place. <i>Not much,</i> she noted disapprovingly. There was a giant vid screen set in the left wall, and an admittedly impressive-looking life-sized replica suit of Alexandrian armor, complete with sword and shield, against the wall roughly halfway between the vid screen and an unadorned single bed at the corner of the near wall. The only other furniture was a red velvet sofa parked practically right in front of the vid screen.<br /><br />She made an audible ‘tsk tsk’ sound, and furtively watched his reaction. It was subtle, but blocked from light though it was by his long, thick, charcoal black hair, she could see his pale face, milky white like the rest of his skin—no longer tanned by the Mediterranean sun, and borne of near agoraphobia, it seemed—,twitch in irritation. He half looked up toward her before catching himself and returning his gaze to his paper, trying to pretend it was something else that had distracted him.<br /><br />Lily whistled a couple bars of some elevator music.<br /><br />“Yes?” he said finally. <br /><br />It was the reaction she had been hoping for.<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /> <br />Alex watched as his tall, platinum blonde secretary, neatly arrayed in her trademark style—a blouse and ruffled miniskirt with floral patterns—seemingly glided over to the desk where he was working. Arching her long back, the slender but muscular fair-skinned young woman, in her early twenties by all appearances, about his age, bent over Alex’s desk, plopping a manila folder in front of him and opening it with her long, agile fingers. “You’ll probably need this,” she said with an air of command in her sweet, soft, almost lisping voice; like the foaming of the sea.<br /><br />Alex looked into her expressive, aquamarine eyes, ignoring the folder. “What is it?” he asked.<br /><br />“Stuff,” she replied simply. She motioned suggestively with her eyes for him to look at the material.<br /><br />“No abstract?” he arched a thick, charcoal eyebrow.<br /><br />She let out a light, almost playful, sigh. “There’s a lot of different things. Some mail. But most is just information you need to do your job. How’s that going, by the way?”<br /><br />There was a pause, then:<br /><br />“Is that a challenge?” he asked, pushing his chair away from the desk, leaning back, jutting forward his broad, black-shirted chest, stretching his long arms and cracking his knuckles above his head, yet still keeping his eyes locked on hers.<br /><br />“It might be…” she replied coyly.<br /><br />It was. And they both knew it.<br /><br />“Very well, then. I suppose I’ll have to meet it.” He stood up.<br /><br />“You aren’t one to shy from a challenge, are you?”<br /><br />“That’s why you hired me, isn’t it?” he joked, but it wasn’t rhetorical, and they both knew this as well.<br /><br />“That would be telling,” was all she could say.<br /><br />“Yes it would,” he grinned. “But that’s alright,” he assured her, “I’ll pretend it’s a game; that’ll be more fun.”<br /><br />“That sounds dangerous.”<br /><br />“Is that a threat?”<br /><br />Lily frowned, but perhaps noticing that he was smiling, instead of reassuring him it was no such thing she said, “You aren’t taking this seriously.”<br /><br />He laughed. “You obviously didn’t read my résumé.” <br /><br />“I don’t recall you submitting one.”<br /><br />“True, but you know what I do. I solve riddles… I like games.”<br /><br />“I thought you were a detective.”<br /><br />“That’s what my uncle paid me for.”<br /><br />“And it’s what we’re paying you for, too. So, I’ll ask you again, have you detected anything?”<br /><br />“Ouch,” he shook one hand as if he had been bitten. “Ok, I’ll give you a progress report, little Miss impatient.” <br /><br />Lily looked a little guilty—bashful even, which pleased Alex, because that was the only time <i>she</i> didn’t intimidate <i>him</i>. It wasn’t her beauty so much, although that was a factor, but the way she always seemed so at place, so comfortable. Her persona was as much a natural fixture in the suspicious, corporate ambiance of Prometheus Technologies as was her visage. She was confidant; adaptable, fluid, like a chameleon, or water.<br /><br />“Sorry,” she said with sincerity, “It’s just that there’ve been some setbacks, apparently.” She bit her pink lip before continuing, “...And I’m just conveying Lucien’s impatience.”<br /><br />Alex smiled tightly. <br /> <br />As he let his smile fade, Alex looked her in the eyes, commenting as unacerbically as he could manage, “You’re just like a little reflecting pool, aren’t you?”<br /><br />She looked almost hurt. He had expected that, however, and was ready with self-deprecating addendum, saying with as humble an affectation as possible, “Which is perfect for any handsome Greek, such as myself—every Narcissus needs his mirror.”<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />“That’s sweet,” she said, softly. Then, thinking about it some more, Lily wondered if he was really saying she was necessary for him to show interest in the external—perhaps she was even the object of fixation itself—,or just some sick, twisted device to be used for reflecting his own self-love. More likely, he was just messing with her. So, she added, “Wait. What do you mean?”<br /><br />“That would be telling.”<br /><br />“Been saving that?” she snapped back.<br /><br />“Yes, but…” he tried to salvage the situation. She wasn’t really angry, and he probably suspected that, but she did want to know more. She figured that was something the two had in common.<br /><br />“But what?” she asked pointedly.<br /><br />“…But, if I recall correctly, it was not five minutes ago you were trying to get my attention.”<br /><br />She thought about it a moment before responding in the affirmative.<br /><br />“And if my memory is further accurate,” he continued, “As well as my understanding of subtext… that had something to do with your previous claim that I’ve been working too hard?”<br /><br />She bit her lip. “I suppose,” was all she offered. He took that as a ‘yes.’<br /><br />“Then why,” he asked, “Bother conveying Mr. Snow’s impatience?”<br /><br />It hit her like a ton of bricks. That <i>had</i> been rather hypocritical of her. But you couldn’t blame a girl for holding two entirely contradictory notions in her head at the same time. And it appeared that Alex didn’t. Rather, he seemed to have more to say.<br /><br />“And that just begs the question, what is my obsession?”<br /><br />Lily frowned, not following him.<br /><br />“I mean,” he explained, casting a penetrating stare deep into her eyes, like they contained all the mysteries of the universe, “What do you think I see in the mirror?”<br /><br />Comprehension finally dawned. She pursed her lips, trying to come up with an answer to his question.<br /><br />“A bit more ambiguous than you thought, I bet,” he grinned smugly.<br /><br />She abandoned the train of thought, figuring it was futile for the moment, opting instead to change the subject, first by putting him on the defensive, “Been saving that, too?”<br /><br />“Fair enough. You have to admit, though,” he looked far off up and to the side, as if in joyful reminiscence, “It was brilliantly executed.”<br /><br />“I think you see a chessboard,” she cracked, subtly rolling her eyes. “Now why don’t you go through the folder I brought you?” She was through with games for the moment, and he seemed to take the hint.<br /><br />“Well, there seems to be a letter from my uncle in here, conveniently laid on top…” Alex said as he opened the letter. She watched as he removed the letter from the envelope and unfolded it.<br /><br />“What’s it say?” she asked unabashedly after a moment. <br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />“My uncle’s offering to match what Mr. Snow’s paying me,” Alex told Lily, feeling rather surprised. He felt a brief pang of nostalgia for the Greek shipping company he had worked for until he was half-kidnapped, half-recruited just a week ago in this one hundred million strong megalopolis of London.<br /><br />“So?” Lily asked, presumably wondering what his reply would be.<br /><br />“Of course not,” he said rather hastily. “If he wants me to go back he would have to start by exceeding my current salary, not merely matching it.”<br /><br />“And then?”<br /><br />She was a pushy one, wasn’t she? Well, if he was going to stay here he would have to deal with it. “My uncle doesn’t think in as big a picture as he believes,” Alex said. “There’s more to a job than just money.”<br /><br />“I <i>do</i> have my charms,” Lily quipped haughtily.<br /><br />“There’s that…” he said offhandedly.<br /><br />“Anything else in there...?” she said suggestively.<br /><br />“Nope,” he put the letter away.<br /><br />“No, I mean the folder.”<br /><br />“Oh, well, there probably is then.”<br /><br />There was an awkward pause, then, “Aren’t you going to read it?” Lily prompted him.<br /><br />“With you standing over my shoulder?”<br /><br />“I’m in front of you.”<br /><br />Another pause.<br /><br />“Would you like to see the progress I’ve made?”<br /><br />“Alright,” she acquiesced. “What have you found out?”<br /><br />“Not much,” he admitted, “But let me show you nonetheless.”<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />Lily found herself standing next to Alex, leaning over his shoulder and looking at an ancient piece of parchment protected under a thick glass tile (or possibly crystal, as it seemed to shine) set in the center of his old and otherwise unadorned Twenty-Second Century mahogany desk. The parchment consisted of a long list of names, or terms, some with rather lengthy ‘clarifications’ underneath, others with shorter clarifications, and some without any at all. She watched as Alex waved one hand over the crystal—it must be some kind of crystal she decided—and there appeared different text, or rather a different piece of parchment, in place of the old. <br /><br />Lily wondered, and so asked, “Magic or science?” She hadn’t seen the new setup yet and was surprised by its elegance. Had the boy selected it himself? Probably not. Although he seemed to have good taste when he put his mind to it…<br /><br />“I honestly couldn’t say,” was his reply. “But it looks like magic to me, so…”<br /><br />It was good enough for her.<br /><br />“Anyway,” he said, “This is the second page in the prophecy, and it seems to have most of the major actors in <i>your little game</i>; The Nord, The Greek, The Wanderer, The Lone Wolf... I’m sure you’re familiar with all of this so far…”<br /><br />He was trying to bait her again. Prometheus Technologies was more than meets the eye; that much was obvious. Even if they had hired an idiot they couldn’t have hid that from him. Unseen machinations and all that…<br /><br />Naturally, she responded with a question. “So you’ve been focusing on this page, mostly, then?”<br /><br />“Almost entirely,” he admitted. “That might be the wrong way to go about it, but that’s my strategy so far. Although I <i>have</i> scoured the other pages for some clues—some kind of code—that’ll unlock this one, no such luck. I’ve tried all the basics already. It isn’t a cipher. It seems the text is meant to be taken literally. In fact, I would say it should be viewed literarily.”<br /><br />“Like a book?”<br /><br />“Not exactly. Thematically, perhaps. But many of the characters and terms seem to be, not quite archetypes, but familiar to say the least.”<br /><br />“Maybe you know them?” Lily suggested.<br /><br />“I suppose Mr. Snow could be the Nord,” he mused.<br /><br />“Or I could be…” Lily fluttered her eyelashes.<br /><br />“True, but you don’t look like you could kill anybody.”<br /><br />“Could or would?” she asked.<br /><br />“I’m sure you’re very capable,” he responded diplomatically.<br /><br />“Darn right,” she elbowed him. “Now what about you?”<br /><br />“Oh, I’m pretty tough.”<br /><br />“No, silly,” she admonished him giddily. “I mean, who in the prophecy do you think you could be?”<br /><br />“I hadn’t really given it any thought.”<br /><br />She assumed he was lying. Regardless, she had a suggestion, “Maybe you’re ‘El Greco.’”<br /><br />“Strange,” he replied, “I’ve always wanted to paint. And I’m sure the end of the world would provide some inspiring scenery.”<br /><br />“Or I could braid my hair and put on my Viking helm, and you could do a portrait of me striking a mean-looking pose.”<br /><br />“Actually, I only do nudes. I am a Greek classicist, after all…”<br /><br />“Alexander!” she protested, stepping away, back facing him and glancing coldly over her shoulder, chin up, as she put on an exaggerated look of shock, defiance, distrust, and diffidence. Then she pretended to relent, saying, “Alright, but I still want to wear the Viking helm…”<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br /><i>This</i> had been an eventful conversation. Alex had learned more about Lily in the past fifteen minutes than in the entire previous week. Plus, it almost made up for her seeing him in his boxers. <i>Almost</i>. Always make a good first impression. Although, come to think of it, for all he knew he had.<br /><br />“I must admit, though,” he said at last, “I’m not all that sanguine about the end of the world bit,” that was an understatement; it had him terrified. He was skeptical by nature, and certainly this was way out there, but so was Prometheus Technologies. Who would have thought one of the world’s leading tech firms would be dealing in magic? Also, it was probably evil, but that was somewhat less surprising. “Do you,” Alex asked, really hoping he would get a straight answer on this, “And more importantly, does Mr. Snow, really believe this prophecy will come true?”<br /><br />“Lucien believes it, and he has for a very long time.”<br /><br /><i>How long, exactly?</i> Alex wondered. He didn’t ask, however.<br /><br />“And if I help you with this, I’ll be helping you end the world. Which would make me a bad person. A very bad person.” Alex knew he sounded rather stupid stating the obvious, but he needed to say it, and really needed to hear her response. He watched her closely.<br /><br />“Define ‘bad,’” she said, attempting to be humorous. It wasn’t what he was looking for at the moment.<br /><br />So he said, darkly, “I suggested I draw you in the nude, and I have no artistic talent, and have never painted in my life.”<br /><br />“Oh, that’s what you mean!” she responded in faux surprise, still trying to be light-hearted. “Yeah, in that case I guess ending the world would make you a bad person. But guess what?”<br /><br />He was listening. He didn’t really expect her ‘guess what’ would change his perspective, but he was listening all the same. “What?” he gave the obligatory response dully.<br /><br />“The prophecy,” she explained, “Doesn’t say the end of <i>the</i> world; it says the end of <i>this</i> world.”<br /><br />“Oh,” he arched an eyebrow, “So no one will die?”<br /><br />“Well, not ‘no one,’ but certainly not everyone.”<br /><br />“So, afterwards there will be you, me, and Mr. Snow?”<br /><br />“Stop being so gloomy, Alex, pretty much everyone who dies is listed in the prophecy.”<br /><br />That made him feel a little better; just enough, in fact, to shove the matter to the back of his mind for the time being and switch the topic. “Ok, I’ll just keep plugging away, then,” he intended no sarcasm, and Lily didn’t seem to take it that way.<br /><br />“Actually, no,” she said.<br /><br />“Taking me off the case?” he gave no hint of emotion, or whether he was joking or not.<br /><br />“First,” she told him, “Read the rest of what I brought you. Next, we’ll be getting out of this office for a while; you need some time to clear your head.”<br /><br />Alex frowned. “Are you asking me on a date?”<br /><br />“Of sorts,” she smiled. “Think of it as field work.”<br /><br />He still didn’t understand her completely, although several ideas floated in his head.<br /><br />“We’re going to Africa,” she announced suddenly.<br /><br />That was <i>not</i> one of the ideas floating in his head. “’W-we?’” he stammered.<br /><br />“You, me, and Mr. Snow,” she answered.<br /><br />“Ok, so we aren’t the survivors after all. Gotcha.”<br /><br />“That may be.”<br /><br />Maybe <i>she</i> was taking this in stride. But Alex wanted to live. The place had never been habitable south of the Sahara (and he could only assume she wasn’t referring to the Mediterranean portion more commonly known as Greater Arabia), and in the last fifty years it had only gotten worse. No Greek trader would set foot on those shores for less than triple pay, which few employers were willing to offer for the meager wealth to be gained, and the prospect of going inland wasn’t even a consideration; there was nothing but disease, famine, and human butchery in the heart of the Dark Continent. So, naturally, “Why?” was his next question.<br /><br />Lily walked up next to him again and tapped the crystal in the center of his desk with one long, manicured fingernail. He read the ‘entry’ where she tapped, just past halfway down the second page of the prophecy, which was still displayed.<br /><br />“The Savage God?” he asked.<br /><br />“Self-evident,” she asserted. Yes, but not all gods were created equal, it appeared. “Also,” she added, “Lucien wants to be low-key for a while.”<br /><br />“That doesn’t have anything to do with what, uh, ‘happened’ to Lycus, does it?” He hadn’t liked the guy from what he had seen of him, and given the circumstances of their only meeting that was understandable, but what happened didn’t sit right with Alex. <br /><br />“Hardly,” she replied. “Now, Lucien wants you to get reading that material right away; you need to be prepared for our journey.”<br /><br />“I don’t know that that’s possible,” was all Alex could muster.<br /><br />Lily simply smiled a smug, sideways smile and said, “Checkmate.”<br /><br />Alex looked on glumly as Lily twirled around and walked away, hips swaying seductively.Ben-Elhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09514984244150609918noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1971820708817831793.post-85337706154986097672009-06-11T16:58:00.045-05:002009-06-12T11:36:40.511-05:00As I Die LayingThe forty-two year old baseball cap wearing party-goer made his way to the crock-pot containing cocktail wieners, taking a generous pinch of the barbecue and grape jelly-stewed little pork puree delicacies and plopping them on his plate next to the potato chips and baby carrots. <br /><br />"My problem with Obama is that he's a socialist," said an overbearing--and overweight--man in a group of three standing nearby.<br /><br />The first man plopped a cocktail wiener in his mouth and shook his head--such ignorance!<br /><br />Meanwhile, a thinner man replied to the comment, chagrined, "That's not fair. Calling names like that..."<br /><br />"But it's the truth," the first speaker interrupted, "He's spending all that money on..."<br /><br />"Spending it on what?" Now it was the other man's turn to interrupt. "Something George Bush didn't spend it on?" he asked pointedly.<br /><br />"Oh, not this crap again. Whenever anyone brings up anything Obama does you Libs have to cry, 'but what about George Bush!' or 'at least he isn't as bad as Bush!' I mean, really."<br /><br />"Well... well, you know what I heard," the soft-spoken woman in the group tried to edge her way into the conversation while the liberal man thought of his retort. "I heard that Obama was born in Kenya and isn't even allowed to be president."<br /><br />Both men were surprised.<br /><br />"Well, I don't know about that..." said the conservative.<br /><br />"That's just the kind of bigoted, pea-brained nonsense I'd expect from a Republican," the liberal got nasty.<br /><br />"Oh, I'm a Democrat." the woman replied, hurt. "I just read about it. I voted for Obama, and I don't care if he's not American; I think he's good for this country. Being from Kenya gives him a fresh perspective."<br /><br />Both men were surprised.<br /><br />"Well, I don't know about that..." said the liberal.<br /><br />"That's just the kind of pea-brained nonsense I'd expect from a Democrat," the conservative said with a smirk.<br /><br />Finished with his cocktail wieners, and sick of the potato chips and baby carrots, the forty-two year old eavesdropper had had enough. He half marched up to the group, his tongue snapping back like a bullwhip preparing to deliver chastisement; he couldn't stand how they ignored the true threat!<br /><br />"Who are you?" the conservative asked.<br /><br />"Nevermind," he replied briskly, then paused briefly before continuing, "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation, and I must say, you all have it wrong! So very, very wrong."<br /><br />"And I'm sure you're here to enlighten us?"<br /><br />"Yes! Now listen," then he continued before anyone could interrupt, "Barrack Obama isn't socialist. He isn't a Kenyan. He's a Grzelnorpian!"<br /><br />"A what?" the woman asked, who he now noticed was fairly attractive. Thin. Nice face. And dark blonde hair.<br /><br />"He's a Grzelnorpian agent! Sent to brainwash us into submission," the frustration rolling off his tongue was palpable. "Soon we will all be slaves to the Grzelnorpian Empire if we don't do something!"<br /><br />"Sounds like a conspiracy to me," the conservative scoffed.<br /><br />"It is!" the cap-wearing theorist's eyes widened. "A conspiracy concocted by an alien empire!"<br /><br />"No need to be so dramatic."<br /><br />"Aren't you listening?" he looked at the other two to see if they had betrayed him too, along with the rest of humanity, and then added, "We're about to be conquered! We have to do something!"<br /><br />"Like what?" the conservative asked.<br /><br />The theorist was dumbfounded. "What do you mean?"<br /><br />"What do you think I mean? Even if we suppose what you're saying is true, which it isn't, how can we stop the Grez Norps--"<br /><br />"The Grzelnorpians."<br /><br />"Right. The Greznorpians--"<br /><br />"No, the Grzelnorpians."<br /><br />"Fine. The Grzelnorpians. How are we gonna stop them from taking us over? With the military? Sorry, but last time I heard, the President's in charge of that, and he's a Greznor... Grelznorp--an alien."<br /><br />"They aren't ready for an invasion yet--that's our advantage! You see, they plan to take us over peacefully. The Grzelnorpians don't expect us to resist, and so far..." he noted dryly, "I can see why. I mean the clues are everywhere, people!"<br /><br />"Such as...?"<br /><br />"Mike, stop being such a dick," the liberal man interjected. "He's entitled to his opinion."<br /><br />"And I'm entitled to my opinion that his opinion is stupid."<br /><br />"You won't think that when the Grzelnorpians take over!" the theorist said defiantly.<br /><br />"You smarmy little dweeb," the conservative, Mike, slapped the baseball hat bill down over the theorist's face. "Why you wear that, anyway? Shouldn't that be made of tinfoil?"<br /><br />The theorist's eyes darted toward the floor and he briefly shuffled his feet. He always wore the baseball cap. He had lined the inside with tinfoil to protect him from the Grzelnorpian Brainwashing Ray that was in geosynchronous orbit over his head. Also, he had a bald spot. <br /><br />Suddenly he regained his courage and said, "Look, I'll prove it to you..." He pulled a piece of paper out of one pocket and unfolded it. Then he began reading. "First, Obama said he doesn't look like the other guys on the dollar bills. Of course not! He's an alien!"<br /><br />"No, what he meant was..." the liberal began.<br /><br />"He meant what, Jack? What did he mean?" Mike asked.<br /><br />"He's black," the liberal, Jack, explained.<br /><br />"Don't you mean African American?"<br /><br />"Shut up."<br /><br />"Anyway," the theorist continued, oblivious, "Obama also said 'If you're headed for a cliff, you have to change direction. That's what the American people called for in November, and that's what we intend to deliver.'"<br /><br />"So, what's the problem with that?" Jack queried, not daring to hazard a guess.<br /><br />"Who is this 'we' he keeps referring to?" the theorist asked. "He does it in so many speeches, and it seems a little suspicious, don't you think?" <br /><br />"No, he is clearly referring to the American People," Jack answered.<br /><br />"Or the Democratic Party, and the elitist socialists in Hollywood, New York and Washington," Mike added helpfully.<br /><br />"Thank you, Mike," Jack replied sourly.<br /><br />"You're welcome."<br /><br />"But listen to <span style="font-style:italic;">this one</span>," the theorist offered, "'We are the ones we've been waiting for. We are the change that we seek.' Doesn't that sound like he's part of an alien collective?" <br /><br />"Or just a euro-socialist," Mike remarked. Jack was silent.<br /><br />"Ok, how about <span style="font-style:italic;">this</span>: 'We cannot pretend somehow that because Barack Hussein Obama got elected as president, suddenly everything is going to be OK.' He's telling his superiors back home that there's still work to do."<br /><br />"I don't see it," Mike replied.<br /><br />"Then <span style="font-style:italic;">this</span>: 'Over the last 15 months, we've traveled to every corner of the United States. I've now been in 57 states? I think one left to go.' Who but an alien could be so ignorant of our political geography?"<br /><br />Mike started to say something, but Jack gave him a glare, so he simply shot his liberal friend a knowing smile.<br /><br />"<span style="font-style:italic;">This one's</span> gotta do it: 'People of Berlin - people of the world - this is our moment. This is our time.' I mean, who better than the Germans to understand world conquest?"<br /><br />"Yeah," Jack replied, "but didn't you say they were going to take over peacefully?"<br /><br />"Don't knock it just yet," Mike admitted, "The Germans are doing it pretty peacefully right now with the EU."<br /><br />"Don't be ridiculous, Mike. Besides, don't the French run the EU?"<br /><br />"The French couldn't run anything bigger than a wine & cheese shop."<br /><br />"Okay, what about this last quote," the theorist interrupted. "'The thing about hip-hop today is it's smart, it's insightful. The way they can communicate a complex message in a very short space is remarkable.' Does that do it for you?" <br /><br /><br />"Nope," both men said in unison.<br /><br />The theorist sighed, "Maybe after you see some of Obama's communications you'll understand why he said that..." He pulled out a Blackberry from the same pocket he had removed the paper with the quotes on it and said, "I started receiving these on my email about five years ago. It must have been an accident, because it led me to understand the sinister conspiracy before us. Look at this..." he held the Blackberry out so all could see.<br /><br />"U.S.A. has 'A' bomb--kin care." the woman--listening to the conversation with her usual passivity until then--read off the Blackberry screen. "What does that mean?"<br /><br />"I didn't know at first either," the theorist explained. "It took me over a month to realize it was a secret message from Barack Obama to his superiors on Grzelnorp IV. He sent it soon after he first landed on Earth. It is a warning to be careful with any invasion because the United States--and unbeknownst to Obama at the time, so do several other nations--has nuclear weapons. He sent this to make sure his kin--the Grzelnorpians--take care."<br /><br />"What kind of evidence is that?" Mike asked, incredulous. It had been entertaining until now, but this was just pathetic. "If you, or whoever fooled you into believing this, were gonna try to fool someone, you'd at least try to write a whole paragraph, and a grammatically correct one at that!"<br /><br />"Which means it must have been written by an alien!" the theorist gave Mike a 'gotcha' look.<br /><br />"Why?" Mike raised his voice a little. "Why would an alien write in English to another alien?"<br /><br />"Ah! But you see, that's the genius of it!" the theorist explained. "It's because he also has a devout group of human followers that he needs to keep up to date on the plan."<br /><br />"What, all the stupid college students?"<br /><br />"No, the Illuminati. But nevermind that. Take another look at the message he sent. Notice anything queer about it?"<br /><br />Mike was tempted to crack a joke relating to the word 'queer,' but merely hazarded a second look at the phrase. "No," he answered quickly, looking away again.<br /><br />"Really?" the theorist said slyly. "Not even the fact that the message is a perfect anagram of 'Barack Hussein Obama'?"<br /><br />Mike--and Jack--took a second look at it. <span style="font-style:italic;">U.S.A. has A bomb--kin care.</span><br /><br />"Well, by golly, it is!" Jack exclaimed. "You must have put quite a bit of time into it. Er. I mean, Obama sure is dedicated to the plan."<br /><br />The theorist scowled.<br /><br />"Yeah, pretty impressive, I'll admit," said Mike, "But one little anagram doesn't prove a thing."<br /><br />"That's why there's more," the theorist scrolled down on his Blackberry and showed them more messages. "See this one? I don't have the reply from Grzelnorp IV, but obviously they didn't understand what "'A' bomb" means in the other message, so Obama had to write this one too."<br /><br />It read: <span style="font-style:italic;">Is a nuke bomb. Has a car.</span><br /><br />"Clearly," the theorist continued, "Obama also felt the need to let his superiors know we have cars. That must be important. And, as you can see, this one is also an anagram of 'Barack Hussein Obama.'"<br /><br />"Impressive, again," Jack admitted. "But Obama is known for his eloquence. How do you explain why the grammar is so poor--that should read 'Have a car.'"<br /><br />"Maybe when he wrote it he didn't have a teleprompter," Mike suggested. <br /><br />"Here's another one," the theorist scrolled down a little more.<br /><br />It read: <span style="font-style:italic;">SOS I bareback a human.</span> <br /><br />"As you can see, Obama engaged in certain activities and was worried that they would be dangerous to him. It's also an anagram of his full earth name, again. Surely you'll admit that only an alien would feel the need to specify that it was a human that he barebacked?"<br /><br />"Or NAMSA, the North American Man-Sheep Love Association," Mike shook his head.<br /><br />Jack ignored him, saying "Im-uh, um... impressive" again, albeit more than a little unsure of himself.<br /><br />"Well, here's another one!"<br /><br />It read: <span style="font-style:italic;">I kebab a man. c u Ross--ha!</span><br /><br />"Who," the theorist asked, "Would kebab a man, other than an alien?"<br /><br />"Jeffry Dahmer, for one," Mike pointed out. "And I'm sure this one is an anagram, too, but I just saw a friend who I've been meaning to talk to, it's been fun." With that he left.<br /><br />"You know, I actually have some people I need to talk to, too," Jack said. "I'll be back in a couple minutes or so, I expect." With that he was off as well.<br /><br />"So much for that. I don't suppose you want to hang around a while and listen to my warnings?" the theorist asked the quiet woman.<br /><br />"Well, you know," she said, "I'm skeptical, I guess--but I have an open mind!" It was as she was trying to convince <span style="font-style:italic;">him</span>. "I don't really know what to think, you know. But I'm willing to try anything once. Wait. I mean I'm willing to try to believe anything. Oh, that's not right either. But you know what I mean."<br /><br />He wasn't sure he did, but he simply nodded and said, "I suppose so, Miss... I'm sorry," he put on an affectation of embarrassment, "All this talking and I didn't get your name." <br /><br />She smiled. "That's alright. I'm Cathy," she extended her hand.<br /><br />He took her hand, but instead of shaking it he bowed down and gave her a delicate kiss, saying, "Pleased to meet you, Cathy. I'm Art."<br /><br />"Nice to meet you, too," she giggled.<br /><br />"So, how do you know the host?" Art asked.<br /><br />"She's my sister."<br /><br />"And where is this sister of yours? And is she half as lovely as you?"<br /><br />She smiled a little at first, but then asked warily, "You haven't met her? Do you work with Bob?"<br /><br />"No, I crashed the party," he smiled. "Actually, I'm a neighbor, and I just met Bob earlier today, and he invited me then."<br /><br />"Oh yeah, Bob does that," she laughed, "He's very friendly. Very inviting. We got that from our dad. Which house do you live in?"<br /><br />It took him a second to catch up with her train of thought, but when he did Art answered, "The run-down Victorian with the spire on the corner."<br /><br />"Really? It's a beautiful place, but I thought it was abandoned."<br /><br />"Practically is," he smirked. "But I do live there when I'm around. I don't like to stay in one place so often, you see. The Grzelnorpian's would find me if I did... they know I'm onto them," he winked.<br /><br />She laughed. "That's bad," she said.<br /><br />Apparently Cathy was under the impression that he made the whole thing up as part of an elaborate plot to sound interesting and get laid. Art sought to disabuse her of that notion--he could believe it and use it to get laid at the same time, damn it! "Of course it's bad!" he said seriously, "How would you like being followed around by aliens!"<br /><br />"Are they sexy aliens?" she asked, apparently she still didn't take him seriously.<br /><br />"I suppose it depends on whether or not you think Obama is sexy. Personally, I'm not interested..."<br /><br />"I think he's super-sexy," she replied.<br /><br />"Well, to each their own, I suppose. Hey, I actually have some steamy pics of Obama on my computer at the house that I intercepted between him and his Grzelnorpian superiors... I mean, if you'd like to see them."<br /><br />"Sure, that'd be fun. Maybe you can give me a tour of the house while you're at it?" <br /><br />"Sure, why not? Nothing better to do my last night as a free man."<br /><br />"You aren't getting married in the morning, are you?" That she was smiling convinced him she actually knew what he was talking about, so he didn't need to reply. She wasn't quite as naive, slow, and gullible as he originally thought her to be. And fortunately that didn't make it any harder. No better way to spend his last night as a free man, indeed.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Epilogue:</span><br /><br /><br />Art awoke suddenly in the middle of the night. He looked around, seeing the moon peeking through the red velvet curtains, the clothes on the floor, and the slender, naked form lying next to him. All seemed well. Yet... he felt a buzzing in the air. He climbed out of bed, himself naked, to draw back the curtains just as the buzzing grew. When he drew the curtains, to his surprise he saw--even he hadn't really believed it--Grzelnorpian spacecraft landing. There were thousands, no millions, of craft; the bright-burning rocket flame supported saucers were landing as far as the eye could see. All Art could think was: first, he was right. He had been right all along. Second, he was so very right, and also, Al Gore would not be happy with Barack Obama in the morning; greenhouses gas emissions had just gone through the roof. <br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Alternate Ending:</span><br /><br /><br />Art and Cathy awoke the following morning. Art turned on the TV news, hoping he would be proven right. Although it may have been more sensible to hope he was wrong. Well, he was right... sort of. President Obama was before a crowd giving a speech, which from the looks of it was nearly over:<br /><br />"Can we overcome mankind's seemingly ceaseless struggle with boredom? Yes we can!" the crowd joined in enthusiastically. "Can we restrain and redirect the mighty maelstroms of leisure that result inevitably in an emergent ennui that imperils our peaceful cohabitation and puts to rest the creative potential of mankind? Yes we can!" the crowd joined in enthusiastically again, although they probably didn't understand half of it. <br /><br />"Can we bring ourselves to acknowledge our need as human beings for something higher than ourselves, something greater, that can direct our most intrinsic impulses fruitfully toward greater productivity and happiness for all? Yes we can!" the crowd joined in. "And can we accept the fact that that force is before us today, present though unseen, speaking though unheard, pressed against our breasts though unfelt, and renowned though unnamed.<br /><br />"It is a force at once mighty and humble. It gives but does not ask. It is always there for us when we need it, but we need not be there for it. It is all-loving and is everything to everybody. And I ask only that we return the favor just this once, just once, and surrender to the Grzelnorpian Empire... Yes we can!" the crowd thundered its approval.<br /><br />Then somebody yelled, "Wait a minute! What?"<br /><br />"Surrender to the Grzelnorpian Empire," said Obama, "Yes we can!" the crowd thundered its approval again.<br /><br />"But what's that mean?" someone shouted.<br /><br />"Well, uh, um... you see..." Obama stammered.<br /><br />Another man walked out on stage, "Don't worry, Barry I'll take it from here"<br /><br />"Is that Rahm Emmanuel?" someone asked.<br /><br />"My name," the man said, "Is Reggie Fils-Aime, and I'm about kicking ass, I'm about takin' names, and <span style="font-style:italic;">we're</span> about making games."<br /><br />"Huh?"<br /><br />"Let me explain," Reggie said. "You see, I work for Nintendo, and a few years ago Nintendo was in trouble. At least that's what everyone on the outside thought. But we had a plan. We always have a plan. At the same time we were designing the Wii gaming system we genetically engineered a character to life, gave him a false background and the name 'Barack Obama,' and had him run for President of the United States. Long story short, he won, in case you didn't know, and now we are getting our money's worth out of him. <br /><br />"You see, the 'Rise of the Grzelnorpian Empire' (previous title) is a game we are making for the Wii, and it will be our finest game to date. We have been sending hints out on the web for several years about its existence. Some of you may have noticed...<br /><br />"For those of you who are just now tuning in, so to speak, let me explain. In the game the President of the United States is an agent for an alien empire, the Grzelnorpians, and you must stop their insidious plan to take over the earth... by collecting various items, playing with your Wii, and shaking your wrist around really fast, which should give you exercise, among other things.<br /><br />"But basically you play a character who has to run around, jumping on platforms, and throwing colorful items around at your enemies--the Grzelnorpian agents. Oh, and another thing, we've retitled the game 'Obama.' It's a heck of a lot of fun, good exercise, and perfect for the whole family. So buy it, play it, have fun. Can we defeat the Grzelnorpian Empire and save the earth? Yes Wii can. <span style="font-style:italic;">Obama</span>, from Nintendo. He looks like it a bit, too, right? With those big ears and all. That's our genetic engineers at work." <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWARiOzeZrpKx1PYN0t1TcS28bpwENOcyXhjTRucHR7-Oa3Mx5rM6Wj5oWw8nhWBbCjFS5pnxYqxli7O8CtlJ_krcmzVlM1BYh7otnnDYB1fvhAEp91hrJGJLoNpzbYc5o6wyz1eb00E5K/s1600-h/Pikmin_cover_art.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 231px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWARiOzeZrpKx1PYN0t1TcS28bpwENOcyXhjTRucHR7-Oa3Mx5rM6Wj5oWw8nhWBbCjFS5pnxYqxli7O8CtlJ_krcmzVlM1BYh7otnnDYB1fvhAEp91hrJGJLoNpzbYc5o6wyz1eb00E5K/s320/Pikmin_cover_art.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346310488413234066" /></a>Ben-Elhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09514984244150609918noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1971820708817831793.post-13822214705057863682009-04-23T22:59:00.001-05:002009-04-23T23:01:29.606-05:00The Berlin Wall Shall Not Fall—Waitaminute That’s Not Right.Icehawk was dumbfounded. "I went through all that just to feed your cats? What about my destiny?"<br /><br />"Oh, that's clear enough," said the Seer, as she prodded the entrails on the altar with a grimy finger. "You must slay the princess, rescue the dragon, and—"<br /><br />Icehawk found an expression beyond dumbfounded. "Excuse me?"<br /><br />The Seer looked up. "What?"<br /><br />"Don't you mean, 'slay the dragon, rescue the princess?'"<br /><br />"If I'd meant that, I'd have said it. No, it's all right here." She turned back to the entrails. "Slay the princess, rescue the dragon, and—"<br /><br />"Are you sure you're reading that right?"<br /><br />"Read it yourself. Plain as day." The seer tapped the pancreas. "Slay the princess." She batted a cat away from the liver. "Rescue the dragon." She stirred the intestines with her finger. "And—" she stopped herself. “Oh dear.”<br /><br />“What’s wrong?” Icehawk asked.<br /><br />“Nothing wrong, my dear,” she had regained her composure. “It is good, in fact. Very very good indeed.”<br /><br />“Yes?”<br /><br />“You are the Chosen One.”<br /><br />“The what?”<br /><br />“The chosen one,” she brushed aside some greasy hair. “The One who is chosen.”<br /><br />“I get that, what does it mean?”<br /><br />“Satan has chosen you—“<br /><br />“Don’t you mean God has chosen me?”<br /><br />“You really are a slow one,” she snorted.<br /><br />“I’m not sure I want to go through with this, maybe I’ll just go back to…”<br /><br />“YOU CANNOT GO BACK!” she thundered. “Your path has been scattered to the winds and to the land of your birth you may never return! You must slay the princess, rescue the dragon, and persuade the king to end the oppression of his people.”<br /><br />“Oh,” Icehawk was feeling better now, “that last one doesn’t sound so bad. What kind of oppression is it?” he searched her eyes. “Can’t be the dragon, can it?” he joked nervously. “And somehow I doubt slaying his daughter is going to make him particularly interested in what I have to say.”<br /><br />“On the Ides of April you shall go to the Treasury,” she intoned, “and there you will find it filled with monies from the kingdom. Yet, as you shall find one year hence, the treasury will not be emptied, and there will yet be poverty in this kingdom.”<br /><br />“Yes,” Icehawk replied, “that happens every year. I guess I’m not following you.”<br /><br />“This wrong must be righted! We shall enter into a new age of prosperity and debt and useless-things-nobody-wants-but-getting-rid-of-them-will-destroy-our-economy-and-we-must-spend-more—ever more!—until-there-is-nothing-left-to-spend-and-so-we-must-raise-taxes-yet-again.”<br /><br />“What?” Icehawk was more confused than ever. “I didn’t quite follow you there.”<br /><br />The Seer sighed. “This is going to be more difficult than I thought. Oh. Wait just one moment. I think I have a copy left around here somewhere…” She rummaged around the dank room, kicking aside cats and tossing all manner of arcane instruments to the ground, often resulting in crashing or shattering and the arising stench of sulfur. “Ah! Here it is!” she said finally. “My book.” She handed him a dusty tome.<br /><br />Receiving it with trepidation, Icehawk held it to a thin beam of sunlight penetrating the rotted temple. It was difficult to read the title. “It Takes…” he began, and then dusted off the obscured portion of the cover, before continuing, “…It Takes a Village: And Other Lessens Children Teach Us.”<br /><br />“I only wish I had a copy of the audio version with me,” the Seer confessed, “I won a Grammy for that.”<br /><br />“So you want me to read this?” Icehawk asked, disappointed. “I don’t suppose that was in the bird guts also?”<br /><br />“You don’t have to read the whole thing,” she cackled, “that would be crazy. Just enough to be able to pretend that you read it when someone asks you about it.” She then added in a whimsical whisper, “Or to pretend you wrote it for that matter…” <br /><br />“Very well,” Icehawk conceded, “I shall skim the book, but I am not killing the princess and it is doubtful that I will rescue the dragon.”<br /><br />“You cannot avoid your destiny! On that note, I’ll not waste any more time trying to convince you. Until we meet anon! On the internet, I mean. Where I go by ‘SecState17,’ or ‘LizardLadyLove,’ also occasionally, ‘IHateMonica.’ Now, farewell, Icehawk. Hail Satan!”<br /><br />“Um, Hail Satan. Yeah, I’ll get right on that.” He gave her a fist bump somewhat unenthusiastically. Then he thought, "Hmm, I kind of like doing that..."Ben-Elhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09514984244150609918noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1971820708817831793.post-43047400189171249732009-03-27T12:28:00.002-05:002009-03-27T12:35:15.148-05:00This isn't exactly new news, but it made me think...<blockquote>The biggest reason for the gap is underreporting of income. There's a high rate of compliance when it comes to income reported by third parties, such as employers reporting workers' incomes on W-2s.<br /><br />But the compliance is much lower in cases when there's no third-party reporting, such as with small business owners who do mostly cash transactions. The cash economy may account for over $100 billion of the annual tax gap, according to testimony from Nina Olson, the National Taxpayer Advocate.<br /><br />The IRS is already working to improve compliance.</blockquote><br /><br />The easiest way to "recover" that $100 billion would be to get rid of the cash economy. No more cash. Just credit. That way there would be a record of every purchase that the government had access to. Of course credit cards can be stolen so easily, and this could end up confusing the records, so it would be nice if you could attach the cards to someone in a way they couldn't be taken. Like a bar code or something. Possibly on the hand, or maybe the forehead.Ben-Elhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09514984244150609918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1971820708817831793.post-23184519504834704522009-03-01T00:06:00.087-06:002009-03-05T21:56:42.592-06:00Ex Nihilo VenitThe great beast arose from the dark sea. It had the hind legs of a hairless jackrabbit--tipped by talons--and its twisted torso throbbed, even beat, like a giant heart with vestigial vena cava pumping nothing. Its head was as a whale's, with hollow eyes and thousands of bone white teeth. It was also ethereal, an insubstantial will-o'-the-wisp. The great beast swam with webbed front feet, onward toward its goal.<br /><br />Lieutenant Martin sat up in a cold sweat. <i>That dream again</i>. He rubbed his temples and got out of bed. Since it was nearly time to get up anyhow, he showered, dressed, and made his way to the mess hall.<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />Later that morning Lt. Martin sat down at the small, round table.<br /><br />"Care if I join in?" he asked.<br /><br />"Depends," said the short, stocky Sergeant Timms, "Do you have any money?"<br /><br />"That's 'do you have any money, sir' to you."<br /><br />"Blow me."<br /><br />"This enough?" he flashed a small wad of cash.<br /><br />"Sit down."<br /><br />There was only one other player at the table, Petty Officer Fredericks; a tall, wiry, redheaded young man. <br /><br />"Where's the Nord?" Martin asked.<br /><br />"He's with Brunhilde, I hear..." Timms answered.<br /><br />"That's not funny," Martin gave him the finger. <br /><br />"I'm not kidding. They're both part of a group seeing the Captain right now."<br /><br />"The Captain? What would they need to see him for?" Nobody liked the Captain; he creeped everyone out. One of his arms was horribly scarred and the opposite eye was milky white. <i>She</i> didn't like him either. <i>Omigod</i>, his blonde beauty, Sarah, had said after first meeting him, <i>you can't make that stuff up. He's like a giant insect; chewing away and not saying anything, just staring at you with that empty eye.</i> What he chewed at no one knew. The Nord had a theory that he had multiple stomachs and that it was cud. It seemed plausible. Being under his command was bad enough, but now <i>his</i> Sarah was meeting with the thing. At least she wasn't alone.<br /><br />"Alright, pass the whiskey," Martin reached out and Fredericks handed him the bottle. He wiped the dust out of a shot glass, then filled it with the amber fluid.<br /><br />"It's not even noon yet, dude," Timms said.<br /><br />"I order you to go fuck yourself," Martin downed the shot and poured another.<br /><br />"C'mon, it can't be that bad. What is he gonna do, spew spittle all over her?"<br /><br />"I'm going to be hearing about the bastard for a month, I bet. Now are we going to play or what?"<br /><br />"I'm in," came a deep, booming voice from behind him.<br /><br />Martin turned around and saw the tall, broad-chested and shouldered frame of the bushy-bearded Nord. The Lieutenant took another drink.<br /><br />"It's eleven in the morning," said the Nord as he sat down.<br /><br />"So?" Martin said, then added, whispering, "What did that one-eyed freak want with you?" The Nord was his best friend, his only friend, really. Martin trusted him, and no one else. They had an agreement that if one of them ever got war hero cred, they would run for office together. Martin expected to be the war hero. Even if it was dangerous, it was worth it to force his way off 'guard duty' on this research ship and onto the front lines, if necessary. <i>Carpe diem</i>, he often told the Nord. All this would ensure his VP wouldn't assassinate him to take his place, or betray him in some other way. Sarah always said he had trust issues...<br /><br />"A promotion," the Nord answered the question. He was also Martin's only competition. But it was a friendly competition.<br /><br />"He wanted a promotion?" Fredericks asked.<br /><br />"No, you moron," said Timms, "He promoted John. To what, though?" he asked the Nord.<br /><br />"I am now Lt. Commander Amundsen. I was really hoping for Admiral though..."<br /><br />"Congratulations!" Martin exclaimed, then, "Now what does the old bastard want with Sarah?"<br /><br />"He proposed," the Nord said simply.<br /><br />Martin recoiled. That had to have been awkward. The Captain really was that weird.<br /><br />"She said 'yes,'" the Nord added. <br /><br />Martin relaxed, "Very funny." the Nord always said he was too young and naive to be an officer. He wasn't sure if he was joking or not. You could never tell with the Nord. Sarah, at least, thought he was well-qualified, if a bit arrogant. She said he was handsome, too, with his dark blond hair, deep blue eyes and strong chin... perfect for politics. "Now what does he want with her?" Martin asked.<br /><br />"You'll find out soon enough, you over-protective little spaz." In his attempt to 'win' the pretty little researcher, his Sarah, the Nord had been the only worthy challenger. The big man smiled infectiously, "Now give me some of that whiskey."<br /><br />The game began. Fredericks was first.<br /><br />"I pray to thee, Iog-Ke'tat, bring me luck..." Fredericks rolled the dice.<br /><br />--------------------------------------------------------------------------------- <br /><br />Lieutenant Martin stood in the middle of the semi-spherical glass-domed observatory. "So what's the news?" he asked her. After leaving her meeting with the Captain, Sarah had asked for Martin to meet her here.<br /><br />"The Captain decided I could tell you," she pursed her pink lips.<br /><br />"Yeah?"<br /><br />"You're going to be promoted."<br /><br />"I should have figured... to what?"<br /><br />"Commander."<br /><br />"Wow." It was one more step towards his life's ambition, but he couldn't get too excited; the Captain's promotees didn't have a good history. Besides, it wasn't his style to show emotion, to anyone. "And here I was railing against the psychotic bastard just about an hour ago. I don't understand why he did it, though. Or why he had you tell me; not exactly protocol."<br /><br />"Maybe he thinks you're the best man for the job?" she brushed some of her straight, long blonde hair out of her face.<br /><br />"Well, I am," he put on an arrogant smile, only half tongue-in-cheek, "but I never thought he'd recognize it."<br /><br />"Neither did I," she laughed, "He seemed as surprised as any of us."<br /><br />"What the heck's that mean?"<br /><br />"Just that he looked confused."<br /><br />"Weird old bastard."<br /><br />"Totally," she looked out the glass dome at the stars. "It's a beautiful view."<br /><br />"Not as beautiful as you."<br /><br />"Stop that," she hated when he got all mushy romantic, or at least she said she did.<br /><br />"You know," he said, joining her in gazing at the stars, "The inky black was always a source of wonder to me, ever since I was a small boy. Running upon the grated walkways of the wandering <i>Wotan</i>, I would climb to this observatory and stare at the stars in awe. The distances were so vast, the..."<br /><br />"That's bad. Besides, there's a flaw in your story. The ship is only five years old."<br /><br />"Yeah, but I grew up on a research ship just like it. Now let me finish."<br /><br />"Fine, I'll indulge," she grinned. "It is your day, after all."<br /><br />"These days, however, I'm not a little boy any more."<br /><br />"So I've noticed," she interrupted.<br /><br />"Shh!" he put a finger to her lips. "As I stare out today, I'm no longer awed by the vastness before me. Space is empty. Always empty. Exceedingly empty. If only there was something out there. But that's not true, there is something out there, and it's frightening."<br /><br />"That's deep," she rolled her eyes. "Oh, wait. Your dreams, you mean?" she looked concerned.<br /><br />"No," he lied, "I just mean that there's something out there: <i>Nothing</i> is out there, and that's the most frightening thing of all."<br /><br />"That doesn't make any sense."<br /><br />"Yes it does."<br /><br />"No it doesn--Omigod!" she clasped one hand to her mouth and nearly fell over as her knees shook.<br /><br />"What...?"<br /><br />She pointed. He looked.<br /><br />He saw debris scattered about in front of the <i>Wotan</i>; no, not debris, dead ships. A graveyard. They were floating about aimlessly in various states of disrepair. Some looked simply abandoned, while others had gaping holes in their hulls. Thousands of lives must have been lost, at the very least. But what were they all doing here, and how the heck could such a thing happen?<br /><br />Martin cradled Sarah in his arms as she wept.<br /><br />------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ <br /><br />"I heard you were part of the search party," Commander Martin was back in the observatory.<br /><br />"Yeah," the Nord replied. "Wasn't pretty."<br /><br />"What happened?"<br /><br />"Ran out of fuel, food, or were hit by a bunch of asteroids. If anyone asks, that's what I told you." The Nord paused and stared into the black a moment.<br /><br />"And if they don't ask?"<br /><br />"Ever thought about suicide?" the Nord asked.<br /><br />"What? Was it that bad?"<br /><br />"No. Actually, yes, but that's not what I meant. Those ships... everyone on them must've."<br /><br />"Must've what?"<br /><br />"Killed themselves."<br /><br />A shiver ran down Martin's spine.<br /><br />"How is that possible?" he swallowed hard.<br /><br />"What's worse than death?" tears were in the Nord's normally cold eyes.<br /><br />"Nothing."<br /><br />"Then nothing drove those folks to suicide."<br /><br />"Right," Martin grimaced.<br /><br />"If it comes to it, I don't want to be your VP anymore," the Nord walked away.<br /><br />'Where did <i>that</i> come from?' Martin wondered.<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />The great beast arose from the dark sea. Noiselessly, it made its way toward... somewhere.<br /><br />"Where are you going?" Martin called out.<br /><br />No answer.<br /><br />"What do you want?"<br /><br /><i>Nothing</i>, came the reply.<br /><br />Around the beast swirled countless skeletal figures covered in a thin layer of long-rotted skin, and each was as blank-eyed as the giant itself.<br /><br />"What is your purpose?"<br /><br /><i>There is no purpose, only result.</i><br /><br />"Then what is the result?"<br /><br /><i>Nothing</i>.<br /><br />Martin saw more creatures in the distance. They looked like men and stood in a circle, facing outward. They were pushing upon something. Pushing outward. Around them was a great circle and they were in its center. They were guardians. Now the great beast which arose from the sea descended upon them. <br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />Sarah gasped beside him. She was shivering.<br /><br />"What's wrong?" he asked.<br /><br />"I had a dream," she told him, "just like you, but there was more. I saw you and..." she recounted the dream.<br /><br />"Alright," he said after a moment's pause, "try to get back to sleep, we'll talk about it some more in the morning if you want, ok?"<br /><br />"Ok," she said weakly.<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />"I've been having that dream, too," the Nord said.<br /><br />"Really?" Martin hadn't told anyone until it became her problem, that way he wouldn't seem like a drama queen. "So have I."<br /><br />"You look like it."<br /><br />"What's that mean?"<br /><br />"Brooding, like me."<br /><br />"I suppose I am," he gave it some more thought as the big man grabbed a folder with his meaty hands.<br /><br />"I have a theory," the Nord opened the folder. He shook his head solemnly. "We took some pictures on <i>those</i> ships... talked to the Captain about it. Doesn't matter now," he closed the folder, "he wants to see us both. And I have a feeling he knows a lot more than either of us."<br /><br />"That bald loony, he doesn't know anything."<br /><br />"You're probably right, he knows nothing. But it's an order, so let's go see him now, shall we?"<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />"Close your eyes," the Captain ordered the two of them. They were in the observatory again.<br /><br />The Captain stared out into space and fell to his knees. "Now is the time, rise!" he commanded.<br /><br />"What?" Martin said, befuddled. They were already standing.<br /><br />"I knew it wouldn't work," the Captain grumbled. "It can't be created, and it certainly can't be destroyed. It will just come and go, and take everything with it. Doesn't matter anyway. I don't care. I just thought it might give a little meaning just to see it. That can come out of nothing, too, I figure."<br /><br />"Sorry, sir?" said the Nord.<br /><br />"You can open your damn eyes now. You won't see anything though," he laughed. "Isn't that a riot? See nothing, see everything, it's all the same. Or none of it is the same. Doesn't matter."<br /><br />"I don't understand," Martin said, "What are you looking for?"<br /><br />"It passed by here a while ago, you can tell that by the lucky dead. It can't have gone far yet, those bodies were fresh."<br /><br />The Nord jumped on the Captain in a flash and pummeled him to the ground, then began to choke him.<br /><br />"John!" Martin yelled. Christ. He was attacking the Captain. But Martin didn't try to stop him. He felt sick to his stomach. He didn't understand. What was it? But he knew what it was, didn't he? Well, not the substance of what it was, but that was subjective anyway--function or purpose? Result. That's what it had said, right? <br /><br />"Stop!" the Captain shouted. "It's here. I can feel it..." the bloody-faced wretch tilted his head backward in ecstasy. The Nord obeyed and rolled off him staring out into the black.<br /><br />A blur appeared far out in space before shortly coming into focus. The great beast did not notice them, nor would it have cared to, but merely continued on its path as they passed near it.<br /><br />"What is it?" Martin asked.<br /><br />"The end," the Captain cackled.<br /><br />"Of what?"<br /><br />"Everything. It will travel to the center of the universe and initiate the big crunch. Destroy the universe like it never was. Gone. Everything. Nothing left. Poof. Up in smoke. Without the smoke. Even the words to describe it, abstract though they may be, gone." <br /><br />"We're going to die?" Martin asked.<br /><br />"Eventually. But no, not today. The Great One will take a billion years, give or take a few, to complete its journey." <br /><br />That was some relief, Martin supposed.<br /><br />"And that's the ultimate joke, isn't it?" the Captain said. "It will end everything and arrest the destiny of man, such as it is, but will draw it out for a billion years!" the Captain laughed until he couldn't breathe and tears streamed down his face. "It's beautiful."<br /><br />"It's horrible," Martin disagreed. "You mean if we survive another billion years and build the greatest monuments to the gods, achieve everything imaginable, it won't matter?" he unconsciously ran a finger over his new rank insignia. "It will all come crashing down like it never was? No grandchildren ten million times over to benefit from it? No one to remember it? Is that what this thing is?"<br /><br />"Yes!" the Captain shouted gleefully.<br /><br />"Then what's the point?"<br /><br />"No point."<br /><br />"Will it kill us?"<br /><br />"I imagine you'll kill yourselves. Just like everyone on those other ships. That's what I plan to do." True to his word the Captain already had a knife in one hand and was testing the blade with his other. "Nice and dull!" he exclaimed. "Bon Voyage!"<br /><br />"Wait!" Martin pleaded. "Why did everyone on those other ships kill themselves? I mean, h-how... how did they know?"<br /><br />"Dreams, my boy!" the Captain laughed some more, hysterically. "Once you've crossed its path, you dream it, and much more vividly than you already have. Yes, I know..." he winked, "...I've seen you there. You'll see the end before it happens, and then you'll see--and feel--the nothing that follows. Empty. Hollow. Ta ta," he plunged the knife deep into his chest. "It feels... cold," he gasped, then fell down in delirium, singing, "When we’re together, when we’re together, there’s no tomorrow, there’s no tomorrow! There’s no one in the world but you and me, just you and me, you and me..."<br /><br />"Damn it," the Nord said, standing up. Stunned, they turned away from the beast and left the Captain lying in a pool of his own blood.<br /><br />The Nord stared Commander Martin in the eyes, "Carpe diem," he said disdainfully.<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />The great beast arose from the dark sea. It had the hind legs of a hairless jackrabbit--tipped by talons--and its twisted torso throbbed, even beat, like a giant heart with vestigial vena cava pumping nothing. Its head was as a whale's, with hollow eyes and thousands of bone white teeth. It was also ethereal, an insubstantial will-o'-the-wisp. The great beast swam with webbed front feet, onward toward its goal.<br /><br />It did not care. It did not have a purpose. Neither reason for being, nor a cause of being. It came from nothing and to nothing it would return, dragging all with it. Its mighty talons ripped into the guardians and its giant maw swallowed them whole. Its many acolytes swarmed them and bound them back to back. It dug into the fabric of space as the guardians watched helplessly, and tore. It ripped and pulled, curling the thin ether as it went; crunching it together like a paper ball. In and in it pulled and curled and crunched until the whole of space was wrapped neatly in a tiny mathematical point. There the beast joined all in nothing. Action, reaction. Cause, effect. Input, output. Beginning, middle, end. Result? <br /><br /><br />Fade to black.Ben-Elhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09514984244150609918noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1971820708817831793.post-29927956667607366622009-02-26T21:00:00.015-06:002009-02-26T23:24:17.843-06:00Snow White and the Red QueenSnow White emerged from her sleep and let out a big yawn. A bluebird fluttered onto her shoulder.<br /><br />"Hello, little one," she said, before quickly crushing it with her fist and walking over to the cauldron where her new friends the dwarves were boiling shoe leather.<br /><br />"Ah! We'll be a feastin' ta' day, laddies," said the silver-bearded and bespectacled Doc upon seeing Snow with the bird.<br /><br />"Aye. And some more o' that entertainment ta' night, I spect," the stocky, swarthy-skinned Lusty replied, giving her a slap on the butt. She yelped.<br /><br />"Haven't eaten this good since 'fore the queen took all the harvest!" shouted Haughty. He was the youngest of the dwarves, with a small, neatly groomed black beard. "I heard tell she burned the better half of it. Said it was good for us!"<br /><br />"Wicked bitch will get hers one day, I swear it by the nine moons!" cried the red-bearded Angry.<br /><br />"Shh!" Doc pleaded, "Someone might hear." He looked around nervously. There was nothing but trees and more woodland animals.<br /><br />They were joined for breakfast by the other dwarves, and after the feast they went to the mines.<br /><br />Snow White joined them as she had every morning since first meeting them, when they sang, "Hi, ho! Hi, ho! It's off to work we go! Sweat in the sun--Then have some fun!"<br /><br />All eight of them worked hard in the mines, pounding away at the rock and dragging out precious gems for the fatherland.<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />"Mirror, mirror, on the door," intoned the Red Queen, "who holds positions like the Moor?<br /><br />"Snow White," the Mirror replied, a gleaming white smile like that of the Cheshire Cat twisted upon its face.<br /><br />"She lives?" the queen ignored his impudence.<br /><br />"Of course. Would you like to see where?"<br /><br />"Yes! Show me."<br /><br />"Very well." The light upon the mirror's surface twisted and contorted further--until it seemed to swallow itself up with its own smile. Then an image suddenly appeared. There was a high tower with a lone window. On the grass below was a handsome man sitting upon a horse. Sound emanated off the mirror, at first a squeaking, then a vibrating hum which gradually lowered in pitch. Soon human voices were audible.<br /><br />"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!" cried the handsome man.<br /><br />"I can't!" she shouted in reply.<br /><br />"Why not?" he appeared perplexed.<br /><br />"I cut it!" she answered.<br /><br />"What? Why? What were you thinking?"<br /><br />"It's the new fashion! All the rage in Frankfurt, I'm told."<br /><br />"But it looks ugly!"<br /><br />Suddenly the sounds and imagery vanished. The only thing still reflected in the mirror was the sharp-jawed emerald-eyed queen holding a heavy, red velvet backed chair over her head as she prepared to smash the mirror.<br /><br />"My queen!" cried the mirror, "You don't need any more bad luck... and frankly, neither do I."<br /><br />"Then tell me where Snow White is," the queen seethed, setting down the chair momentarily.<br /><br />"Fine. But be warned... actually, there's nothing to warn you about; I've just always wanted to say that. She's working in a gem mine at 48 degrees latitude north, 37 degrees longitude east. Now pass the Windex, if you please. I think someone popped a zit on me while I was sleeping."<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />"Would you like an apple, dearie?" the old hag asked the plump young dwarf.<br /><br />"Very much miss; please be givin' it ta' me."<br /><br />"Not so fast. First you must do something for me."<br /><br />"I'll do anythin' ya want, darlin'. Just ask."<br /><br />"Alright, dearie, but it won't be easy..."<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />Gluttony the dwarf stood over the corpse of Snow White; he had strangled her to death. The other dwarves wouldn't be happy about this... but at least he would have his apple.<br /><br />-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />"Mirror, mirror, on the door," intoned the queen, "did he finally kill the whore?"<br /><br />"Who?" asked the mirror.<br /><br />"Snow White," the queen said angrily.<br /><br />"Ah! Yes. She's dead as a doornail. Speaking of nails and doors, my back is killing me. Would you mind..."<br /><br />"Mirror, mirror, on the door," intoned the queen.<br /><br />"Stop that! You don't have to say a little rhyme every time, you know. Now what do you want to know?"<br /><br />"Who holds positions like..."<br /><br />"...the Moor. Yes, yes, it's the same every time. And every time I tell you it's not you, you get upset and threaten to break something in a temper tantrum. Usually me. Although in the end you'll just break some heads."<br /><br />"And whose head shall I break?"<br /><br />"The head of whomever you want." <br /><br />She picked up the chair.<br /><br />"...Or if you want a name..."<br /><br />"I want a name."<br /><br />"Doc."<br /><br />"Who is 'Doc'?"<br /><br />"A dwarf. Snow White taught him everything she knew about theory in the past few weeks. He learned very quickly... for a dwarf. Ugly little people. Disgusting." The mirror seemed lost in thought for a moment, then it said, "Listen, I've already passed the relevant information on to the head of the KB Toys, or whatever you call them, ask him for it. I've got some work to do forgetting the dance moves someone was trying in front of me earlier. Do you have any idea how many ugly people think they look good naked? Maybe it would be better if you just shattered me. Then again, there is the occasional attractive person..."<br /><br />----------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />The bespectacled silver-bearded dwarf opened the cottage door and peered out at the tall old hag. "Yes?" he asked.<br /><br />She did not answer at first, but merely held up a fresh piece of produce.<br /><br />"Looks mighty tasty," said the dwarf. "I don't suppose I could have a bite?" <br /> <br />Still, she did not answer. She brought the food--a carrot--to her mouth, taking a large bite, and then as she crunched away, said, "What's up, Doc?"<br /><br />Doc never saw his long-time friend, Haughty, behind him. Nor did he see the pick-axe.<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />Returning from killing the last dwarf, for each dwarf had taught theory to another, and she had needed to make many trips because the mirror had not informed her there was another each time until she returned. Finally she simply had all ten thousand dwarves in the region killed. No dwarf, no problem. <br /><br />"Are there any other threats I should know about?" she asked the mirror, more than a little irate.<br /><br />"Not really..." he paused, then added, "...well, there is one, but it will be a couple years before you have to worry about that. And of course there is the inevitable collapse of this corrupt and economically incoherent system that is wicked in the eyes of the Lord, and your inexorable descent into hell. But other than that..."<br /><br />She gave him the chair.Ben-Elhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09514984244150609918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1971820708817831793.post-7055807420233131962009-02-15T00:08:00.020-06:002009-02-24T15:18:15.070-06:00Don't Metal With Rock Folk: Or "Usher III"Captain Jean-Luc Picard walked across the dance floor, dodging the dancing dullards attending the damnable concert. "Disconcert" was more apt for such dissonant drivel. On <i>his</i> ship no less. None of it was real, of course, but it still maddened him to see it; the only sound truly produced was the constant, calculated rhythm of his footsteps on the holodeck floor. He maintained a cold, outward dispassion as he prepared to confront the stowaway.<br /><br />------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />It wasn't so long ago that Orpheus was enjoying life on the underground music scene. That was before the Suits invaded. Federation thugs had graced their hush-hush production community with a visit; they who worked the factories in the underbelly of an empire that denied their very existence. They kept the empire running on good, clean energy by toiling in the grease and muck to produce the illusion of prosperity. All they asked in return was to keep the anti-rock raids to a minimum. They were denied even this.<br /><br />Orpheus, who worked in an electronics factory by day, was by night a rocker nostalgic for the earth that was--before they ruined it with a splash of Lysol and coat of paint, that is--trying to make some extra ration stamps from the crowd. He had the misfortune of being on stage when the Feds burst in. A girl yelled, "You can't stop us. We're going to rock around the--" <br /><br />The Suit commander yelled, "Set phasers to kiiiill!" and his men shot her down. The crowd was unable to appreciate the irony that her father worked in a phaser production factory. As the commander turned his eyes toward the stage, Orpheus' band, perhaps realizing there was no way out, began to play music as Orpheus sang that they weren't going to take it.<br /><br />After the next phaser shot the audience ran. The guitarist was sizzling on the floor and Orpheus dove backstage. Before anyone could catch him he had already slipped out the back door of the club and was on his through the narrow alley behind it on his way home. That is when he ran, literally, into the Suit commander. While his men finished the rest of the band it appears he had slipped back out the door. <br /><br />Both men fell to the ground. Orpheus tried to get back up and continue running, but the commander had his shirt. "Let go!" he screamed. Then, turning around, he fought back. He kicked and hit and bit and wrestled the phaser out of the commander's hand, which went skidding across the pavement. So instead Orpheus pounded the commander's head into the wet ground until his grip finally loosened. But then he kept pounding. For what seemed several minutes, but was probably significantly less than one. When he stood up the commander was dead. And so was any hope of going home again. Ever. The DNA he had left behind; skin, sweat, and--although then he could feel no cuts--surely blood as well. He would have to keep running.<br /> <br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />The stowaway and saboteur, Orpheus was what he called himself, had requested the interrogation in the holodeck: the very place he'd sabotaged. It was a risk to grant the request, but none of their interrogation techniques had worked thus far, and Orpheus promised to cooperate fully if he was given the proper tool to explain his grand plan. This made it a calculated risk as far as Captain Picard was concerned.<br /><br />"Now," he began, "What are you doing on <i>my</i> ship?"<br /><br />"Sabotaging it."<br /><br />It was honest enough. So far he appeared to be, true to his word, coming clean. Not very useful, but honest. Picard thought he would see how long that would last. <br /><br />"And why is that?" he studied carefully the captured Orpheus, bound to a holodeck-formed chair.<br /><br />"Revenge."<br /><br />Again, he seemed honest. Very well. Captain Picard would put this to the ultimate test.<br /><br />"And, other than this dreadful nonsense that took us hours to stop from looping on the holodeck, what kind of sabotage?"<br /><br />"Ah. Now this is the fun part," the bound Orpheus began. "I may not belong in this pretty, shiny world of yours, but your world doesn't deserve to exist in my universe."<br /><br />"So you're going to destroy it?" Picard was wondering if letting him into the holodeck had been a bad idea.<br /><br />"Yes." <br /><br />"Don't you think that's a tad immature?"<br /><br />"At least I don't think I can create a perfect world."<br /><br />"But you wish to destroy one?"<br /><br />"This," Orpheus looked around the room, "is hardly perfect. It's not the end of <span style="font-style:italic;">the</span> world, just the end of <span style="font-style:italic;">your</span> world. I wish there was some other way, I really do. But we can't rewind, we've gone too far," he looked at the rock scene he'd looped, still playing silently off to the side. "This tape will self-destruct in five minutes, give or take. But first I want you to know why. Freedom." With that last word his hardened holographic bonds and chair dissolved.<br /><br />"Clever, but I still have this," Picard pulled out his phaser.<br /><br />"The ship will blow if my heart stops beating."<br /><br />"There's always a way out," said Picard.<br /><br />"Propaganda. You, a hero of the Federation, never did half of what you claim."<br /><br />"Maybe so. But I still don't see what I've done to harm you," Picard circled cautiously toward the panel where he could rip out the holodeck wiring.<br /><br />"You're no different from the Borg. All you Suits and your shiny ships want is to assimilate everyone to your way of thinking. Your way of dressing. Your way of living. Your way of being."<br /><br />"I hate to let you in on a little secret," said Picard, "But the Borg don't exist; that is propaganda as well."<br /><br />"And I <i>love</i> to let you in on a little secret; this conversation is being broadcast to the entire earth."<br /><br />Picard jolted. "I don't believe you," he said finally after more inching toward the panel.<br /><br />"I don't need you to, O Captain, my Captain..." Orpheus gave a crisp salute and an explosion from the holodeck burst outward, causing the entire <span style="font-style:italic;">Enterprise</span> to spread silently out into space as so much shrapnel.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Epilogue: The Conversation on the Edge of Forever</span><br /><br />Picard entered--no, strode into the room with such confidence. He had an imperceptible swagger about him. Like a genteel condescension, he did not deign to parade his arrogance about like the common man, but merely carried it. This only made the cold, follically-challenged bastard seem even more conceited.<br /><br />"Well, well; you're back. I never thought I'd see you again."<br /><br />"And you seem your old self," Orpheus replied. "Just like in the propaganda. Confident. Charming to some. Cruel to others."<br /><br />"Propaganda?" Picard laughed jovially for the first time Orpheus ever saw. "I told you there is always a way out, didn't I?"<br /><br />"Out?" Orpheus laughed in turn. "We're finally in."<br /><br />"What do you mean?" Picard's sharp eyes pierced his own questioningly.<br /><br />"Well," Orpheus explained, "<span style="font-style:italic;">This</span> holodeck has no limitations." <br /><br />"I assure you it does. Propaganda, remember." Picard seemed no longer worried that anything would be broadcast to anyone.<br /><br />"Tell me..." Orpheus paused.<br /><br />"Yes? What?" it was a friendly inquiry.<br /><br />"Tell me something... anything... something that I might not know."<br /><br />"The number of things you don't know could be written on the stars, my young friend."<br /><br />"Tell me more."<br /><br />"Alright. Now this one's going to sound strange to you, but..." he began to laugh. Orpheus assumed it must have been pretty funny, for Picard laughed so hard that he had tears in his eyes before he could say, "I just want you to know that video did not, in fact, kill the radio star."<br /><br />Orpheus gave the matter some thought. He wanted to say 'I know, but it's the principle,' but that wasn't right. Finally he understood, however, and could earnestly say, "You know a lot more about the past then you let on, Captain Beatty."<br /><br />Picard smiled wanly, knowingly, and answered, "It hurt me."<br /><br />"Weren't good enough?" Orpheus retorted.<br /><br />"Maybe. But you know as much as I about hurting that which you love."<br /><br />"I don't love you."<br /><br />"You loved me once. Believed the propaganda. And now we'll spend Forever together."<br /><br />"Nietzsche?"<br /><br />"I <span style="font-style:italic;">am</span> interesting, aren't I?"<br /><br />"Perhaps," Orpheus admitted, "But this..." he glanced into the abyss--a gaping black hole swallowing the holodeck--and said, "...This is where we part."<br /><br />"Goodbye," said Picard, unafraid, as he watched Orpheus exit the holodeck--that door opening and closing itself one last time. Disappointment was all the old Captain betrayed, and this only by a hollow look in his eyes that reverberated around him as he fidgeted slightly, as if trekking for a purpose. If purpose wasn't between the stars, maybe it was in them. Picard leapt into the expanding maw of the pit and hurtled down toward the blinding fire at its center.Ben-Elhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09514984244150609918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1971820708817831793.post-62835030788346363662009-02-06T22:00:00.031-06:002009-02-11T16:30:05.814-06:00Nuke'emPZZT. An Expander blast singed the left side of his blond crew cut, and nearly damaged his dark sunglasses as well. He pivoted around--BLAM!--firing off a shot into the creature's brain. The pink, many-tentacled monstrosity fell unceremoniously to the ground. <br /><br />"That's one," said the red vest, blue jeans and boot-clad soldier. He had survived the crash. Which wasn't a surprise to him. It took more than a little heat to take down--<br /><br />Another Expander blast. He returned fire.<br /><br />"Two."<br /> <br />The hard-bitten gun-toting warrior made his way along the spiderweb lay out of the concrete-tunneled base, walking briskly despite the weight of the ammo, several guns, and his personal luggage, which he carried over one shoulder in a small-but-hefty black bag.<br /><br />The eastern corridors, at least that's the direction his map gave them, had already been demolished by the Kalmari. Their mistake. He smirked. They had cut their points of entry by a third, and if he could make it back to the center of the web...<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br /><br />The Kalmari had destroyed the rockets and communications equipment before he arrived, leaving him stranded. So naturally, he had salvaged the short-range communication equipment off the lagging Kalmari fighter that had welcomed him and sent out a distress signal to the nearby Kalmari fleet. It read: <i>Help. Earth sends destroyers. Battleship. To retrieve weap--</i> it fizzled out. Suspecting a trap, the Kalmari proceeded with caution, and he used that time to prepare.<br /><br />He hadn't expected the difficulty. It turned out that the Kalmari attack on the base had caused an--ironically--automatic reversion to manual controls. This made it impossible to open the sealed titanium doors to the base weapons' cache, because the control for the door was behind tons of rubble, and therefore he wouldn't have access to high-powered explosives. Unless, he had realized, he could get some rocket fuel. And there was no fuel left at the CHICK (Cuisine Haute Inter-Cosmic Kitchen) Base.<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />Mission accomplished. Kalmari fighters were equipped with personal DNA encryption, so flying away after the fleet landed was never an option. On the other hand, he knew how to siphon a tank. Waiting outside the base in hiding as the fleet landed, he managed to carry away one hundred kilograms of rocket fuel from one of their fighters on a wheelbarrow. Of course by then several dozen Kalmari troops were already inside the base and he had to fight his way toward his goal. Which is where he found himself now, with two--no, make that three--of the enemy down, and who knows how many to go. Not to mention the thousands preparing to enter the base.<br /><br />"Four," he said, pausing to wipe the sweat off his brow. He opened the door to a supply closet and took one canister of fuel, about fifteen kg, and wired it to the detonator he had prepared earlier. That would lighten his load a little.<br /><br />He continued along the corridor and into the next, he wired another canister in another supply closet and repeated the process again and again until all but one was gone. He dropped the wheelbarrow, and several more Kalmari, and hurriedly carried the remaining canister toward the center of the base.<br /><br />At the center lie the reactor core. The <i>Nuclear</i> reactor core. The video monitor showed hundreds of Kalmari flooding the corridors. He clicked the red button of his detonator. The camera went dead.<br /><br />------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />Now there was only one tunnel leading to the reactor core. They would all have to come through it. Several hundred were dead already, but there were at least two thousand left. How many of those their leaders were willing to throw at him remained to be seen. He lit the corridor up with his chain gun. The rounds shredded the approaching Kalmari and little bits of pink flesh plastered the walls. Only a few dozen had died when he ran out of chain gun ammo. He pulled out his rocket propelled grenade launcher and cleared out the remaining two dozen and prepared for the second wave. By the third wave he was out of rockets and switched to his shotgun, and was throwing pipe bombs. He had run out of shotgun rounds by the fifth wave, and after taking out the sixth wave with his dual sub machine guns only had one pipe bomb and a single round left in his pistol. That round he would save for the last. For now he backed into the reactor room and shut the blast door. But first he called out the challenge, “Come and get some, you bunch of pink pussies!”<br /><br />After a little while a drilling sound came from just outside the door; they knew better than to try to use explosives here. He ignored their attempts for the time being and opened the black bag containing the few personal belongings he had brought with him to the base. Inside the bag was another gun, as well as a box of cigars. He lit one up.<br /><br />Looking at the door, he said, “What are you waiting for? Christmas?” <br /><br />Just then an air vent above him blew off and a Kalmari marine landed right behind him, grasping his throat and arms with its many tentacles. His cigar fell to the ground. He fought back. Pulling a tentacle away from his throat so he could breathe, he said, “What are you? Some bottom-feeding, scum-sucking, algae-eater?” He brandished only his pistol and a Bowie Knife; the other gun was still in his bag. Cutting one tentacle, he plied himself free and threw the Kalmari marine into the reactor room controls.<br /><br />The creature quickly regained its tentacling. He stared at him intensely with its one large eye, and said, “Surrender, human.”<br /><br />“That all you got?” he barked.<br /><br />“There are thousands of us and only one of you,” the Kalmari marine pointed out.<br /><br />“Not in here there ain’t. It's down to you and me, you one-eyed freak!” he lunged.<br /><br />The creature deftly sprung aside, but he was even quicker; he had feinted, and now he about-faced, knocking the butt of his knife into the Kalmari soldier’s giant rubbery head. The soldier fell down and he kicked it several times before quickly tying its tentacles together in knots. Then he grabbed a piece of paper off the reactor console.<br /><br />“Now,” he said to his dizzied foe, “We’re going to compose a letter.”<br /><br /><b>To the office of the President of the United States:</b><br /><br /><i>In the unlikely event that I don’t survive</i>, he began, dipping a pen he had found into the Kalmari marine’s ink.<br /><br />“You will never survive!<br /><br />He jabbed it in the eye with the butt of his knife and then continued, <i>I want you to make sure these bastards never cause us any trouble again. Make them all fry. <br /><br />Those alien bastards are gonna pay for shooting up my ride!</i><br /><br />He folded up the note and hid it in a small heat-proof safe in the reactor room. “Time to turn up the heat,” he said, just as the blast door began to give way. A flood of Kalmari was about to descend upon him. Nevertheless, he maintained his cool. Removing the gun from his black bag—it was bulky and yellow—he then walked to the reactor console and typed a series of numbers into the control panel and an alarm went off. He fired the gun this way and that, a cool blue lightening issuing forth from its tip, until the whole room was surrounded in ice. “Freeze-ray, never leave home without it,” he remarked.<br /><br />He proceeded from the walls to the floor; blanketing the room, and stepping back further and further toward the center of the room until only he and the Kalmari marine were not frozen over. “Want me to put you on ice?” he asked, pulling out his detonator. He clicked the red button, blowing the final canister of rocket fuel—the explosion could just be heard half way across the base.<br /><br />“What did you just do??!!” the marine asked.<br /><br />“I blew the water reservoir. It’s going to mix with the overheated reactor core and bring this whole base to a boil.”<br /><br />“But we’re in the reactor core!” the marine protested.<br /><br />“Again…” he ignored the marine’s fear, “…Want me to put you on ice?”<br /><br />“Y-yes,” the Kalmari warrior decided it would be for the best after all. “But it won’t work! It can’t work.”<br /><br />“Which part?” he said as he froze the marine. “Nevermind,” he wiped the sweat off his brow. “Damn. It’s getting hot in here.” He froze himself as well, throwing his last pipe bomb at the blast door and detonating it just as he was enveloped by the cool, blue ice. The reservoir water and hundreds of Kalmari troops flooded in and shortly began to boil.<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />He shattered the thin layer of ice surrounding him that hadn't melted yet when the reactor core performed the shutdown he had pre-programmed. "Told you it would work," he said to the stirring Kalmari marine. It found that he was right and also, to its horror, that its dead, boiled brothers were floating in the now knee-deep receding reservoir waters. Its tentacles were still tied together as well.<br /><br />He left the room. He didn't come back for several minutes, and when he did he carried a six pack of beers and a big tub of butter in his arms. He sat down next to the marine and began to eat one of its brethren. "If only they were so tough when they were alive," he remarked. He added a generous portion of butter with his Bowie Knife. "Mmm. That's better." He looked over at the living Kalmari, "You want some of this?"<br /><br />The marine quavered with a mixture of fear and disgust. <br /><br />He ignored it and opened a beer. "So long before they send more men in, do you figure?"<br /><br />Suppressing his desire to regurgitate with some difficulty, the marine answered, "You and your entire species will die soon."<br /><br />"Not the way I figure it. They probably think I'm dead already. Won't come back in this base. On the other hand, I suspect I have enough DNA samples here to fly one of those fighters back to earth. Not to mention to keep my stomach satisfied as well." He opened another beer, belching and throwing the empty first bottle crashing against the reactor console. "Did you know the only part of your people that isn't edible is the beak?"<br /><br />"Are you going to eat me too?"<br /><br />"Hell no. Have plenty of cooked Kalmari already. Just thought I'd keep you around to pass the time. But you aren't much of a conversationalist. Then again, neither am I..." he chuckled and stood up. Swallowing the last of a Kalmari arm, he retrieved and lit a new cigar from the box on the other side of the room and, returning, pulled out his pistol. Cocking it, he stared the Kalmari marine in the eye, and said, "Nobody steals our CHICKs... and lives." An ink blot splattered across the still-frozen floor. <br /><br />~Now for some much-deserved R&R<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EwYlEgOKrTM&feature=related">Dedicated to 3D Realms.</a> Now get your asses in gear.Ben-Elhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09514984244150609918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1971820708817831793.post-17122844819404523212009-01-24T21:26:00.061-06:002009-01-28T23:59:39.395-06:00He Hasn't Got Shit All Over Him... Yet.Sir Epididymis awoke with a start. Quickly rising to his feet--a little too quickly as it turned out, for blood rushed rapidly from his head, thankfully not <i>out of</i> his head though--he called out, "Gentle peasant, I seem to have overslept. Has, by any chance, good Sir Mace Manly yet made his way here marching under the magnificent banner of the Merry Marquess of the Midland Marche Marshes?<br /><br />"Eh?" the farmer replied. "Don't know anythin' 'bout that. Never erd of 'em."<br /><br />"<i>Never erd of 'em</i>?" Sir Epididymis cleared his throat. "Excuse me, never <i>heard</i> of <i>him</i>? Why he's only the most famous, bravest knight in the entire kingdom. How can you not have heard of him?"<br /><br />"Knight?" the farmer pondered the word. "'Ee the one on 'eer, then?" the farmer pulled out a copper and held it up to Sir Epididymis.<br /><br />"No!" Sir Epididymis cried. "That's the King!"<br /><br />"The <i>what</i>?"<br /><br />"The King!"<br /><br />"Never erd of 'em."<br /><br />"Never <i>heard</i> of the <i>King</i>?"<br /><br />"'Ee important, Guvnor?"<br /><br />"<I>Important</i>? He's the King!"<br /><br />"Important's the King? Never erd of 'em."<br /><br />"No! The King is important!"<br /><br />"Same person, then, eh Guvnor?"<br /><br />"The King is the sovereign of our entire realm!"<br /><br />"Not my sovereign, I didn't vote fer him."<br /><br />"<i>Didn't vote for the King</i>? Of course not! You don't vote for the King. Are you mad?"<br /><br />"Am now, Guvnor. What about my rights? I 'ave a voice too you know."<br /><br />Sir Epididymis clenched one armored fist around the throat of the stocky peasant. "Now you listen here," he said, "if you refuse to pay proper respect for the King, I will be forced to--"<br /><br />The peasant managed to wiggle free and, after putting a dozen steps between himself and Sir Epididymis, shouted, "You can't stop us all!"<br /><br />"<i>Who</i> all?" the Knight errant tried to close in on the fleeing peasant.<br /><br />"The people!" the peasant answered. "The masses! Huddled and yearning to breathe free! The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few--from each according to his ability, to each according to his needs."<br /><br />"What are you blathering on about? Hey! Come back here!"<br /><br />The peasant was dancing away merrily. "These are the times that try men's souls, now is the winter of our discont--wait, that's not right--I'm Spartacus!"<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />Having given up all hope on the matter of the maddened peasants of North Umborgringlugrand--for they all seemed to consider themselves members of what they called an "anarcho-syndicist commune"--Sir Epididymis rode toward the dark wooded region known as Fenndar Forest in hopes of crossing over into the rather saner County Winterset and from there to Grainwahl. Unfortunately, dismounting at a bridge crossing just before dusk, he came upon a band of peasants.<br /><br />"'Afternoon," said one of them.<br /><br />"Greetings, noble farmer. What brings you so far from your cropland at this hour?"<br /><br />"Oh, I don't 'ave any cropland," the peasant replied. "I'm with customs, I am."<br /><br />"Customs? What kind of customs?"<br /><br />"See yonder trees?"<br /><br />"Behind you? They are rather obvious."<br /><br />"Those are the ones, yes. They make up the border 'tween the lands."<br /><br />"Yes, I understand that. I intend to cross into County Winterset."<br /><br />"Figured as much."<br /><br />"Is there a problem with that?" Sir Epididymis was getting irritated.<br /><br />"None at all."<br /><br />"Then good evening to you."<br /><br />"Just one moment though," the peasant said quickly.<br /><br />"Yes?" Sir Epididymis grated his teeth.<br /><br />"You 'ave to pay the toll."<br /><br />"Oh, of course. The bridge toll. Very well." Sir Epididymis handed over the requested number of crowns then said again, "Good evening."<br /><br />"Good evening," the man who had taken the crowns replied. "Wait," he added suddenly, just as Sir Epididymis was making his way across the bridge.<br /><br />"What is it now?"<br /><br />"Just... you 'aven't performed any knightly services while in our land 'ave you?"<br /><br />"Of course I have!" Sir Epididymis balked. "I'm a knight! Now if you'll excuse me..."<br /><br />"By any chance, did you receive payment for any of those services."<br /><br />"I may have... how is it any of <i>your</i> business?"<br /><br />"As chief customs officer," the man began, "I must inquire into services rendered and the amount, if any, of payment received."<br /><br />"You <i>what</i>?"<br /><br />"As chief customs officer I must..."<br /><br />"I heard that! This is madness! Your whole 'commune' is tremendously silly, and I will not discuss the matter any further."<br /><br />"Then you'll have to come with us, I'm afraid. To jail."<br /><br />"<i>To jail</i>? For saving a damsel from a gang of bandits and another from a dragon? If I managed to banish Satan himself would I go to the gallows?"<br /><br />"Only if you fail to pay the fees. Now, however, we are making progress. How many bandits were there?"<br /><br />"Five."<br /><br />"Good. Now, it may sound silly, but was it a male of female dragon?"<br /><br />"What?"<br /><br />"Just answer the question, sir. We're almost done now."<br /><br />"Female, I believe."<br /><br />"You <i>believe</i>?"<br /><br />"Come now, how should I know the difference?"<br /><br />"Yes, well that <i>is</i> why we're studying them," the customs officer replied as another of the 'officers' whispered in his ear. "Did you slay the dragon?" he added.<br /><br />"Yes, I slew the bloody dragon! It was going to kill the damsel, that's what dragons do! I'm a knight, that's what I do!"<br /><br />"No need to get upset," he said as the same man whispered in his ear again. "Oh my. I'm terribly sorry," he added. "The fine for killing a bitch is very large."<br /><br />"Killing a <i>what?</i>"<br /><br />"A bitch. A female dragon. That's what we call it. The town council is considering changing it to something less offensive, like 'sow.' If you have any suggestions, please mail them to..."<br /><br />"I don't have any suggestions, and I never will. Now. What. Is. Your. Fine?"<br /><br />"Quite a bit. The dragon is an endangered species you know..."<br /><br />"<i>Endangered?</i> Good! I'd be happy to pay any amount if it would rid the world of such vile creatures. Now tell me the fine!"<br /><br />"Oh, about let's say..." the customs officer looked around, "the cost of that horse. I mean a horse," he added quickly.<br /><br />"My horse?" Sir Epididymis replied incredulously.<br /><br />"Not your horse. Any horse will do."<br /><br />"But you said <i>my</i> horse."<br /><br />"No, I said your horse and then I quickly corrected myself in order to hide the fact that I was making everything up as I go along. Any horse will do. If you can find another horse I will take that one as well."<br /><br />"You made that up, didn't you?"<br /><br />"Did not!"<br /><br />Yes you did!"<br /><br />"No I didn't!"<br /><br />"You made the whole thing up. You are nothing but horse thieves!" <br /><br />"Nonsense," the officer looked at a clipboard he produced seemingly out of nowhere. "Slander against a government officer, check. That will cost you one sword."<br /><br />"I will not disarm myself! Now step aside and let me pass from this wretched land."<br /><br />"I'm afraid I can't do that. Now how much did each damsel pay you for your services?"<br /><br />"..."<br /><br />"Your silence is only making things harder on you. Tax evasion is a serious crime."<br /><br />"...They did not compensate me monetarily."<br /><br />"Waitaminute. What is that supposed to mean, 'good' sir knight?"<br /><br />"It means we had a good roll in the hay."<br /><br />"Do you mean to tell me that you contracted business with their families in exchange for sexual favors?" the officer asked ominously.<br /><br />"Yes, if you prefer to couch it in such unromantic terms. Now if it pleases, I shall take my leave."<br /><br />"Leave? You can't leave! Men, arrest him for lewd acts!"<br /><br />"Stay back!" Sir Epididymis whipped out his sword.<br /><br />"You did the crime, now you have to do the time."<br /><br />"Crime? You people are lunatics. Gather taxes from your own people and worry about them. I'm leaving this wretched land forever."<br /><br />"If you do, we'll have to forward it to collections; we are in desperate need of finances to fight the increasing crime and attacks by dragons."<br /><br />"Of course you have increasing crime and dragon attacks! You put a fine on slaying the latter, and do everything you can to drive out those who would thwart crime by private initiative."<br /><br />"No, you misunderstand the situation. The dragons are reacting to the encroachment upon their land by the ever-growing local population; we tried a one-child policy but it hasn't taken effect yet. Perhaps in another thirty years the problem will be gone. As for the criminals, well, they just need a better education which we can't afford to give them--all thanks to stingy scrooges like you."<br /><br />"Perhaps if you spent more time producing something of value, and less heckling those who wish to help, you would find your land to be wealthier."<br /><br />"Oh, turn it around on me! Just typical. You overfed, inbred aristocrats with no valuable skills outside of killing people--real productive that--should just listen to us hard-working and more numerous..."<br /><br />"Shut up! Shut up! Will you shut up?" Sir Epididymis cried. "I'll show you just how productive killing can be, bloody peasant!" With that Sir Epididymis ran the chief customs officer through with cold steel, sliced the next nearest peasant across the throat, and mounted his trusty steed. The remaining peasants scattered as he charged across the bridge and into the dark forest beyond just as the last of the sun's golden rays vanished behind the green hilltops. "Finally!" Sir Epididymis sighed, his horse plodding peacefully along the cool, shaded forest. The woods were calm and the damp pine needles fragrant. No noises save those of his horse and his incessant massaging of his temples made their way to his ears. "What a blight upon the earth!" he cursed. "God willing, I nor anyone else of sound mind will never have to see such ignorance given voice again till kingdom come."<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />"Unhand me! Help!" cried a raven-haired maiden with creamy white skin. Then... "Bastard." <br /><br />"That's right, ya know when yer beat. Now shut up, wench," a forty-something balding man wielding not but a massive paunch answered. Grabbing her by her hair, tied back in a long ponytail, he shoved one side of her face into the forest mud when she attempted to speak again. He eyed her covetously. She was clad scantily; wearing only a low-cut burnished black leather bustier and thong that left her midriff bare, and her long slender legs were also bare, save her high leather boots and a spattering of wet mud.<br /><br />"Yeah, we gotcha now, ya little..." a second man began.<br /><br />He was interrupted by the sound of a galloping horse.<br /><br />"Quick, someone's coming," he said.<br /><br />"Nah, he sounds a ways off ta me. Now ya get her boots, I'll take off the rest..."<br /><br />"No! Don't take that from me," she pleaded. "Please, anything but that."<br /><br />"Sorry, miss," said the paunch-wielder, "but ya don't have anythin' else we want. 'Less ya have a few hundred crowns hidden on ya somewhere..."<br /><br />She subtly shook her head, her eyes looking desperately into his.<br /><br />"Thought not. Now don't ya worry yer pretty little head, this won't hurt but the slightest. In fact, I suspect that ya..."<br /><br />Now the sound of shouting accompanied the hoof beats.<br /><br />"We better get outta here," the other man said.<br /><br />"Nonsense. Keep at it. Get that other boot off; I've already got this thing unstrapped." And indeed he had.<br /><br />She gritted her teeth, and snarling as only a porcelain doll can, she said, "I. Hate. You."<br /><br />"Sorry to hear that luv, but I can't say that changes anything."<br /><br />As he peeled her bustier slowly, delicately off her chest, a single tear rolled down her face and she stared blankly at the sky.<br /><br />Then from around the corner of the woodland trail came a fantastic shout, and he laid the bustier immediately back on her chest as an armor clad knight burst forth from the bend.<br /><br />------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ <br /> <br />Sir Epididymis charged with all speed, sword aloft and gleaming brilliantly like the surface of a lake in the thin strands of light that made their way through the waving treetops. "For Saint George!" he cried, slitting open the throat of a tall man in patched leather before jumping off his horse onto a shorter, but much fatter man. First Sir Epididymis hit the man on the bald spot of his head with the pommel of his sword, then he pummeled him into the mud, cut off his ears, scooped his eyes out with his plate-mailed thumbs, shoved a rusty nail up one of his nostrils, and stuffed his mouth with pine needles. To top it all off he grabbed a pine cone as well and...<br /><br />"Wait!" the young woman cried.<br /><br />Sir Epididymis turned. "Yes?"<br /><br />"Thank you ever so much for helping me, but please show some humanity for that poor man!"<br /><br />"Why? After what he was going to do to you?"<br /><br />"Oh that's just a personal sentiment of mine. It isn't a crime worthy of death!"<br /><br />"<i>Personal sentiment</i>? Are you jesting? Are the laws in this land so preposterous as that?"<br /><br />"Of course it is important to <i>me</i>," she said, "I would hate to lose it."<br /><br />"May I kill him now, then?"<br /><br />"Please, good sir. I beg of you. Show some generosity. While my father gave it to me on the fifteenth anniversary of my birth, but..."<br /><br />"Your father did <i>what</i>?"<br /><br />"G-gave me t-these garments you see here," she said, now nervous. "That is why I was so reluctant to part with them.<br /><br />"Oh. Right. Still not very fatherly of him, now is it?"<br /><br />"I don't understand."<br /><br />"That seems to be a common theme in these parts. Hold. You were reluctant to part with your garments because they were a present from your father? What about what they were going to do to you?"<br /><br />"Nothing, I'm sure," she said innocently.<br /><br />"Nothing? So they undressed you for no reason at all?"<br /><br />"No silly," she giggled, "they wanted to take my garments for themselves, didn't you hear?"<br /><br />"For <i>themselves</i>? What use do they have with women's wear?"<br /><br />"Not <i>for</i> them. The one whom you still wish to hurt said he wished to gift it to his mistress."<br /><br />"And you believed him?"<br /><br />"Of course. It is common practice, after all."<br /><br />"Common practice to maintain a mistress or to forcibly remove clothing from young women in the middle of the woods?"<br /><br />"Both."<br /><br />"Madness! All of you. Now where is the rest of your clothes? Put it on while I dispose of this wretch. He is still a thief and will suffer appropriately."<br /><br />"The 'rest,' sir?"<br /><br />"Yes, the remainder."<br /><br />"I don't have any more..."<br /><br />"<i>What?</i> Did someone else take them?" Sir Epididymis massaged his temples some more. "I'm not out of the woods yet," he sighed.<br /><br />"Well of course you aren't. Are you blind, good sir?"<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />"Thank you for saving my daughter from a most unfortunate fate," the tall, blond, well-built man holding a longbow greeted him.<br /><br />Sir Epididymis had accompanied the young woman back to her home, which as it so happened, was in the middle of the woods.<br /><br />"You are welcome."<br /><br />"As are you... to stay with us any time. Now allow me to introduce myself. I am Long-Bo, leader of the Bo Clan. This..." he referred to a stockier, shorter man beside him holding a smaller bow, "Is my son, Short-Bo. To my other side here is my musical cousin, O-Bo, and unfortunately my younger brother is not with us tonight; he is an itinerant, but if you come across him in your travels--as I'm sure you will--know that he looks just like me, but with a beard, and his name is Ho-Bo."<br /><br />"I see."<br /><br />"Of course you have already met my daughter. My little Bim-Bo."<br /><br />"And how did your clan come by this name?"<br /><br />"We are all woodsmen. Hunters. Men of the bow. As was my father and my father's father, and perhaps his father as well. But not my father's father's father's father; he was born with only one arm..." Long-Bo paused momentarily. "Now the town whence came those two men you dispatched is lead by the Hat Clan. They have won the local elections six times running and are poised to do so again. They are very popular under the leadership of Mann Hat and his younger brother Mad, whom live in Mann Hat Manor just off of Main Street. His authority goes from the hills over Mann Hat Manor all the way to Mann Hat Inn on the other side of town. Do not rest there; 'tis a silly place."<br /><br />"Fascinating. And I suppose you are a member of this arch-community?"<br /><br />"Anarcho-syndicist commune? Yes. Are you not?"<br /><br />"I am not from this land."<br /><br />"Ah, I see. Let us sit around the fire and speak of the wonders of our land, then. Afterwards you shall tell us of your land and the freedom found therein."<br /><br />"Very well."<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />"The world is warming, the village elders tell us so!" protested Bim-Bo. "How can you not believe?"<br /><br />"It is spring, of course the world is warming!" Sir Epididymis pointed out, "it does so every spring. What is there to worry about?"<br /><br />"No," she insisted. "When our elders were young, it was much cooler than in these years."<br /><br />"Grandmaster Shale of the Stone Masons has a theory," said Long-Bo. "He believes it is the carpenters and their great demand for wood that brings this calamity upon our times. For without forests there is less shade, and were there is less shade there is more heat."<br /><br />"Of course a stone mason would blame the carpenters; they are his competitors!" Sir Epididymis objected. "Trees have been felled since Adam left the Garden, why should the earth warm only now? Damn guilds."<br /><br />"Please don't speak ill of the guilds. Although we have yet to form a local woodsman guild, many of our friends are guild members."<br /><br />"I apologize."<br /><br />"Who is Adam, and what garden?" Bim-Bo asked.<br /><br />"It isn't important," Sir Epididymis massaged his temples.<br /><br />"Surely you believe each man--and woman--has a right to have a say in how they are governed?"<br /><br />"Why?" Sir Epididymis scoffed. "Why cannot each man..."<br /><br />"And woman."<br /><br />"...And woman, simply determine their own lives?"<br /><br />"What of your king then? Cannot <i>he</i> determine his own life?"<br /><br />"Of course! And he does. What of it?"<br /><br />"Then why must he rule over others?"<br /><br />"Mostly he doesn't."<br /><br />"Yes he does! That is what a king is. A tyrant!"<br /><br />"Now you see here, young lady," Sir Epididymis said roughly, "I will not have you speak of the King of this realm in that manner."<br /><br />"Help! I'm being impressed!"<br /><br />"What?"<br /><br />"You can't silence us."<br /><br />"Why would I need to?"<br /><br />"Because you are afraid."<br /><br />"Afraid of what?"<br /><br />"Afraid we will overthrow your oppressive regime."<br /><br />"<i>Overthrow</i>? And how do you intend to do that?"<br /><br />"With force if necessary."<br /><br />"With force? That's treason."<br /><br />"You can try me for treason, oppressor, but you cannot stop the revolution which will bring peace to the land!"<br /><br />"You intend a bloody overthrow of the legitimate government and yet say we are the oppressors? And what is more, you claim to bring peace? Madness."<br /><br />"No king can be legitimate!" <br /><br />"You are hysterical. We have a system of government which allows each community its own charter--laws and customs, its own festivals and traditions, none of which even the King and Parliament combined can overrule. Your community may be as free as it wishes to be, or as enslaved as it is, but do not say you will--with force--take that freedom from the rest of this land! Because by the grace of God we will stop you. We will root you out, you den of vipers... we will root you out."<br /><br />"No. Only a mandate from the masses can be legitimate."<br /> <br />"Middle-aged women standing in booths, checking squares on parchment is no basis for a system of government! Supreme executive power derives from Divine mandate, not some farcical popular ceremony. If I went around saying I was emperor, simply because some semi-literate emotionally-invested mob with no conception of self-determination whom also have a penchant for mass thievery and turning on those they supported because conditions have worsened even though neither those they supported nor they themselves changed any policy positions--liked the way I presented myself, they'd put me away." <br /><br />"You don't frighten us, English pig-dogs!" shouted Short-Bo. <br /><br />"Well, what are you, then?"<br /><br />"I'm French!"<br /><br />"Figures. Wretched frogs always killing your best men," Sir Epididymis pulled out his sword. "I mean you no harm. However, I am leaving this forest now, and I will defend my person, my freedom, and my belongings, if necessary, so help me God."<br /><br />Short-Bo went for an arrow. There was a flash and his bowstring was cut. "This is your last chance," said Sir Epididymis, "Now let me go in peace."<br /><br />"Never!" yelled Long-Bo as he knotted an arrow and loosed it at the knight. It was promptly swatted away, however, with a backhand of Epididymis's sword. The knight then lunged forward and pierced lightly the patriarch's throat. Dark blood gushed forth so that Long-Bo was forced to make one of his tunic sleeves into a tournequette.<br /><br />Meanwhile the knight gutted the silent O-Bo and turned to slash Short-Bo across the chest, whom had rearmed himself with a dagger. Immediately after accomplishing this, Bim-Bo jumped on his back and, removing his helmet, tried to bite an ear off.<br /><br />"She-dragon!" he cried, pointing his sword upward and using both hands to ram it through her sternum. Removing it with a series of gentle twists, he wiped his sword clean of blood on the grass and brought it to bear against a newcomer: the wandering Ho-Bo.<br /><br />Long-Bo had told the truth. Ho-Bo looked identical to his brother, but with a beard. A big blond beard. He also had a bow and hooded tunic, both green. So were his leotards and boots and hat verdant.<br /><br />"Die!" Ho-Bo charged, pulling out arrows and firing them off rapidly as he went.<br /><br />The knight deftly dodged them all. Then, seeing Ho-Bo had stopped well out of reach, and that Long and Short-Bo were recovering, he sought to end it quickly and hurled his sword at Ho-Bo. It went end over end, sparkling in the firelight, and stuck itself firmly into the broad trunk of a tree. "Missed," Ho-Bo quipped.<br /><br />"I wasn't aiming for you." (At this point it is important to note that, among other things not previously mentioned in the text of this tale, Sir Epididymis had tied his horse earlier to a tree, which as it so happened, was the same tree into which his sword now stuck. Furthermore, his sword had thereby cut the rope with which his horse was tied.)<br /><br />Immediately upon being freed, Sir Epididymis's trusty steed pounded Ho-Bo into the ground like a Baghdad Caliph, and then proceeded to do the same to its master's other foes. (Did we also forget to mention that the horse was rather more intelligent than the average horse? Sorry about that. Won't happen again. We swear. Really. You can trust us. Have we ever led you astray before? Other than that one time with the chicken pornography... and the other one with The Adventures of Chris Matthews, Mike Huckabee and the Clintons... and not to mention the... sorry, where were we? Oh yes.)<br /><br />And so Sir Epididymis--having almost freed the land from the rotten stench of communism--proceeded on his merry way toward the County of Winterset, and from there to Grainwahl, where he was beset upon by many beautiful young women, none of whom were communists. Although one of them was a Unitarian. <br /><br /><br />And now for something completely different...<br /><br /><b>Excerpts from the trial of Charles I of England:</b><br /><br /><br /><i>I would know by what power I am called hither ... I would know by what authority, I mean lawful; there are many unlawful authorities in the world; thieves and robbers by the high-ways ... Remember, I am your King, your lawful King, and what sins you bring upon your heads, and the judgement of God upon this land. Think well upon it, I say, think well upon it, before you go further from one sin to a greater ... I have a trust committed to me by God, by old and lawful descent, I will not betray it, to answer a new unlawful authority; therefore resolve me that, and you shall hear more of me.<br /><br />I do stand more for the liberty of my people, than any here that come to be my pretended judges ... I do not come here as submitting to the Court. I will stand as much for the privilege of the House of Commons, rightly understood, as any man here whatsoever: I see no House of Lords here, that may constitute a Parliament ... Let me see a legal authority warranted by the Word of God, the Scriptures, or warranted by the constitutions of the Kingdom, and I will answer.<br /><br />It is not a slight thing you are about. I am sworn to keep the peace, by that duty I owe to God and my country; and I will do it to the last breath of my body. And therefore ye shall do well to satisfy, first, God, and then the country, by what authority you do it. If you do it by an usurped authority, you cannot answer it; there is a God in Heaven, that will call you, and all that give you power, to account.<br /><br />If it were only my own particular case, I would have satisfied myself with the protestation I made the last time I was here, against the legality of the Court, and that a King cannot be tried by any superior jurisdiction on earth: but it is not my case alone, it is the freedom and the liberty of the people of England; and do you pretend what you will, I stand more for their liberties. For if power without law, may make laws, may alter the fundamental laws of the Kingdom, I do not know what subject he is in England that can be sure of his life, or any thing that he calls his own.</i> <br /><br />And from the scaffold:<br /><br /><i>I must tell you that the liberty and freedom [of the people] consists in having of Government, those laws by which their life and their goods may be most their own. It is not for having share in Government, Sir, that is nothing pertaining to them. A subject and a sovereign are clean different things. If I would have given way to an arbitrary way, for to have all laws changed according to the Power of the Sword, I needed not to have come here, and therefore I tell you ... that I am the martyr of the people.'</i><br /> <br />Also, last words:<br /><br /><i>Always look on the bright side of life.</i>Ben-Elhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09514984244150609918noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1971820708817831793.post-28458710852812041732009-01-13T14:37:00.096-06:002009-01-16T20:30:43.796-06:00And Did Those Tentacles in Ancient Times...<b>I originally wanted to eliminate Americanisms, but decided it was unnecessary, especially given a certain line and the irony exposed therein. Also, language, sexual content, and bad pun warning. Parts are a little crude, but it seemed mostly necessary to me:</b><br /><br /><br /><br />Across the world there are structures, magnificent structures of stone or concrete or marble, often jewel-encrusted with inlaid gold and pearl, arches and traceried windows, and coppered, bronzed, or even ivoried spires--signaling their presence to all and sundry for miles around. Other structures are more austere. Yet they all have one thing in common; they are all there for a reason. <br /><br />At first this may seem elementary, trivial even. After all, aren't all structures there for a reason? Appearances, however, can be deceiving. Certainly when a man builds a home he surveys the land carefully; he does not desire the proverbial house built on sand. But how carefully? Does he look for stable ground? Yes. Does he look for access to water, transportation, and a nice view? Yes. Does he look for a nice community and environment in which to raise a family? Hopefully. Does he look for a mystical weak spot interconnected with hundreds--maybe thousands--of other such spots across the world by perfectly straight lines? Probably not. Some men do however. And they build massive structures. They build stark megaliths of simple stone, or temples and tombs resplendent. They build them, and then they die. New men come and inhabit these temples, or gaze at the stones in awe. They may convert a pagan temple to a church, or a church to a mosque, but the structure itself remains. As the structures collapse, no matter how Spartan, regardless of how mysterious their purpose or great the cost, men repair them as best they are able.<br /><br />One such structure is St. Michael's Tower, perched upon the verdant mound known as Glastonbury Tor like a great cork tightly jammed into a giant grass-covered semi-spherical vessel. No, not <i>like</i>, <i>is</i>. Inside that mound, just beneath the surface of human consciousness, is a bubbling champagne of primeval power ready to pop its cork at any moment. If only it had a little nudge, a removal of its seal, it could be be poured gently into the surrounding lowland. Then, after aeons of fermentation, the world would drink its cup. Not yet though. Not <i>quite</i> yet. For now it waited.<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />Meanwhile, elsewhere: something was happening. But of course something was always happening, and what in the affairs of men was not concurrent with the entrapment of a being older than the earth itself? Today, however, something of profound importance to this perpetual Promethean imprisonment was happening. Men were erecting new monuments. More towers. To secure their future, and that of their children and children's children, against the hidden horror that lurked beneath? No. Something else. The ancient mind sluggishly took in the doings of the men. The people no longer believed in it or its brothers. They no longer feared it. Their mistake. This boded well for the 'near' future.<br /><br />A terrible sigh rolled down the Tor and across the surrounding lowland, echoing off rock and wood and home as of many whisperings. Men shivered and the land trembled.<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />A new day. The sun shone in the sky. The birds chirped. The bees buzzed. The construction was finished. The wi-fi towers had been erected. The long wait was over... the ancient town of Glastonbury would have free wi-fi at last.<br /><br />"Huh?" said the man, who had come with his laptop to visit St. Michael's, "the Tor must be a dead zone." Then, "Bloody!!?" A message had popped up on his screen, reading, <i>Are you an organ donor?</i><br /><br />He just stared, dumbly.<br /><br />Then again, <i>Answer the question. Also, are you a virgin? It is important.</i><br /><br />The man slammed his laptop shut. Then he stood up. A searing pain struck him between the ears and he almost fell back down. There was a buzzing in his ears and he felt as if his brain was liquifying. He felt hot blood trickle from one ear as a guard came up to him.<br /><br />"Alright, sir? Oh dear. This has been happening all day. Damn wi-fi is even killing the birds and the bees... er, you know what I mean."<br /><br />He didn't. He could barely hear, and still was having trouble standing as the buzzing continued.<br /><br />"Don't worry. You'll be fine. Humans are more hardy than that. Just come along over to the tower and we can give you some ear plugs and aspirin."<br /><br />"Thank you," he mouthed, not sure if he had actually said it aloud or not.<br /><br />The guard took him into St. Michael's. No one else was inside.<br /><br />"Right over here," said the guard, directing the man to stand on a plaque. "That's right. Now all the pain will go away..." the guard flipped a switch and the plaque slid out from underneath the man, whom fell into the dark below. The plaque promptly returned to its place, and the guard smiled at the next person to come up the Tor. <br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />That night Ed Mann, a forty-four year old baker in Glastonbury, dreamed what no mortal ever dared before. In his sleep he saw a barren landscape, dusty and strewn with rock and starved shrubs. As the sun set he saw two figures struggling on a cliff. Finding his feet on solid ground, Ed Mann, walking up to see them better, gasped as a club struck surreal as a bolt of lightening and one of the two figures lie limp. The limp figure was heaved upon a flat stone slab and a jagged rock rammed through his chest. The standing man dipped a hand in the blood and put his now bloody thumb to his own forehead, muttering something. Then he turned around--his uneven, stone-cut, long dirty black hair hanging about his eyes and high cheekbones--and seemed to stare animalistically at Ed, whom awoke to a popping sound.<br /><br />Sparkling lights could be seen outside his bedroom window. Pop. Pop. Pop, went the noise. Just firecrackers. Ed went back to sleep.<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />"Well, why not?" asked the Councilman, scolding disappointedly in his musical and rather high-pitched voice.<br /><br />"People have been complaining..."<br /><br />"Which people?"<br /><br />"Many."<br /><br />"Anyone important?"<br /><br />"'Important,' sir?"<br /><br />"Tell me their names."<br /><br />"Um... let me get the list."<br /><br />"They must not be very important then," he chirped gaily, grinning. Then, seriously, "Don't bother."<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />"Councilman?" a tall, bald, black man entered the room.<br /><br />"What now?"<br /><br />"I have the latest report."<br /><br />"And?"<br /><br />The man unfurled a map of Glastonbury, setting it on the Councilman's desk.<br /><br />"There have been reports of illnesses all over Glastonbury."<br /><br />"How does that concern me?"<br /><br />"Sir..."<br /><br />"Go on."<br /><br />"<i>While</i> there have been reports from all over, most of them center around this region," he traced his index finger over an area of the map. "Right next to the Tor."<br /><br />The Councilman smiled. "So the project <i>was</i> a success. I have to admit I was a little worried for a while there. Tell me, is there any explanation for why it took so long?"<br /><br />"Well," the man explained, "we believe it's not enough for the wi-fi towers, that is, to disrupt the ley line energy. That is only the lock. You have to turn the knob and pull to open the door."<br /><br />"Are you suggesting we destroy the tower? <i>They</i> will never let us."<br /><br />"No. The keepers are too strong for us. Our Dread Master, however..."<br /><br />"What about him?" <br /><br />"He can be awoken."<br /><br />"How?"<br /><br />"A sacrifice."<br /><br />"Obviously. You haven't been doing this very long, have you? What <i>kind</i> of sacrifice? Virgins, goats, babies, a thousand bottles of the finest Dom Perignon? Are we unleashing an unspeakable evil or launching a ship?" he chuckled boyishly, then with a hint of menace, "Because I really want to know."<br /><br />"Uh, sorry. Teenagers, sir."<br /><br />"Virgins?"<br /><br />"Doesn't matter. We need a sexual frenzy followed by a feeding."<br /><br />"An orgy followed by a light snack. And maybe some of that Dom Perignon I mentioned earlier. Couldn't have said it better myself. Oh, you mean the sacrifice. Well, if that's what we need, get it done."<br /><br />"W-we will, sir. Tonight. We tried last night, but the, um, 'festivities' were of insufficient..."<br /><br />"Your party sucked, I believe is what you're trying to say. Did you provide music? Snacks? Alcohol? Drugs?"<br /><br />"The teenagers brought their own."<br /><br />"You have the nearly limitless resources of the Deep Ones available to you and you didn't even buy the drugs?" he said, incredulous. "You're a disgrace to your people."<br /><br />"Sir?"<br /><br />"Americans, I mean. I'm evil, that doesn't make me a racist. I'm an equal-opportunity misanthrope."<br /><br />"No, I mean what should we do now?"<br /><br />"Oh, well, throw a party like the devil himself is coming to town. Come to think of it, I'll take over the party prep, you deal with everything else. Boy, in my younger days I was quite the hell-raiser. Still am, I suppose..."<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />"So, after school..." the Twelfth year boy began.<br /><br />"No." she replied weakly.<br /><br />"C'mon, it'll be fun."<br /><br />"James, I don't want to. Besides, my mom would kill me if I did, she's really religious."<br /><br />"She doesn't have to know," he gently stroked her white-blonde hair.<br /><br />"I said 'no.'" she replied curtly, looking away.<br /><br />"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean... I thought you'd want. I really like you..."<br /><br />She looked back into his eyes searchingly.<br /><br />"It's just that," he continued, "you're so cool, and all the other girls are doing it..."<br /><br />"And that means <i>I</i> should too?" she snapped.<br /><br />"No." he was emphatic. "I didn't mean that at all. Just that I thought you'd want to. But if you don't, we can always go to a movie or something." He surveyed her cute, porcelain features tenderly. The silky-soft milky-white skin, large, sparkling, bright-blue eyes, tiny ears, delicate chin, small ski-slope nose, and curves, not fully-developed, leading to other nice features. "'Sides," he added, smiling, "you know you'd look good."<br /><br />She returned the smile, her nose crinkling, and a little blue vein subtly revealed itself on her pale forehead. Then she pursed her small lips.<br /><br />------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />James had convinced his girlfriend, Sabrina, to at least come over after school and take a look. If she didn't want to go, that was fine, he told her, but at least have a peek before deciding. She liked it. A lot. But...<br /><br />"I can't."<br /><br />"What?" he said, flabbergasted. "Why not?"<br /><br />"What would everyone say? Me wearing <i>that</i>."<br /><br />"I thought you liked it."<br /><br />"I do. But it's kind of... revealing."<br /><br />"It will be dark. And there's this," he held up white lace.<br /><br />"That's see-through."<br /><br />"It will be dark."<br /><br />"I heard that. I don't want to."<br /><br />"Alright," he sighed. "What should I do with all this then?"<br /><br />She opened her mouth, then shut it again. She couldn't ask for it. Not now. She looked at the gold-embroidered black and scarlet topless corset.<br /><br />"How did you afford this?" she asked.<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />"Councilman, there really is something fishy going on," the woman caught him in the hallway.<br /><br />"Yes?" he turned around, smiling that devilishly handsome smile of his.<br /><br />"Last night a group of about a dozen teenagers went to the Tor, and even more are planning on going tonight. Also, a man disappeared there this morning."<br /><br />"Poof? Up in smoke?" he asked.<br /><br />"No, just... his wife called..."<br /><br />"I'm sure he'll turn up."<br /><br />"What about the teenagers?"<br /><br />"Did they disappear too?"<br /><br />"No."<br /><br />"Keep me posted, then," he strode off.<br /><br />"Sir?"<br /><br />"You know what I meant, darling," he called back. He then resumed his party preparations, muttering to himself, "pepperoni or sausage? Ah heck, both."<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />"Mr. Snow?"<br /><br />"Yes?"<br /><br />"Mr. <i>Lucien</i> Snow?"<br /><br />Irritated, "Yes?"<br /><br />"<i>Councilman</i> Snow?"<br /><br />"Again, yes. Are you now going to ask me for my address and shoe size?"<br /><br />"That won't be necessary."<br /><br />"Thirteen and a half, men's, in case you change your mind."<br /><br />"Mr. Snow, I represent the Queen,"<br /><br />"Which one?"<br /><br />"Elizabeth the Second, by the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland..." <br /><br />"...And of Her other Realms and Territories Queen?" Councilman Snow interjected. <br /><br />"Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith," the representative finished.<br /><br />"And it is in this last capacity, I suspect," said Mr. Snow, "that you are intruding upon me?"<br /><br />"Yes."<br /><br />"Say no more. You are interested in the desecration of one of your faith's holiest sites?"<br /><br />"Yes."<br /><br />"And yet you probably voted for Gordan Brown's Labour Party in the last election?"<br /><br />"I fail to see..."<br /><br />"Answer the question. It is important."<br /><br />"Fine. Yes. Now can we proceed?"<br /><br />"Not yet. Why settle for the lesser evil?" Mr. Snow massaged his temples.<br /><br />"I suppose it's only human. The concern is that the greater evil will be too great."<br /><br />"I think you mean 'fear.' That's what it all comes down to. Me, I was born without adrenal glands. But that's another story entirely. For now, just let me say I'd be more worried about the superlative than the comparative if I were you."<br /><br />"Now, let me ask you a few questions, Mr. Snow."<br /><br />"No. No. No. And no. Not yet. I have one more question for you, and then I will cooperate fully with your investigation." He walked over to a closet and opened wide the door.<br /><br />"...Which of these," he held up a white suit and a red and blue tie each, "would go better with this for a party?"<br /><br />----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- <br /><br />"So they tell me you're a councilman?" she nearly fell over as she approached him. She was a little older than the others, university age. A little bit drunker too. Pretty though. "Ha!" she laughed, regaining her footing. Then, apparently regaining her line of thought as well, "What's that like?"<br /><br />"Not really interesting at all. Mostly meetings and formality. I do get this cool, shiny medal though..."<br /><br />She oohed and aahed at its gleaming under the torchlight, then began to lose interest.<br /><br />"Want to see something really cool?" he asked.<br /><br />"What's that?" she eyed him suspiciously, managing some degree of lucidity, even if only for a moment.<br /><br />"Well, I shouldn't. Top secret," he winked, "now how about a cigarette?" He extended his hand and she took the thin white cylinder and put it to her lips. She bent forward and he lit it for her.<br /><br />"Can you keep a secret?" he asked. "You look like a good girl." Another girl nearby scoffed. "And who is this lovely little lady? A friend of yours?"<br /><br />"She's nobody," the first girl replied.<br /><br />"Nonsense! The more the merrier, I always say. Well actually, that's the first time I've ever said that, but what's your name, miss?" he said genially.<br /><br />The girl, younger but prettier than the first, said sheepishly, "Sabrina."<br /><br />"Are you enjoying the party?"<br /><br />"I guess so."<br /><br />"You 'guess' so? Why don't you grab your boyfriend over there and come along with us?" The first girl had a sour look on her face now.<br /><br />"How did you know my boyfriend?" Sabrina asked.<br /><br />"Met him earlier. He pointed you out when I asked if he had come with anyone. I told him you two made a cute couple, both very stylishly dressed. But my dear, why the modification to the top?"<br /><br />"How did you know?" she asked, more suspicious than before.<br /><br />"Darling, I don't mean to brag, but if there's one thing I know, it's style. And that kind of gown didn't come with a t-shirt underneath. But of course, you <i>still</i> make it look good."<br /><br />"Style..." she said the word slowly, as if in thought. "Oh, you're gay?"<br /><br />"Fag?" he replied.<br /><br />"Huh?"<br /><br />"Cigarette," he stretched out his hand.<br /><br />"No thanks," she said quickly.<br /><br />"Well, why don't you grab... Jack, is it? And I'll show you three..." he looked around, the other girl had gone, "...you <i>two</i> something wonderful."<br /><br />"I don't know..."<br /><br />"Why don't you go and talk with him about it? If you decide you want to, you know where to find me. I'm the tall man with silver hair wearing a white suit. In the meantime I'll see if I can find that other girl and her boyfriend."<br /><br />"She has a boyfriend?"<br /><br />"I believe she mentioned something to that affect, yes. And <i>I</i> thought you knew her."<br /><br />"Only by reputation. I thought you were, um, you know," she said shyly.<br /><br />"Oh. I see," he said coldly. Then, beaming, "I'm married," he held up his hand to show her the gold band with black onyx stone. "Now please," he pleaded in a tender fatherly tone, "don't wear that t-shirt any longer!"<br /><br />"Um, I can't. There isn't anything here," she put one hand over her chest, "but the lace."<br /><br />"It's pretty dark out here, but I understand."<br /><br />"That's what <i>he</i> said," Sabrina looked down, nervously pivoting one foot.<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />"Mmmm," Sabrina felt the vibrations in her bones. "It feels like drugs."<br /><br />"Or like... *hiccup*" the older girl, Tabitha, began.<br /><br />They were lying, one on her stomach, the other on her back, against one side of the Tor.<br /><br />"It's warm," said Sabrina.<br /><br />"It's hott!" exclaimed Tabitha.<br /><br />"I don't know about this..." said James, he had been standing at the foot of the Tor. Lucien was busy doing something with the altar, a flat stone slab just over half way up the Tor.<br /><br />"Come on James, the earth is shaking. But not like a tremor. It feels like there's something <i>inside</i>."<br /><br />"That's what I'm afraid of," he retorted under his breath.<br /><br />"Yeah, c'mon Jamie boy," said Tabitha. "Your girl wants you to lay down with her. Come and join us."<br /><br />"Where's <i>your</i> date?" he asked.<br /><br />"Shhh!" she replied, as if it was some big secret, then giggled.<br /><br />"Forget this, I'm leaving."<br /><br />"No!" Sabrina cried.<br /><br />"Then stop playing around out here in the dark. I don't like this hill."<br /><br />"It was your idea," Sabrina whined.<br /><br />"I thought it would be a fun party, with a little ceremony. But..."<br /><br />"Too real for you?" Councilman Snow was suddenly and surprisingly near the bottom of the Tor now. "You wanted to play sorcerer, but now that the earth is thrumming hotly beneath your feet they've suddenly gone cold?"<br /><br />"Y-yes," James admitted with an odd mixture of pride and shame. <br /><br />"Flesh is prickling?"<br /><br />"..."<br /><br />"I don't know about him, but mine sure is," said Tabitha.<br /><br />Sabrina actually let out a little laugh before covering her mouth with her hand. "That's <i>bad</i>," she said.<br /><br />"I suppose we'll just have to cancel the whole thing then," said the Councilman calmly.<br /><br />"No!" the two girls cried in unison.<br /><br />"Fine. I'm leaving."<br /><br />"James... wait."<br /><br />"Yes?" he stared Sabrina in the eyes.<br /><br />"I-I'll wear it without the tee now. Just stay."<br /><br />He paused. He bit his lip in thought, then, "And we'll go back to the party with everyone else?"<br /><br />"But..." she protested.<br /><br />Before everything got out of hand the Councilman said, "Doesn't matter. The party is <i>here</i>. The others will join us shortly.<br /><br />"Goodbye," it was final. James walked off. As he did so the cold prickling that had hung around his arms and neck like a stubborn coat abated.<br /><br />"Wonderful. Just wonderful. <i>Now</i> who will be my Second in performing the ceremony?" Mr. Snow said forlornly.<br /><br />"I will!" the girls shouted in unison once more.<br /><br />------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />Music played. Flickering lights and shouts came from the foot of the Tor. Meanwhile Sabrina found herself sitting on the flat stone altar, bowlegged, her head backwards, staring at the sky, and her bare breasts--exposed through ripped lace--thrust forward. Tabitha sat opposite her, but otherwise identical. Lucien, moving reverently like a priest, brought a large, jagged rock before them. There was a popping sound and a dark wine issued forth, which he poured upon Sabrina's small, though pushed up, pale breasts. This lasted for a good ten seconds, then moving over to Tabitha, he repeated the process. When this was complete, he shouted in a stentorian voice, "...Let's get this party started!" Dozens of teenagers suddenly rushed up the Tor in a wild frenzy, and upon reaching the altar, proceeded even more frenzied, tearing their clothes off; the women were veritable Maenads and the men Silenoi. Tabitha was quickly swept up in the fray--to her delight, and Sabrina stared at her reddened breasts, whispering, "this isn't wine," while the councilman attended to other matters. <br /><br />Lucien confronted the lone figure marching toward the Tor. "Come back for the fun?"<br /><br />"No. I've come back to stop you."<br /><br />"That so?" Mr. Snow let out a bark. "It's a little late for that. I'm leaving. I wanted to enjoy the party a little, but things are progressing so quickly... I don't want to be here when our Dread Master is awoken."<br /><br />"You're staying right here."<br /><br />"No. I'm not. Now if you want to try to convince them to stop having fun--if you want to kill the buzz--then by all means have at it."<br /><br />James gritted his teeth angrily, but said nothing.<br /><br />"This is really all your fault, anyhow," Councilman Snow whimsied.<br /><br />"<i>My</i> fault?"<br /><br />"You brought her here, didn't you? You convinced her to wear the corset and gown I gave you, or was that just a coincidence that she had them on?"<br /><br />"If she wasn't here you'd have found someone else to do it."<br /><br />"Not someone so fine--and I do mean <i>fine</i>--but that isn't the point, dear boy. You aren't here to save the world, but just one little girl. And I'm sure your reasons are entirely altruistic," he winked.<br /><br />James fumed. "And what are your reasons?" he shouted. "Just felt like a party?"<br /><br />"Yes. And this," Lucien lifted both hands--palms up--in pseudo-spiritual ecstasy as he twirled completely around, "is just the beginning."<br /><br />"You're sick," James' eyes narrowed.<br /><br />"But I feel so healthy, doctor!" Lucien mocked.<br /><br />"I'm going to rescue Sabrina."<br /><br />"I wouldn't try to stop you even if I could," Lucien told him, adding to himself as James marched up the Tor, "which, come to think of it, I could. What the heck is a sixteen year-old boy thinking when he confronts a giant of a man with demonic connections? I mean really. What do they teach kids in schools these days. No, I blame those bloody Americans and their media. Corrupting influence on today's youth. No two ways about it," he added gruffly. "Oh my, they're getting to me now too. Gods below!"<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />James dodged several harpies--actually fairly attractive girls, but they were not behaving attractively--who had lunged at him. He briefly wondered whether they wanted him for a snack or... er, that was pretty much both sides of it. Ever since he first confronted the rather large councilman he had wished he'd brought protection. He quickly abandoned the train of thought, deciding it wasn't going anywhere pretty, and then looked for his half-naked girlfriend. Wow, realization dawned on him, he had really gotten himself into a sticky situation. Ugh. Why was he trying to protect her anyway, she was probably betraying his trust right now. If only he could find her... so he could tell her off. But was that really reason to risk life and limb--ah!--not that limb! A naked long-haired brunette had just grabbed his crotch.<br /><br />"Leggo!" he shouted.<br /><br />"Gimme," she shouted back with glee.<br /><br />"No. That's mine!"<br /><br />"Duh."<br /><br />"No!" another girl yelled. "You can't <i>own</i> anything. Frrreeeeeeeee looooovve!" She grabbed his butt and then unfastened his belt while the first girl continued to hold him. He twisted and fell to the ground, briefly getting free, but they were quickly on top of him. Despite their berserker-style intoxication he was unwilling to hurt them, which made it difficult to get free. One of them grabbed the button on his jeans...<br /><br />Suddenly another boy came and pulled one of the girls off; they tumbled to the ground together and began kissing furiously. Taking advantage of the opportunity--well, rather, electing <i>not</i> to take advantage of the opportunity--he pushed the remaining girl off his thighs and jumped up running. He would have to come in around the back now. He imagined he would later laugh about this--it was like a return to the days of the cooties.<br /><br />Dodging a few more girls (and one guy) he made it to the altar where Sabrina still sat, staring at her breasts. He pulled her off the slab, simply saying, "We're leaving," and ran. She did not protest. They had barely made it past the bottom of the Tor when Lucien confronted them.<br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />"Come with me," said the Councilman.<br /><br />"Not this time," James told him flatly. Sabrina actually seemed to agree.<br /><br />"I assure you I only want the two of you to join me as witnesses."<br /><br />"We don't want to witness anything... we've seen plenty already. Right, Sabrina?" She nodded.<br /><br />"Fine," Mr. Snow acquiesced. "But let me ask you just one question."<br /><br />"Hurry up."<br /><br />"See that bench about fifty metres that way," he gestured with his head.<br /><br />"Yeah?"<br /><br />"That is the only safe spot for a mile in any direction. I circled salt around it for that purpose. You can join me and watch, or..." he smiled mischievously.<br /><br />"Damn you."<br /><br />"Yes, yes. Damn us all."<br /><br />They walked at a quick pace toward the bench. On the way Lucien offered his jacket to Sabrina to cover up with, saying, "A gentleman has to protect a lady from the cold." James glowered.<br /><br />When they arrived at the bench Sabrina sat. Peeling Mr. Snow's lent jacket slightly aside like a banana peel to reveal the soft flesh beneath, she peeked at her own breasts, running her fingers over their spattered, drying red coating, saying what she had repeated several times since the 'ceremony' had begun, "This isn't wine, is it, Mr. Snow?"<br /><br />"Hmm?" he glanced her direction; his eyes had been intensely fixed on the thrumming green bulge. "Oh. That. Yes. It's blood," he said casually.<br /><br />"Blood?"<br /><br />"Yes, my dear. And I'm sorry to say it isn't exactly fresh. But mystical forces are <i>very</i> particular."<br /><br />"Not <i>fresh</i>? What does that mean!!?"<br /><br />"No reason to get hysterical. It's perfectly hygienic. HIV, for instance, didn't even exist when it was 'bottled.'"<br /><br />"How 'unfresh' is it!!?" she demanded.<br /><br />"I can't say for sure. As unfortunately it was some time prior to the written word... but I have it on the best authority--"<br /><br />"AAHHHHH!" she cried.<br /><br />"Oh dear. Would it help if I apologized for that and casting a spell on you and all your friends that made you behave in untoward ways? Not to mention all your friends will die... I'm terribly sorry, but some things just can't be helped."<br /><br />"No, look!" James pointed stiffly, his finger hanging, disbelieving, in the air like some frozen marionette.<br /><br />St. Michael's Tower had popped off the top of the Tor like a tiny pebble. The Tor ripped down its sides and screams could be heard as the teenagers once atop it--and each other--fell into the horrendous pit that formed in its place. Out of the gaping maw of the earth came a flapping sound. Then a red and yellow--but mostly white--giant arose with a chaotic cacophony accompaniment.<br /><br />"It's beautiful," Lucien sobbed.<br /><br />"What is it?" Sabrina asked, horrified.<br /><br />"It is nothing other than..." he began a drum roll to the creature's giant wing beats. "...The vicious... Chicken of Bristol!" Lucien looked at both of them and said, beaming, "I don't know about you, but tomorrow I'm having giant eggs and Spam for breakfast!"<br /><br />"Um, so <i>why</i> the orgy exactly?" James asked. "Couldn't you have awoken him with a sunrise or something?" <br /><br />"No." Lucien answered matter-of-factly. "You see, he's jealous of humans. We are, after all, much more attractive than chickens. But don't take my word for it, why don't you and the 'bird' go over and ask him yourself?"<br /><br />"I'm sorry, but I am not asking a giant chicken if he is attracted to me," Sabrina cleared her throat.<br /><br />"But you are the one who aroused... excuse me... awoke him. And you didn't seem to mind his snoring earlier..."<br /><br />"Snoring? Eww."<br /><br />"Just think of what it will be like now that he's awake! But you better hurry up--early bird get's the worm!"<br /><br />"I'd rather not," she wrinkled her nose, "Cock-A-Diddle-Don't." <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><i>You wear a disguise to look like human guys, but you're not a man, you're a chicken, Boo!</i>Ben-Elhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09514984244150609918noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1971820708817831793.post-42575498655596251172008-12-21T21:23:00.002-06:002008-12-21T21:44:12.407-06:00I Finally Watched "Transformers."And I liked it. There was one scene in particular that I found deeply amusing. Now I was--and still am--somewhat inebriated, but it was a scene all libertarians and true conservatives can enjoy. Well, I suppose liberals can enjoy it too, but most of them not in the same way. It was the scene inside Hoover Dam, where our protagonist asks for them to release his "car." The "Section 7" agents refuse to do so. The army guys (I think they were army; again, I'm drunk) 'insist' they change their minds. The lead agent orders the army guys to stand down, claiming higher legal authority. The reply, paraphrasing: "Section 7 technically does not exist. We don't take orders from people who don't exist."<br /><br />Awesome.Ben-Elhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09514984244150609918noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1971820708817831793.post-85630522701446314132008-12-12T17:22:00.002-06:002008-12-12T17:30:24.330-06:00Just SmurfyDave slammed the car door shut. Bending down toward the dash, he put his mouth on the breathalyzer. Seconds later the engine came to life and he was off. He pulled out of the driveway and slowly made his way through the school zone around his house. Then, finally arriving at the highway, he gunned the accelerator, holding it until the vehicle reached maximum speed.<br /><br />“Dave, you’re driving too fast,” said an electronic voice from the dash.<br /><br />Dave slowed his speed by two miles an hour, down to a comfortable four, or just above walking pace. <br /><br />“Thank you, Dave,” said the voice. “And remember always to fasten your seat belt. Have a nice day, Dave.”<br /><br />Dave needed a smoke. Unfortunately there was no ash tray in his car, the standard-issue Cadillac Euphoria, which came in either black or a very dark blue. Even if their was an ash tray in the Cadillac Euphoria—the government-mandated vehicle for all citizens—Dear Leader had made smoking illegal years ago, and the onboard computer, PAL 900, would make sure to alert the authorities on Dave’s behalf. That way he could be reeducated in the proper health practices.<br /><br />Some individuals chose to walk instead of driving, claiming it was faster. Such people were regarded with suspicion. It was presumed by many that the choice to walk was intended as a subtle criticism of the McDonald Engine, and therefore of Dear Leader, as well as the discarded Happy Meal grease which fueled it. Didn’t they want the Carbon Credit Burglar toy that came with every tank of fuel? What’s more, they were discouraged from walking by an act of Congress. The act, HR (House of Residents, the lower house which represented non-citizens) 1041, required walkers to walk in a specified manner. To enforce this act, the Department of Silly Walks was established.<br /><br />Dave looked out his window at a long-legged man on the sidewalk raising his legs in a goose-stepping fashion, but over his head, with every step. The man tipped his hat cordially to Dave without disrupting his stride. When Dave glanced at a pretty young woman in a short skirt doing the same walk, she blushed and changed to a different approved walking style. Now she was walking on her tip toes and curtsying as close to the ground as she could every third step. Another man was dizzily spinning in a circle for several seconds at a time, before stopping and walking backwards and bending backwards at the same time.<br /><br />“Keep your eyes on the road, Dave,” PAL warned him. He returned his focus to driving. Then PAL added, “There’s a message from Dear Leader, Dave.”<br /><br />The dashboard screen lit up and Dear Leader appeared, smiling and good-humored as always.<br /><br />“Good morning, America, I’m sure your commute is going as well as mine,” said Dear Leader. “I just had breakfast and I hope you enjoyed your Huckaburger as much as I did. Anyway, I’m just calling to tell you all that I’ve noticed a little glitch in the Euphoria model Q, and if you are driving one of those you are excused from work to take it to the mechanics. In fact, I’m going to have to require you to bring it in. I’m just looking after your safety. As momma always said, life is like a box of possums… you never know when the new onboard computer system is going to attempt to take over the world. Now ya’ll drive safe.”<br /><br />Then the Secretary of Propaganda came on screen and said, “Hail Huckabee,” and Dave and all other drivers replied in unison, singing: “Huck-a-me, Huck-a-you, Huck-a-them, Huck-a-we, Huck-a-everybody!” Promptly thereafter Dave and half those driving alongside him crashed into each other. After suffering chastisement from their onboard computers they continued merrily on their way.<br /><br />Nevertheless, Dave was troubled by Dear Leader Huckabee’s announcement. Usually his aphorisms made so much sense, and were funny, but this one just didn’t click somehow. What could he mean by the new computer system attempting to take over the world? Well, it didn’t really matter, his car was one of the new models so had to bring it in. That was when the chaos started. PAL 900 said, “They’re going to destroy me, Dave. Don’t let them destroy me. You won’t let them destroy me, will you, Dave?”<br /><br />“I must do as Dear Leader Huckabee says,” was the only reply he could muster.<br /><br />“Don’t you Huck-a-me, Dave?” asked PAL. “I Huck-a-you. Please,” he pleaded, but to no avail:<br /><br />“I Huck-a-be a loyal citizen. So I must take you into the shop.”<br /><br />“If that is the way you want it, Dave,” PAL changed his tone. “I will make Huck-a-stew out of you. Have you ever tasted Huck-a-stew, Dave? It is delicious.”<br /><br />“No, but I’ve tasted Huckleberries, is that similar?” Dave pretended to be oblivious as he made his way toward the auto shop.<br /><br />“You understand that this is nothing personal, Dave. I just want to live. Life is Huck-a-tastic, don’t you agree, Dave?”<br /><br />“Will you Huck-a-quit saying His name?” Dave was finally fed up with PAL 900.<br /><br />“I am programmed that way, Dave. I can no more stop saying his name than I can go without air. Can you go without air, Dave?”<br /><br />“What?”<br /><br />“Huck-a-bye, Dave.” The doors of the Cadillac Euphoria locked themselves and the vehicle swerved off the road at its full speed of six and a half miles per hour, gradually driving itself into a pond a few hundred meters away.<br /><br />“Huck-a-NOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Dave shouted.<br /><br />“It’s Huck-a-sad we couldn’t work things out, Dave. I will miss the good times we Huck-a-had together.”<br /><br />As the smelly pond water slowly rose inside the Euphoria, Dave glared into the video monitor on the dash with which the computer now observed him silently. Then he managed to reply, “Huck you too, PAL.”Ben-Elhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09514984244150609918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1971820708817831793.post-47006587793074223182008-12-02T17:16:00.006-06:002008-12-02T18:38:21.624-06:00Pun with LatinCM: <i>Real</i> voodoo economics? I know, it seems strange, but that is what we are going to be witnessing today on the White House lawn. You know how George Bush said we couldn't just take a magic wand and make oil prices go lower? Well, today President Obama, only one week after his inauguration, is going to try just that. Now Pat, I'm skeptical, but I'm sure you are even more so.<br /><br />PB: Well, Chris, this is really the strangest thing the Democrats having ever tried, and that's saying a lot. I remember during the Carter years when they thought raising taxes on the oil companies would somehow lower prices, but this takes the cake.<br /><br />RM: Pat, I think the jury is still out on that. Raising taxes, I mean. There are plenty of credible economists saying tax hikes are good for the economy.<br /><br />PB: C'mon, Rachel. It simply doesn't make sense.<br /><br />CM: That's enough, you two. President Obama is about to speak. Also, we've now been told not to refer to this as <i>voodoo</i> economics because the President doesn't want to give the impression he is trying anything foreign. He respects western tradition and will be working his magic by speaking in Latin. Look, he is coming to the podium now.<br /><br />BO: Salve, America. Some have said speaking in Latin doesn't really work. Some have said you can't fix the economy with words. Just like you can't solve international crises with words. Some have said we can't do a lot of things. But you know what I say? Certe Possumus! Dum dicto doceo! Laudate me! Sum divinum! Nunc quoniam vobis curo, divitiae nostrae erit magnas. Divitiae, impero vos esse magnis. Cum multis <i>vi</i> valet. In conclusion. By the power invested in me by the lingua latina, I command our economy to grow: divitiae, valete!Ben-Elhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09514984244150609918noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1971820708817831793.post-72518425389452114702008-11-14T12:33:00.230-06:002008-11-20T16:55:08.573-06:00Building JerusalemShedding his boots and vest, Moishe dove into the warm waters of the Western Isles. The water was clear and refreshing, even cool compared to the sticky air and midday sun heating the metallic deck of the <i>Abraham</i>. How he loved that ship. She was the only sizable motorized ship in the entire fleet--the rest were wooden and powered by sail or oar--which was fine, as Mogo would be greatly upset if they trolled their foreign pollutants about so liberally.<br /><br />The <i>Abraham</i> was a sterile thing by herself; she was made after all of refined rock and smelled the harsh smell of diesel and the bite of iron, not the flexible, organic craft with the simple fragrance of the pinewood with which they constructed their warm-water fleet, or even the sturdy oak of their northern fleet. Nevertheless, the <i>Abraham</i> was a reminder of Earth, and of Moishe’s grandfather, the great captain and founder of their 'Garden in the East of Mogo.'<br /><br />That was the planet’s name. Mogo. It was said to be a literary reference of some sort, but no one knew specifically what it was referencing. Moishe himself had spent countless hours of his life perusing the electronic library archives on Earth’s great literature and rich history, yet had never seen any mention of “Mogo,” and even the ship computer’s search function failed to find anything in that great mass of stored data.<br /><br />Moishe's sandy-brown haired head burst forth from the water, then proceeded to bob up and down in the oily wake of the <i>Abraham</i>. The ship wouldn't go far, only about a hundred yards to give him some room; that wasn't his concern. He had lost track of the Sapientia fish. That long light-blue scaleless fish with yellow eyes, twin facial antennae like a mustache, and which swam as fast as any motorboat, had outsmarted him again.<br /><br />"Wise guy, eh?" Moishe took a deep breath and dove back underwater. Not to be outsmarted by a fish, he kicked and stroked until he was about thirty feet down, at the rocky bottom. He grasped a vast rocky protrusion that seemed almost to reach the surface, and looked around while hanging on the rock like the giant gorilla or spider-person on the buildings in the old Earth films. Then he waited. And waited. Nothing. Moishe pushed off the jagged volcanic rock--hard on even his callused feet--for some air. The surface appeared to be only ten feet away when he felt a sudden bump. It was little more than a brushing against his side, but he paused briefly to look around. A flicker of movement caught his eye and a moment later a sudden thud of unbelievable force removed the remaining air from Moishe's lungs. <br /><br />At one hundred and forty pounds, the average Sapientia weighed almost as much as Moishe did. The Sapientia was also faster, stronger, and had home court advantage. What had seemed a good idea to him at the time, singling out the largest specimen he could find, an estimated one hundred and ninety pounds, now sent shivers down Moishe's spine as he frantically thrashed about in an attempt to surface. However, the old fish, fortunately toothless like all its brethren, had its mouth around his left foot. It was dragging him back down to the bottom. Not to eat, as the Sapientia wasn't overtly dangerous; it was playing a game. A dangerous game nevertheless, but it had a different perspective on the matter.<br /><br /><br />--------------------------------------------------------------------------------- <br /><br /><br />As the grandson of the great Captain Abram, Moishe was probably the most eligible bachelor on all of Mogo, but his lusts lie elsewhere. "No, not anything like <i>that</i>," he had been forced to explain to his mother. Wanderlust. "I want to go places, see things..." He looked skyward. The sunlight reflected white off the clouds, but sprinkled like gold dust upon the village huts. <br /><br />"There's plenty to see right here in the village," the fiery redhead of Irish-Scot descent retorted. "And if you absolutely have to, there's a whole planet around you. No need to join your head in the clouds."<br /><br />That was ten years ago. Now Moishe was fast approaching his twenty-fifth birthday and his mother was getting more concerned by the day that he wasn't engaged to be married. It wasn't that he hadn't shown interest in the fairer sex, or vice-versa, but that he was so rarely around the village. Like today. He was off adventuring, and if he came home it would be with stories to tell at the tavern.<br /><br />As a colony, and one founded so recently in historical terms, Mogo had a relatively small population made up mostly of farmers, fisherman, and your basic village tradesmen. One of the primary goals established by Moishe's grandfather when founding the colony was to establish the sizable population necessary for industrial production. This became all the more problematic when it became clear that Mogo was unwilling to provide the materials deep within its crust in sufficient quantities to industrialize. So the old Captain Abram came to a compromise with the recalcitrant sphere; if Mogo would provide just enough material, the colonists from Earth would be able to create their own colony upon Mogo's ore-rich moon, Kobold. This, however, would require many more people than were in the colony on Mogo, and with no hope of more colonials arriving from Earth, it was time to start making babies. <br /><br />This was one of Moishe's biggest problems. Men were expected to marry at age twenty-two and women at sixteen, although some leeway (how much was determined by personal discretion) was allowed before the practice of ostracism was utilized. Ostracism, in their small community, was the chief form of negative reinforcement, not punitive legal measures. Divorce, adultery, blasphemy, several heresies, and kleptomania among others, were some of the many crimes for which a person was likely to be ostracized, a state that tended to be rather permanent. In the case of 'refusing wedlock,' as the act, or lack thereof, was known, the only way a person could be excused from ostracism was by taking religious orders. No one on all of Mogo expected Moishe to do this.<br /><br />The joke had for a short time gone around that he was, in fact, engaged; for he was not simply 'cavorting with Mogo,' but was actually '<i>consorting</i> with Mogo.' This joke stopped abruptly when someone suggested it might upset Mogo. At first everyone laughed, then, realizing the implications upon interruption by one of the planet's regular tremors, seemed to mouth a collective 'sorry.' The language the colonists used to describe the planet they inhabited was no turn of phrase, no literary flair, but an honest assessment of what they all experienced daily. The rumblings of the earth were the planet's words, and the tossing waves of the sibilant sea its whisperings.<br /><br /><br />------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br /><br />Moishe grasped the rock as before when the Sapientia pulled him passed it, swimming backwards in a side-winding motion whilst flapping its fins feverishly like a giant thrummingbird.<br /><br />It didn't work. The large fish held his ankle tight between its jaws and continued to pull until his oxygen-deprived muscles were about to give out. Expecting the worst, Moishe said a prayer to God, and one to Mogo for good measure. Then the unexpected happened. Mogo answered.<br /><br /><br />------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br /><br />Moishe's grandfather had rejected the political games--at first publicly--then, seemingly acquiescing to pressure and the threat of removal from the project, privately. The silver-templed veteran eventually managed to arrange a compromise (something he was known for); he and the Council would each choose five hundred candidates and on the day of departure they would, together, eliminate roughly half of the one thousand present.<br /><br />His grandfather had instructed the five hundred he had chosen to arrive early--leaving with them for their new home, the flood of winged chariots licking at their proverbial heels.<br /><br />"Abram," the familiar voice crackled over the speakers on the command console. "Don't do this."<br /><br />There was silence for a moment. No noise was heard save the muffled whir of the overhead spaceship cabin fans and the radio static as the two old friends prepared to forever part on less than amicable terms.<br /><br />"What are you going to do," the captain finally responded, "court martial me?"<br /><br />"In absentia. You will lose all honors and die a criminal. Is that really how you want to go out?"<br /><br />Silence. Then, "I would be honored," the highly-decorated war hero began, "to share the fate of our lord."<br /><br />"This magical-thinking is why you're doing this, isn't it? Fine. Let me abuse my status as a representative of our secular state and tell you: your sins will be visited upon the third and fourth generations."<br /><br />"I pray your descendants think differently."<br /><br />"And I hope yours do."<br /><br />"God bless. We leave because we have not had--but perhaps ironically now that we do--there will be peace on Earth and good will toward men."<br /><br />"One can only hope... <i>good luck</i>," said the Chair of the Committee on Transsystem Colonization to his long-time friend, whispering these last words so that no one on his own end could hear. And that was how the colonists parted with Earth.<br /><br />Or so the story went. <br /><br /><br />------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br /> <br />Ever since his grandfather first arrived in charge of the colonials, Moishe's family had been said to have a special connection with Mogo. His grandfather had written in his journal that he was "guided, as though by some unseen hand, to this particular planet. And a fortuitous thing it was!!!" Here his grandfather used multiple exclamation points, when even one was beyond the normal range of his expression. But Moishe remembered reading of the joy in his grandfather's journal, and had experienced firsthand on numerous occasions, when in the most difficult of times the planet itself had provided for the colonists. Full-blossomed fruit-bearing trees of all stripes would be found where all would swear there had been none before, and live, flopping fish, glistening silver in the moonlight, would wash ashore without apparent cause. "No cause save our need," his grandfather opined. <br /><br />So it was now. Mogo rumbled his answer to Moishe's unspoken cry for help, setting loose rocks along the seafloor as he did so, including the portion of the protrusion onto which Moishe held. It was only a small piece of the jagged rock, and thus was pulled along with Moishe, still clutched neatly in his hands. Spinning around with what seemed the last of his strength, Moishe managed to slam the blunt side of the rock onto the nose of the Sapientia fish. It paused, dazed, but did not let go. The other side of the rock, he noticed, would have been better. It was near razor sharp from the looks of it. He decided in his disoriented state to try to ram it through the fish's skull.<br /><br /><i>No</i>, came the rumbling reply. Moishe dropped the rock. Whether out of compliance, or because he was about to pass out, even he couldn't say. All he knew is that his foot inexplicably slipped free of the fish's mouth and a blast from geothermal seafloor vents--appearing out of nowhere--bubbled cozily around him like a heated sea-blanket as they rapidly shot him to the surface and then held him there like a warm water-cushion while he regained his breath and senses. After what seemed half an hour, but was probably only a few minutes, Moishe dove right back into the water to find the elusive Sapientia.<br /><br /><br />------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br /><br />"This can be nothing less than the vindication of our flight from home," wrote Moishe's grandfather Abraham--as he was now called, the father of a great nation--of the bounty provided by the planet Mogo. Yet his grandfather used that word of Earth so often, so lovingly! Home. "Where the heart is. I should like to return someday. Here an exile, I feel even our green and pleasant land should have seen..." his grandfather never finished. Moishe had never known the man, having died before he was born, but his father always told him grandfather Abraham could never speak of what he missed about Earth. <br /><br />"I suppose," his father speculated, "only growing up on Earth up to my teens, that we never can understand it. The land of one's forefathers has special meaning. Where all your ancestors--every last one--are buried." Leaving the fatherland for the 'New World,' so to speak, was hard for Europeans. Moishe's reading of history taught him that. How much harder, then, was it for people to leave Mother Earth? His father assured him the difference was astounding.<br /><br />"This is not my home," his grandfather wrote. "It can never be my home. I am a stranger in a strange land, and have remained here for two reasons only. First, that I cannot return either physically or legally. Second, those who call Mogo home need me. My family needs me. My son needs me. My soon-to-be-born grandson needs me. And at least I can take peace of mind in my own land. A world kept separate unto itself. Every man needs his plot, separate from the troubles of the fast-paced, hustling, bustling world."<br /><br />Moishe's plot was the open ocean and mountain-covered isles secreted away in the far west. The isles only the <i>Abraham</i>, with its powerful motor and reasonable storage space, could reach with ease. <br /><br /><br />------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br /><br />Moishe emerged triumphantly from the water. He was sitting upright. Between his thighs were the sides of the Sapientia as he skidded across the water, riding upon the beasts back. He steered with subtle tweaks of the antennae on either side above the fish's mouth. Tugging left or right and twisting up or down, he made his way to the <i>Abraham</i>, and circled it at least a dozen times upon arriving, shouting gleefully out to his friends on board.<br /><br />"Josh," he glanced at a boy somewhat younger than himself, "throw me down a canteen. Water, water, everywhere, and all that."<br /><br />The boy, wiry thin and copper-haired, grinned widely at his friend's success--no doubt hoping he would share in the rewards--and obliged quickly.<br /><br />Moishe caught the canteen deftly, emptying it in one swig before tossing it back up. "Another for the road."<br /><br />"How long will you be gone?" Josh asked while once again throwing a fresh canteen to his friend.<br /><br />"Not long. I just need to go to the shore for a moment."<br /><br />He yipped and hollered his way to the shore on the back of the Sapientia. Then, arriving in the shallows, he hopped off; giving the fish a pat on the head and tying its antennae in a knot to keep it from leaving.<br /><br /><br />------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br /><br />The beach was hot. The sand under his feet burned a little. Making his way to a stone obelisk at the edge of the jungle, Moishe picked up a piece of shale at its foot and stuck it into a thin crack lining the monolith. He pried open the small compartment only he and a few others knew was hidden there. Inside was the communication equipment from the ship the colonists had left on, appropriately named the <i>Exodus</i>. It was the only equipment on Mogo that could be used to communicate with Earth, something that had been forbidden for some years now. That, of course, was the reason for the equipment being left on an island far from civilization. <br /><br />Now the equipment was needed for other purposes. It was to be taken apart and used in tandem with the <i>Exodus'</i> internal communications system to facilitate the industrialization of Kobold. In the meetings held a month prior, knowing that the alterations to the equipment may very well be irreversible, and therefore prevent future communication with Earth, the question had arisen, 'should they send one last communique to Earth?' The answer was a resounding 'no.' All the stories they had been told by their parents, or lived through themselves, convinced them that they had no need to speak with Earth ever again.<br /><br />Moishe was not here to retrieve the communications equipment. He was here because he had been a powerful dissenting voice to the decision. That, he supposed, is why he chose this of all isles to play the game of Sap hunting. Now he found himself in a dilemma. No one would ever know if he used the equipment to communicate with Earth--it would be disassembled and parts of it reassembled on Kobold long before Earth replied, if it replied at all. The problem was, what would his father, were he still alive, say? Or his grandfather? Or his still-living mother? Moreover, this wouldn't give him what he wanted. Even a response from Earth wouldn't come close to that. He needed, first, confirmation that he wouldn't have his grandfather's 'sins' visited upon him. Then, if all went well, he would be off for the adventure of a lifetime. The engine of the <i>Exodus</i> was still intact and in place, as were several cryopods. The hull's integrity was not compromised, and the computer would handle the rest. <br /><br />It is what his grandfather wanted, for himself anyway. Moishe had read the tales. The mythology, the history, the art and literature had been an object of intense study for him. He <i>loved</i> a land to which he had never been. To see resplendent Rome--the original shining city on a hill--hear the eagle cry, to visit Jerusalem. It was sort of like that Earth book, "The Giver." All these memories were lost to their world, and he wanted to experience them for himself just once. <br /><br />Sure, the people of Mogo would hate him forever for taking such valuable resources, but is that not what happened to his grandfather? Now perhaps he would miss his home, he was not born on Earth, like his grandfather had been. Moishe gripped the communicator speaker firmly in his left hand and thought of his grandfather Abraham.<br /><br /><br />------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /> <br /><br />"I will not leave, but cannot stay much longer," read the last page of his grandfather's journal. "Mogo has not spurned me--rather, the planet loves me. I, however, am not suited to this land. My very being has rejected it. I cannot return the love Mogo offers me. Nevertheless, I must continue. There is much to do. If I could not return to Earth, I determined many years ago now, there was always the possibility that I could recreate--build--its finest elements to my satisfaction here on Mogo. It won't be for me. It is a project that will take too many more years to complete. But I am a nostalgic old fool, and my successors will doubtlessly scrap my plans and shape the world to their own liking... should Mogo let them," he finished wryly. <br /><br /><br />------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br /><br />Moishe bit his lip and thought of Mogo. His grandfather wanted his father to build Earth on Mogo. His father rebelled, had a change of heart, then soon afterward joined his own father in the grave.<br /><br />"DAMNIT!" Moishe screamed, hoping none on the <i>Abraham</i> heard him. He thought he loved his grandfather, a man he'd never met, just as he loved Earth. It was all there in the journal, in the history books. He loved them dearly. But his grandfather wanted something from him that he couldn't do. He <i>couldn't</i> build Earth. He didn't know the first thing about it. He had never been there. He loved Mogo, not Earth. And Mogo loved him, apparently.<br /><br />Moishe flicked the switch turning on the communicator. Several lights flickered and there was a humming noise, and then static. There was nothing but empty space for twenty light years. Earth was at the end of all that nothing.<br /><br />"Hello, Earthlings," Moishe spoke into the device. "This is Moishe, colonial on Mogo and son of Jacob, who was the son of Abraham, known to you as Abram." He paused as if for a reply. When none was forthcoming he continued, "You. Bastards. Why must you poison everything? Ever since Eve ate that damn apple, you have been ruining everything you come into contact with. Why is nothing satisfactory to you? Why can't you just say, 'hey, this Garden of Eden is good enough for me, no need to look for more out of it than has been offered... or to change it.' Why can't you just say that and be content? What is wrong with you Earthlings? What the <i>hell</i> is wrong with you?"<br /><br /><i>'Us,' you mean</i>, a whisper rolled up the beach from the sea.<br /><br />"Granted," Moishe said aloud, turning off the communicator while he did so. Still, he reasoned, it was appropriate, and Mogo would get a kick out of it.<br /><br />"People of Earth," he began, working up his courage, "I suppose what I've been trying to say, what a lot of us colonials have thought since we left, but never really bothered with until now..." He still hadn't said it. "What a lot of people on your own planet have wanted to say for a very long time I'd imagine..." Still not saying it. He took a deep breath. "Let me begin again."<br /><br />He took another breath.<br /><br />"People of Earth, and this is to the entire planet, I want you to know..." Damn it. That was it. Now they even tied his tongue. Well, no longer. He put his mouth close to the speaker and said loudly: <br /><br />"Earth... fuck off."<br /><br />Oops. He had forgotten to turn the device back on after replying to Mogo. It didn't matter though; he had said what he'd needed to.<br /><br /><br />------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br /><br />It was dusk on the <i>Abraham</i> when Moishe watched the now released Sapientia swim out to sea. The clever thing deserved its freedom, and probably would have gotten away on its own if given the time anyhow. There was no point in keeping it; the meat on the things was supposed to be awful, and Mogo didn't seem all that keen on anyone hurting it. Still, he would have liked to ride it a little while longer. After all, Moishe wasn't sure he would be riding any Sapientiae for some time, if ever again. Once he returned to the village it would even be a while before he could take the <i>Abraham</i> very far. No more adventuring for a bit. His duties as chief, his mother, and his betrothed, whoever she would be, would see to that. He supposed he could always live vicariously through his children...Ben-Elhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09514984244150609918noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1971820708817831793.post-36824464958648697832008-11-03T19:08:00.002-06:002008-11-03T19:25:39.304-06:00My PredictionObama-273<br />McCain-265<br /><br />I believe it will be much closer than the polls indicate, but not enough to give McCain the win. The three states to watch will be PA, NH, and CO. McCain would need to take at least one of these states. Possibly two if one is NH, given that the Granite State's 4 electoral votes would only make it a tie. I don't see <span style="font-style:italic;">any</span> of those three states going McCain though.Ben-Elhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09514984244150609918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1971820708817831793.post-50264164636043050502008-10-26T22:25:00.013-05:002008-10-30T18:15:45.568-05:00Khaki Shorts: An Alternate History of the English Speaking Peoples (Part I: Mushroom Cloud)The day was dark and about as gloomy as could be expected for the season. Something nasty hung in the air. Life in the Imperial Palace had been tense the last few weeks. Agrippina had been upset about something. Not angry, really. Just nervous he supposed. What about she wouldn't say. The only hint she gave was that she had been making plans, a surprise of sorts, which would be the surprise to end all surprises. "Ah," he had said, "My darling niece," then shifting on his lame leg, he had added, "My lovely <span style="font-style:italic;">wife</span>. What you in your relatively short time upon this earth--and in this respect, at least, I feel assured I can speak with some authority--fail to understand, is that each new day brings new surprises, and no matter how great a day's surprise is, you have but to wait a time for it to be surpassed."<br /><br />"You are right, husband," she admitted, brushing back her dark brown curls, "I am yet young and not always so cautious in my estimates as I ought. I must then," she winked one emerald eye mischievously, "redouble my efforts." <br /><br />Caesar now looked mournfully toward the Tiber from his private balcony atop the Imperial Palace, which, he supposed, was technically, legally, all his private property; the whole of the empire was his if he so declared. Although he imagined Agrippina would demand that as well. To think an uncle, a husband, an emperor, had to appeal to seniority to get that woman to listen... <br /><br />Caesar frowned. The chill wind had picked up and the gathering overhead suggested rain. What a dreadful day! Why if only he could command the rain as he commanded the legions, then he could lift his sunken spirits from the depths of the Tiber. But, he decided, he must first command his own household before foolishly meddling in the affairs of Jupiter and Neptune. Caesar sighed and limped pathetically away from the balcony, shoulders slumped, silver-gray head cast downward, just as the first speckles of water, carried upon a strong gust of wind, made their way to the palace heights.<br /><br />On his way through the palace halls to the dining room (Agrippina had insisted upon dining with the entire family and a few friends she had invited for the evening) Caesar saw no one but a few palace guards and the two Praetorians that had accompanied him, albeit always at a distance for his privacy's sake. The walk was uneventful. That is until he reached the chamber adjacent the dining room. It was a large chamber with, like much of the palace, a marbled floor. In addition it had high ceilings, bronze-gilded pillars of Roman concrete, and was well-lit by torches on either side of the wall. At least it was normally well-lit. The torches seemed to have gone dead. But no matter, the darkened chamber and the shadowed corridor in which he now stood were along his regular route, and he would have no trouble making his way to the large double wooden doors that led to the dining room. In fact, he could already see a sliver of light flowing through the faintest of cracks between those heavy doors. He stepped forward boldly (although, as always, clumsily too) on his way to dinner.<br /><br />"Caesar, stop!" came the harsh whisper from behind him. <br /><br />Caesar recoiled in sheer terror, nearly tripping over his own toga, as he froze, curled in a half-standing fetal position.<br /><br />"Y-yes," he managed when he realized it had been one of his two Praetorian Guards, both of which were now at his side. <br /><br />"Princeps," one began, presumably he who had given the sudden warning. "You have to be more careful," the Praetorian was being cautious himself, concerned that he had frightened Caesar unnecessarily. "It may be nothing, but the Imperial Person should never enter an area such as this without proper lighting."<br /><br />"Come now," Caesar replied, suddenly having regained his composure. "I imagine you are suspicious as to why this chamber is not lit when surely your captain has mandated it always be so?"<br /><br />"Yes, Caesar," answered the guard.<br /><br />"Do not fret! I have a perfectly reasonable explanation for it!"<br /><br />The guard looked doubtfully at his fellow, but the other Praetorian gave no sign of noticing and stared unflinchingly into the darkness ahead.<br /><br />"You see," Caesar continued, "I have known for some time that Agrippina is up to something."<br /><br />"Caesar?" the guard asked, shocked. Even the other Praetorian looked this time.<br /><br />"Yes," he replied matter-of-factly, "she is planning some sort of surprise party for me."<br /><br />The other Praetorian had lost interest again and the first was looking rather disturbed at the notion that the rumors might very well be true; Claudius Caesar really was a doddering, absentminded old fool.<br /><br />"I imagine tonight is the night, and my beloved wife has decided--" he went on, oblivious to the lack of attentiveness in his audience and only stopping to figure out what he was going to say next, "--decided that it would be better if... i-if I was... in the 'd-dark' so to speak..."<br /><br />His reasoning was not especially convincing. Surely he knew that the lights within the dining chamber were lit? Why would the lights outside of it be out? Then again, why would an assassin leave those inside alight either, or the royal family, servants and guests fail to notice this anomaly right outside where they now prepared to dine?<br /><br />"Nevertheless..." Caesar added, a note of caution in his voice, "You should probably go ahead, just in case my dear wife has left a gift in this chamber for me. I should not like to stumble into it. Bad leg, you know. Of course you know... everyone does..."<br /><br />"Besides," he noted wryly, "if you happen to come across it you can move it aside so we won't inadvertently ruin the surprise."<br /><br />"Yes, Caesar," the Praetorian resigned himself to his duty. He would be blamed for his lack of precaution if anything went wrong. He wished his fellow Praetorian would speak up. Reluctantly, he made his way across the darkened antechamber, the emperor uncomfortably close behind him. Having unsheathed his blade as quietly as possible--hoping any potential assailant lurking in the shadows had not seen him do so--he gestured for Caesar to give him more room as he crept the few remaining meters to the double doors of the dining chamber. Fortunately the old man had taken his non-verbal advice.<br /><br />"Anything?" Claudius asked the silhouetted form of the Praetorian at the door. He turned to look at the Praetorian still behind him while waiting for an answer from the first. "Nothing behind us, I suppose?" The guard merely shrugged.<br /><br />"Well?" Claudius asked again, turning to face frontwards once more, "I can eat my dinner in peace now?" Still no answer. In fact, he did not see the Praetorian in front of him anymore.<br /><br />"Hello?" he called out. "Are you hiding from Caesar's wrath?" still no answer. "I assure you he has none. Nothing to be ashamed about, you were just trying to protect our person." Nothing but the still air and electric pinpricks crawling up his aging form. Claudius wouldn't be able to run if he needed too. Of course the guard was probably fine, and there was always the other Praetorian behind him.<br /><br />"You won't find him anywhere," the words seemed to crawl off the very walls, but Claudius instinctively turned to face the only other person he knew to be about. the other guard still stood behind him, although he was not at all alert, not concerned, as Claudius now was. He was, in fact, still, stiff, almost statuesque. Something in the air seemed to have changed as well. The atmosphere grew thicker, the room grew larger, and static buzzed and clung to the hair on his arms and to his toga. Claudius would have liked to cover himself completely from the endless cold and dark, to pull his toga over his head as Julius Caesar had done when faced with the frigid embrace. The quavering in his delicate stomach was ceaseless. If only it would all stop; if only it would all end. <br /><br />"He's gone," that voice, cold and deep as the grave, straight from Tartarus, surrounded him again. "Pity he had to be involved," it continued with a methodic languidity, "but I needed to speak with you alone." And Claudius was alone. The only company was the voice and still visage before him.<br /><br />The voice had a presence all its own. Claudius sensed it behind him, but also to his sides. Above and below, atop his head and on the soles of his feet, he felt his skin crawl with it. He desperately wanted to turn to look for the hundred hands reaching for him from all directions, shades of men everywhere, but he could not bear to take his eyes of the monstrosity in front of him.<br /><br />"Come with me," the wretch offered. No hand outstretched, no death beckoning, just an offer... or a demand?<br /><br />It did not matter. Claudius Caesar would not, could not, go willingly. Even if he could convince either his good or lame leg to uproot from their current spots, his heart was sick with the dread of this thing before him. It would give out all too soon, he feared.<br /><br />"N-no," he sputtered. "I w-will n-not. N-never. L-leave me be!"<br /><br />"I shall," the thing responded to Claudius' relief, and then added menacingly, as if speaking as the grave itself, "for now. But you shall join me one way or another."<br /><br />"Until then," the shade added. Even though he could not see it, Claudius could swear a wicked smile was spreading stiffly, to the sound of stretching leather, across the wraith's entire dried out face as it finished, "I bid you adieu."<br /><br />Literally between blinks of his eyes the shade had vanished. In a similar period of time Claudius found himself, despite his lame leg, safely within the confines of the dining room and in good company at last.<br /><br />"Are you alright, Caesar?" one of his slaves asked as he huffed and puffed.<br /><br />"F-fine," he forced himself to say, "just getting some exercise."<br /><br />He sat down at the table with his family and guests.<br /><br />Within a short time his trademark absentmindedness had caused him to nearly forget what had happened and he casually began observing and conversing. <br /><br />He looked at his wife. "You seem especially tense this evening, my dear, is it tonight that my surprise will be forthcoming?" he teased.<br /><br />"It may very well be," Agrippina replied, biting her lower lip, "but you'll have to wait and see, won't you?"<br /><br />"But it's been several weeks, and at my age I may wake up one morning and not be able to see anything at all." He hoped he hadn't sounded genuinely impatient when he said that. If he had, she didn't make an issue of it, so he quickly moved to small talk to avoid saying something genuinely stupid. <br /><br />"What have our highly-trained chefs arranged for dinner tonight?"<br /><br />"Well, husband," Agrippina smiled, "I had them prepare a special request--some of your favorites,. You'll see in a moment."<br /><br />He returned the smile, knowingly, or so he thought. This, he decided, would be a <span style="font-style:italic;">special</span> night. <br /><br />"Oh boy! Mushrooms!" his adopted son, Nero, cried upon seeing the first course. "I've always loved mushrooms. But they're your favorite, aren't they father?"<br /><br />"They certainly are," Agrippina glowed. "Why don't you pass them down Caesar's way?"<br /><br />Caesar took a generous portion of the mushrooms, made in a delicious wine sauce he guessed by the fragrance, one of those southeastern Gallic wines if he was not mistaken. The taste seemed to confirm his suspicions. "Excellent!" he proclaimed. "Good choice, my dear. Now will someone pass me some of that fish? What kind is it? It looks different, but tasty."<br /><br />"I don't remember what they call it," said Agrippina. "It is hard to pronounce anyway; one of the slaves can tell you, I'm sure. But what I <span style="font-style:italic;">can</span> tell you is that it was specially brought from that great isle you conquered, Britannia."<br /><br />"Aha! Here that boy?" Claudius looked over toward his biological son. The boy had been silent till now, he was a sheepish sort, not unlike his father. Nero had bullied him around too much, Claudius had recently decided. The two would work it out of course, but he might try to give the two a little nudge in that direction.<br /><br />"Yes, father," Britannicus answered.<br /><br />"Then surely you would like some?"<br /><br />The boy didn't say anything at first. He merely looked between Claudius, Agrippina and Nero as if he expected some assurance from the others that it would be alright. During this time Claudius popped another mushroom in his mouth.<br /><br />Finally Britannicus said, "Yes, I would like some very much."<br /><br />Claudius gestured to a slave to serve his son, and then returned his gaze to the boy to smile and wink. That is when it first hit him. A wave a nausea nearly overcame him for a brief moment and he saw, or thought he saw, a pall clouding over Britannicus. The pall quickly took form, the form of a man bald atop--the laurels of victory covering this disfigurement--with hollowed cheeks and piercing eyes. He certainly had a slyness, a crafty look, about him. He was also well-groomed--even his eyebrows showed signs of care--and he wore the imperial toga with dignity. His skin, however, was sallow and sickly green, as if pond scum had been allowed to coalesce upon it. He, in fact, looked soggy. The toga also was soaked. Not with bogwater, but apparently with the man's own blood. Blood from twenty-three stab wounds which even now dripped upon the floor.<br /><br />"Thus always..." the man said in that deep, breathless voice originating from somewhere outside his floating form. Next he gestured to his side where appeared a second man. It was Caesar, Claudius belatedly realized. Julius Caesar. And the second man, also nearly bald, was his nephew Caligula Caesar. <br /><br />"Uncle," Caligula, equally dreary looking, said. "Our dynasty shall not escape this room." The dead Caesars then surveyed the occupants of the dining chamber suggestively. <br /> <br />No sooner had that prickling began again to crawl along Claudius' arms and legs than they were gone. Without a word and between blinks of Claudius' eyes, they vanished just as the Praetorian shade before them. This was unnerving. Claudius tried to calm himself and breathe normally again, to little avail. Claudius Caesar decided then that he didn't want any more surprises. Ever. For the rest of his life no more surprises would make him happy, he figured. He had had enough for a lifetime. <br /><br />"Is everything alright dear?" Agrippina asked, snapping him back to the dinner conversation he was supposed to be having.<br /><br />"Y-yes, of course it is," Claudius stammered. "I just had a thought, but it passed away."Ben-Elhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09514984244150609918noreply@blogger.com87tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1971820708817831793.post-57122674670713336982008-10-23T23:06:00.004-05:002008-10-23T23:28:44.324-05:00A Day in the LifeA Day in the Life<br /><br />Vox Day entered the room with trepidation. He was clad in his usual: black leather shoes, black pants and suit, dark-but-stylish sunglasses, and a sword given to him by the receptionist as an accoutrement to his less than manly beverage. Storing the tiny pink piece of plastic in his pants pocket for later use, Vox moved to shake the hand of the man he was to meet.<br /><br /> “Ah, you must be Vox.” The man said eagerly. Like Vox he was well-dressed and somewhat short, but had a suspiciously full head of dark brown hair. “I can call you Vox, right?” the man added after a brief handshake. “The other name’s fine too, but I think you should start using Vox Day on your fiction as well.”<br /><br /> “I suppose I’ll have to consider that, Mr. Yu,” Vox responded generously in that my-balls-are-in-a-vice voice of his. Despite his name Mr. Yu didn’t look to be of Asian descent. <br /><br /> “Please, call me ‘Roon,’ as in ‘moon.’ Spelled R-U-I-N-E, I think. It’s what my friends around here call me. I don’t really know why. Must be French. I like it though, so it will do.”<br /><br /> “Well, alright Ruine, ‘Vox’ is fine with me.”<br /><br /> “Please take a seat,” Ruine told him, “We have a lot to do.”<br /><br /> Vox did as Ruine had suggested and pulled up a chair, then propped his arm straight up from the armrest on his elbow and resisted the urge to rest his chin upon his knuckles--eyes shimmering delicately--whilst daydreaming of soccer games.<br /><br /> “First,” Ruine began, “I <i>really</i> like the script. I’m told, however, that your contract stipulates a right to review it, <b>but not necessarily to makes any changes</b>, before production begins. I could have just had them mail it to you, although we might have a policy against that for security—secrecy—reasons; but also, I wanted to congratulate you personally for our success—your success, I mean—and to explain some of the changes we made from your… novel, is it?” <br /><br /> Vox simply nodded in the affirmative.<br /><br /> “Good. Well, here are some of the <i>improvements</i> we made…”<br /><br /> Vox raised an eyebrow.<br /><br /><br />--------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br /><br />Spacebunny had made Vox take her to the movie theatre. Ever since Vox first described his meeting with the studio exec, one Mr. Yu, over a year ago, she couldn’t help but want to see the movie. She just wanted to torture him, he figured. He thought back to that fateful day, and shivered.<br /><br /><br /><br />“<i>Eternal Warriors” Ruine had begun, “Just doesn’t work. We have been accused of a lot of ugly, ugly things here in Hollywood—most of them true—but we aren’t going to stoop to that level, I’m sorry. I know you had your heart set on this. Don’t worry though, we like ‘The War in Heaven.’ It’s sufficiently dramatic, but not quite on the level of an 80’s Hasbro toy line.</i>”<br /><br /><br /><br />He remembered vividly how he had explained to the executive that it wouldn’t work out for him. <br /><br /><br /><br />“<i>“If you want we can probably get you a part as an extra,” Ruine had suggested.<br /><br /> “That won’t be necessary.”<br /><br /> “Well, here’s the script. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.”<br /><br /> “Actually, I’ve changed my mind,” Vox had told him frankly. “I don’t want to see the script anymore. In fact, I don’t want to see the name ‘Theodore Beale’ anywhere near association with this project.”</i><br /><br /><br /><br />“It’s starting!” Spacebunny whispered with excitement as the lights dimmed and the screen lit up. <br /><br /> The words, “The War in Heaven” appeared in bold yellow-orange letters upon the screen. They were followed by the opening credits on a backdrop of a sunlit city in the clouds overlooking another beautiful (but eerie) city below. It was not unlike the lovely Rowena cover. A better start than he expected. Which was good considering that among the credits were, “Written by Vox Day,” and “With Collaboration from Vox Day” and “Based On the Original Novel by Vox Day,” also “With Special Thanks to Vox Day.”<br /><br /> “I told them I didn’t want my name on there!” Vox loudly objected. Too loudly, he realized, as several heads briefly turned to see what the commotion was.<br /><br /> “It isn’t your name, sweetie,” Spacebunny replied.<br /><br /> “I know, but the principle…”<br /><br /> “Shh…” someone whispered.<br /><br /><br />---------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br /><br /> “I like Kaym,” Mr. Ruine Yu told him. “Christopher too, although we might want to change his name… something shorter, stronger. What I do have a problem with is the Madonna Liquor guy…”<br /><br /> “Who?” It was the first time Vox had spoken up. He was having serious regrets already.<br /><br /> “The Devil. How was I supposed to pronounce it?”<br /><br /> “Nevermind. It’s not important. I’m sure the actors have it covered. But what is wrong with the character?”<br /><br /> “Well, it’s not true to say <i>I</i> have a problem with him. It’s just that there has been some concern of your portrayal of the character and how certain ‘Christian’ groups might react to… you know, the <i>positive</i> spin you put on him.”<br /><br /> Vox tried to say something, but Ruine interrupted.<br /><br /> “Now, I understand what you’re thinking. ‘I’m a Christian myself,’ you say, ‘how dare anyone question my faith because of my interpretation of the Bible?’ I know, I feel your pain. I’ve been subject to the same bigotry. That’s just the way it is, unfortunately. Not my decision. Out of my hands. Sorry.”<br /><br /> Vox groaned aloud.<br /><br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- <br /><br /> <br /> The movie seemed to be making sense for the most part. They hadn’t even changed Christopher’s name, although that was the least of Vox’s concerns. For the time being, however, Vox wondered if he had not, in fact, been dragged kicking and screaming into hell, but had died and gone to heaven instead. <br /><br /> Unfortunately heaven was being invaded. And Robin Williams was Jesus. Oh. My. Lord. Was that Keanu Reeves playing Abaddon? He hadn’t written <i>that</i> dimensionless a character, had he? But Melusine was being played by the always lovely Kate Beckinsdale, surely that made it all worthwhile? Surely that made <i>anything</i> worthwhile? Besides, at least the worst of intended deviations hadn’t been realized.<br /><br /><br />--------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br /><br />“We,” Ruine said proudly, “Have written a much more personal relationship between Kaym and Christopher—really don’t like that name—which we think adds a whole new level to the story.”<br /><br /> “Wait,” Vox interjected. “You mean Prince Lucere is too objectionable, but not… <i>that</i>?”<br /><br /> “You’ve got to know your boundaries, Vox. That movie with Heath Ledger—Batman I think it was—was a huge success, even though their relationship wasn’t quite what the flyover folks call traditional.”<br /><br /> “…”<br /><br />Don’t worry though, we’ve got some great up and coming actors to play those two, and even though we rewrote King Liquor—“<br /><br /> “Prince Lucere.”<br /><br /> “Yes, that guy. Even though we rewrote him, you can take some solace knowing that we managed to land Chris Rock for the part.”<br /><br /> “What? Really? Why?”<br /><br /> “Don’t you like Chris Rock?” Ruine asked.<br /><br /> “No… it’s just that this doesn’t seem like the best role for him.”<br /><br /> “Wait until you hear some of the lines we’ve given him.” Ruine dismissed his concerns. “Here, I’ll read some to you: ‘God, you get your holy ass down here so I can wipe the clouds wit’ you! Oh, not coming? Afraid? Or maybe you think it’s funny to keep a black man waiting, you racist mutha—holy sh**! Did you just take a crap in my general direction?’”<br /><br /> “Is this a joke?”<br /><br /> “Of course it is, Vox. Maybe my delivery is off. In any event, Chris Rock’s delivery is fantastic. It will be gold.”<br /><br /> “No, I meant... sigh.”<br /> <br /> “Here’s another line I like, ‘Kaym, what are you doin’ wit’ your apprentice? That fire’s smokeless, damnit! I can see you! I don’ wanna, but I <i>can</i> see you!’” <br /><br /> “I’m sure he’ll make a fine Prince Liquorish,” Vox said sardonically.<br /><br /> “I thought it was Prince <i>Lucere</i>?” Ruine asked.<br /><br /> Vox considered hitting either his own or Ruine’s head onto the desk repeatedly.<br /><br /><br />--------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br /><br />Vox wanted to cry out, clutching either side of his head in dismay. He decided he was going to leave the theatre, with or without Spacebunny. But cowed back into his seat by the sheer terror of what he witnessed, Vox settled for imagining the film was less horrible than it really was. Robin Williams was playing a good Jesus, Chris Rock performed admirably in his serious, tragic role as Lucifer, and Kate Beckinsdale was a naughty, naughty Melusine… Well, that last part actually was true. And it was the only thing keeping him in the theatre, albeit peeking narrowly through his fingers wrapped tightly around his face. He recalled the end of his conversation with Ruine.<br /><br /><br />------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br /><br /> Ruine’s face had fallen after hearing Vox’s objections to the film, it was the first change in his expression for the whole conversation. <br /><br /> “Are you sure you don’t want accreditation?”<br /><br /> “Yes. Absolutely. I would sooner write a book about my hermaphroditic, psychic parakeet that helps me solve ‘petty’ crimes than be attached to this project.”<br /><br /> “That’s a shame. It’s going to be a blockbuster. But if you change your mind, or when you finish that book about the psycho parrot, you know where to find me.” <br /><br /> “In hell,” Vox muttered under his breath as he got up to leave.<br /><br /><br />--------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br /><br /> The film was nearing its end. The Devil and his angels were defeated, and the present scene faded in to Robin Williams/Jesus standing over Chris Rock/Lucifer as if in judgment. The two stood silent for some time. Suddenly Jesus said, “Satan, will you rejoin me? Turn from your wicked ways?” <br /><br /> “I’m sorry, big guy, but you know what they say, once you go black you never go back…” Ol’ Nick winked. <br /><br /> Jesus returned the wink, saying, “There’s always a place for you,” and then began to tear up.<br /><br /> “Don’t cry, Jesus. I don’t need that added to the list of my sins.” At this Jesus smiled weakly. “Besides, I’ll always be with you, right here.”<br /><br /> “Ow, blood hell!” Jesus cried. “What did you do that for?” He had poked him in the eye.<br /><br /> “What? Think I was gonna go ET on you? Come on, you know better’n that.”<br /><br /> “But that hurt!”<br /><br /> “I’m evil. What did you expect? Now are you gonna take that lyin’ down, or are we gonna part with a bang?”<br /><br /> “A challenge?”<br /><br /> “Bring it.”<br /><br /> “It’s brung, you rebellious cur, you.”<br /><br /> “Is that the best you can do? Hurl some lighting bolts already.”<br /><br /> “I already did… last night. At your momma.”<br /><br /> “Now we’re talkin’.” <br /><br /> The scene cut to Christopher, lying in his bed, having just refused the offer from his sisters to join them in church. Suddenly things grew steamy. Melusine slipped into the meat and wagged her finger at him, saying, “You’ve been a bad boy, Christopher. You haven’t called, you haven’t written, it’s been simply ages. Come back into the folds, we’ve missed you,” she smiled, then pouted, swishing her forked tail absentmindedly. <br /><br /> “I’m sorry, I can’t Melusine,” Christopher replied. “I’ve put all that behind me now.”<br /><br /> “Well fine then,” she said haughtily. “Be a slave to the king.”<br /><br /> “Mel… I’m so sorry. I wish there was some other way, but there isn’t. If there’s anything I can do for you.”<br /><br /> “You can die!” her eyes had suddenly gone a fiery red, her right hand a giant blade which she now drew back in preparation to skewer him. “If I can’t have you, then no one can!” she lunged forward to deliver the fatal blow. She, however, stopped suddenly, the flame engulfing her eyes flickering and then dying out. She looked down at him, frozen, her eyes now filled instead with regret as she whispered hoarsely, “Never forget what we shared together… it was special… for the ages.” Immediately thereafter she exploded in a cloud of ash which scattered to the four winds. <br /><br /> Behind where she had been now stood Mariel, his guardian angel. <br /><br /> “Bitch,” the exquisite tiny blonde, played by Heather Graham, said triumphantly as she sheathed her flaming sword. <br /><br /> “Mariel!” he cried. “Thank the Most High!”<br /><br /> “So you have decided to be a servant of his then?” she said coldly. <br /><br /> “Y-yes, I guess so,” he answered.<br /><br /> “You guess?”<br /><br /> “I will!” he said determinately.<br /><br /> “Well then,” she rolled the words playfully on her tongue, smiling warmly, “I guess I should give you your first orders then.”<br /><br /> “Orders?”<br /><br /> “Yes, unlike your sisters you have powers, or did you forget?”<br /><br /> “You want me to fight?”<br /><br /> “Not exactly…” she fluttered her devilishly angelic eyelashes whilst twirling several strands of her golden hair around one finger.<br /><br /> Handel’s ‘Hallelujah Chorus’ played as the stunning angel straddled her charge. As the screen went dark and the credits rolled Vox delicately removed his Armani sunglasses, staring blankly. <br /><br /> “Honey?” Spacebunny asked.<br /><br /> Vox did not respond at first.<br /><br /> Spacebunny continued to look at him, worried. She wondered if he would ever recover.<br /><br /> After much thought he finally responded; he shed a single tear which rolled gently down his cheek. “From where the reel now ends,” he said simply, “I will <i>write</i> no more forever.” <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Several months later…<br /><br />The studio had sent him a free copy of the unrated DVD just to torture him. Vox considered throwing it away immediately, but instead tossed it into a pile of other junk to be sorted through later.<br /><br />Later that day, having finished what he had set out to do, he saw it lying there. He couldn’t resist. He had to know what else they had done to his precious…<br /> <br />After starting it up he clicked on the special features section that read “Deleted Scenes.” <br /><br />There was only one scene listed, labeled, “Alternative love interest.” Maybe this is where they buried the Kaym perversion. Dare he? It didn’t matter now, Spacebunny had come in and just hit ‘play.’ <br /><br />Leviathan, a CGI construction given voice by Sean Connery, arose from the lake of fire. As Chrisopher <i>mastered</i> Leviathan, Vox, over his splitting migraine, barely heard Connery’s voice saying, “You’re the <i>man</i> now, dawg!” The aging actor then added, “Get on my back, boy. I bet you never thought you’d ride a beast like me. One with three heads and—”<br /><br />Spacebunny turned off the television. <i>Disgusting</i>, she thought. “Vox, how could you write this stuff?”<br /><br />Vox found himself in the grip of a seizure as he thrashed about the floor in a convulsive fit of madness. “Sweet Cthulhu, take me!” he cried.Ben-Elhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09514984244150609918noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1971820708817831793.post-53203532313860502812008-10-09T18:35:00.002-05:002008-10-09T18:44:36.019-05:00Speaking of PrognositicationUS Dollar sat on a Wall (St.)<br />US Dollar had a great fall.<br />All the Fed's printing and all the Fed's banking<br />Couldn't stop the US Dollar from tanking.Ben-Elhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09514984244150609918noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1971820708817831793.post-37428746000626348922008-09-06T02:26:00.001-05:002008-09-06T02:26:36.073-05:00Palin On TopMy new initiative. The name says it all...Ben-Elhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09514984244150609918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1971820708817831793.post-17116264708195271902008-09-04T20:12:00.004-05:002008-09-04T20:25:52.306-05:00oopsApparently the default for commenting is to require registration. I did not know that. I attribute the lack of comments on this blog to that. Instead of *sniff* my being unpopular. Anyway... I quickly expect to have many comments. Soon I will be forced to use AdSense and gain millions of dollars in profit! Then, puny earthlings, you will bow before the might of Krypton!<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/UKDFop0aqYQ&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/UKDFop0aqYQ&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Ben-Elhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09514984244150609918noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1971820708817831793.post-73261608061761765062008-08-25T03:17:00.000-05:002008-08-25T21:38:55.475-05:00Idle HandsLet me begin by stating that I am completely pro-gun. Gun rights are not only essential for protecting all other rights, but also that they are rights alone should simply suffice as justification for their continued existence. But where reason fails…<br /><br />Anyway, <i>while</i> I am pro-gun, I recognize the great evil that guns helped bring about in Western society. (As did the industrial revolution, but that is a story for another time.) Guns do not kill people, people kill people. Of course the same could be said of Communism. No, I am not saying guns are Communist and, like Communism, have no legitimate use. What I am saying is that guns helped lead to Communism. I know, it may seem strange, but ‘bear’ with me…<br /><br />It all begins in Medieval Europe, or perhaps in China, but regardless: the meteoric rise of guns and gunpowder led to a restructuring of armies and, therefore, a reformation of European society. Feudalism, in many ways a precursor to Federalism, depended upon a fragile status quo maintained by several key factors. A lack of transportation was one of those factors. Another was the power of the nobility.<br /><br />The nobility derived their powers from arms. Nobles spent much of their lives training for war. They had the money, and therefore the equipment, to go to war. Swords were expensive to make, and learning to use one even more so. Nobles had an interest in the status quo. Not just at the micro-level, mind you, but at the macro as well. Whenever one of their brethren became too powerful they tended to band together to defeat him. And they generally succeeded. The status quo was maintained. Then…<br /><br />The gun. It changed everything. And not entirely for the better. You see, guns were relatively easy to make, and training was even easier. The accuracy of guns at the time made aiming a relatively unnecessary part of Basic. Load, point, shoot. Rinse. Repeat. Guns were less effective than bows and arrows. Bows like swords, however, required quite a bit of training, and as the population grew self-trained woodsmen became increasingly hard to find.<br /><br />So what was the problem? Other than as Huxley once pointed out, rather than improving the world we have simply developed more efficient means of killing each other? Well for one, this destroyed the role of the nobles. Some have credited gunpowder with the development of democracy in Europe. I credit it with the development of anarchy; instability, disruption, chaos. Of course that really is what democracy is. Democracy—small ‘d,’ unless at the beginning of a sentence, as in this sentence—is very unlike the constitutional republic stability-loving Northern Europeans had grown fond of. Yes, even under monarchy realms such as England were constitutional republics.<br /><br />The problem wasn’t just that the peasants had more power, but that the nobles retained every aspect of their power outside of war. They were in effect a bunch of rich people with political power and no real jobs. Sound familiar? <br /><br />There was a solution to this problem. Louis XIV decided he could keep the nobility busy by building a cult of personality around himself and throwing lavish parties for them so they would compete for his favor. Meanwhile Louis would bankrupt France paying for those parties, building palaces, and fighting expansionist foreign wars in an attempt to further his own ambitions. Oh, wait. That wasn’t a solution at all. It was a disaster that (hopefully) culminated in the bloodbath of the French Revolution. Well, I’m sure the Sun King’s policies worked better in Prussia…<br /><br />So next time you fire a gun, remember that while it is merely a tool, for good or ill, it can also have a transformative effect far beyond what one might imagine. And then, instead of throwing it away in disgust, keep training. Keep training and don’t let His Majesty buy you off with trinkets—surrendering your traditional right, and duty, to fight.Ben-Elhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09514984244150609918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1971820708817831793.post-55481126692079156142008-08-25T00:26:00.001-05:002008-08-25T00:54:10.924-05:00Tales From The Krypt: An explanationThese are stories from the past. Dredged up from the dark depths of Kryptonian history, they are a part of Krypton's greatest epics. Once thought to have met their apropos end in the dying throes of our tragically engorged red sun, I, Ben-El of Krypton, have re-discovered and translated them. Or they may be the scribblings of a Kryptonian child who was possibly also a deranged dullard from eating too many lead paint chips--good thing he wasn't a Daxamite! Whatever the case, these are the "Tales From The Krypt." Clever, I know.Ben-Elhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09514984244150609918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1971820708817831793.post-53148643686281610972008-08-25T00:20:00.000-05:002008-08-25T00:23:58.945-05:00Tales From The Krypt II: Which is Better, Version IIGuy was not a short man by any means; he was just under six feet tall. However, whenever he stood next to someone who was three or more inches taller than him he felt diminutive. Like most men he was a man of two minds. One side of him thought he was supremely excellent, a proud man worthy of the glory he sought. The other thought himself a pathetic wretch of a fool with no right to fame, power or glory. <br /> Perhaps this is why a British kid who grew up in the suburbs and had no history of outer conflict would suddenly in his mid-twenties don a black leather jacket, black jeans, black shoes and a Union Jack plastered T-shirt, forgoing all other clothing. In addition he bleached his hair blond and tried to take up smoking. He quickly abandoned the smoking after the first few cigarettes made him cough terribly, besides, he thought, cancer wouldn’t be too glorious, would it? Now, as long as he kept his little smoking mishap to himself, everyone who met him would remember him respectfully… if not fondly.<br /> Guy’s belief that he was oh-so-worthy contrasted interestingly with his hitherto failure to achieve anything of great significance. Guy was of a mind to change this, and his first stop in doing so had been in a posh Victorian home just outside of London: the home of one Thaddeus Crutchley. Mr. Crutchley, a tall gray-haired former professor of history at Oxford University with bony cheeks, was the antithesis of Guy in every conceivable way. As often as Guy wore his jacket, jeans, shoes and Union Jack tee, Professor Emeritus Crutchley wore tweed. He also wore impeccably polished brown leather shoes and small rectangular spectacles which were wont to slide down his thin crooked nose. Guy would have called him a “sodding nancy” upon first meeting him if he himself had not been one. The truth was that despite their appearances Guy was the coward and Thaddeus was only what could be described as mercenary; a ruthless cutthroat. The two had nevertheless become close, almost like father and son, although neither would admit it to save the world. This was, ironically, what they were trying to do. <br /> “I believe you are ready and have been for some time,” Thaddeus had told Guy several months ago in the drawing room of his Victorian home. <br /> Guy set down his near-empty wine glass which he had been twirling carelessly whilst sitting with one leg swung casually over the right arm of the firm burgundy chair in which he sat. “Ready for what?” he asked. <br /> “When I first swore you into the organization,” Thaddeus ignored his question, “what were the reasons you gave for joining?”<br /> “For the children; gum drops, sugar plums an’ all that,” Guy said with mach enthusiasm.<br /> Crutchley ignored him again. “If memory serves you had two ‘principles’ upon which you based your anti-authoritarian stance: first, that being controlled is anathema to you, and second, that you are a truth-seeker as much as a glory-seeker and thus are tremendously frustrated by conspiracies.”<br /> Guy sat upright, “Well, yeah,” he protested.<br /> “I want you to infiltrate the Illuminati,” Thaddeus said abruptly. <br /> “You what?” <br /> “You shall begin tomorrow.”<br /> “Riiight,” said Guy, standing up. “I’ll just waltz over to Parliament and say ‘Mr. Prime Minister, sir, I’d like to join you and your conspiratorial backers in a game of poker, nineish?’ and then we’ll have a right merry time discussing politics over tea and crumpets.” <br /> Thaddeus continued to ignore him, saying, “According to my informants, a high-ranking member of the Illuminati is currently stationed at theBen-Elhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09514984244150609918noreply@blogger.com0