...and now through the miracle of the Internet you can feel queasy too!
(and no this is not me you smartasses! This guy has a full head of hair!)
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Friday, March 11, 2011
(Insane News) There is no ninja day care!
Police: Dad Leaves Child, 4, Alone While Playing 'Ninja'
SCOTTDALE, Pa. -- Police say a western Pennsylvania man left his sleeping 4-year-old son home alone while he went outside and was pretending to be a ninja warrior.
Online court records show 28-year-old Ross Hurst, of Scottdale, has applied for a public defender but has yet to be appointed one.
The Daily Courier of Connellsville says a police affidavit shows Hurst was charged March 3 after police found him outside about 1:30 a.m. dressed all in black and "playing ninja" on a borough street....
Sorry folks no new Friday Flash story this week...
Sorry, not feeling well.
A new story next week I promise.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
5 Second Fiction One Thousand Nine Hundred and Twenty Nine
The bosses were so pleased with Professor Jameson's work on the anti-gravity machine that they gave her a raise.
5 Second Fiction One Thousand Nine Hundred and Twenty Eight
Psychotic Kid tried not to fret over the quality of his martial arts skills, he didn't want to be thought of as a ninja worrier.
5 Second Fiction One Thousand Nine Hundred and Twenty Seven
“Each victim was killed by a booby-trapped skirt,” the Maven observed, “and soon someone else is going to take the Murder Wrap.”
5 Second Fiction One Thousand Nine Hundred and Twenty Six
He spent years learning to be a contortionist so he could perform oral sex on himself only to have it all blow up in his face.
5 Second Fiction One Thousand Nine Hundred and Twenty Five
Many new students at Clown College have a hard time with the SillyBus.
5 Second Fiction One Thousand Nine Hundred and Twenty Four
Deggent's ex-wife claimed he made love like he ate jelly doughnuts, in a clumsy rush that left him frustrated and sticky fingered.
5 Second Fiction One Thousand Nine Hundred and Twenty Three
Trying to repo a time machine brings a new meaning to the term 'Past Due'.
5 Second Fiction One Thousand Nine Hundred and Twenty Two
They later learned that detouring the apple delivery truck onto the bumpy road was just crusin' for a brusin'.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
There's a page about me at TVTROPES.ORG?
Al Bruno III's series of allegedly-autobiographical stories about the Tabletop Games group he endured throughout his college years. Al himself, known as Ab3 on RPG.Net, is led to the group by his friend Weasley Crusher and rapidly finds himself forced into the role of the Only Sane Man of the group. Arguments, dysfunction, and Total Party Kills abound as they systematically ruin every game they can find, from Dungeons & Dragons to Call Of Cthulhu to Rifts.
The title of the series comes from the philosophy of the Killer Game Master Psycho Dave: "Every D&D game has many binders but each D&D game must have a Binder of Shame and a Binder of Glory. The player characters that die heroic deaths are saved forever in the page protectors of the Binder of Glory. The characters that suffer, humiliating, soul-crushing deaths go into the Binder of Shame. It's a sign of quality GMing to have a Binder of Shame three times the size of your Binder of Glory."...
This is very flattering stuff, and I'm amazed that my little rpg stories still find so much love out there.
My readers rock.
The Patron's Page has been updated! Are you on it? Do you wanna be?
Then click the link over there and make a donation!
All the cool kids are doing it!
CHAD'S ORACLES chapter five
IN THIS TWILIGHT
Chad’s Oracles
Chapter Five
By AL BRUNO III
The next four days passed like a nightmare. There was no sign of Samantha, no sign of her at school, no sign of her at home. Parents and authorities had been called and Thelma found herself questioned. She kept quiet about Chad and his Oracles. Who would believe her anyway?
Each afternoon she and Peanut would sit at their usual table in the cafeteria, wondering where Samantha had gotten to. She had run away before but that had always been a three day weekend kind of thing, this felt different. Peanut’s thoughts were full of lurid worries, full of violent images cribbed from slasher films and the TV news.
On two separate occasions Thelma had gone for a bicycle ride after school and found herself pausing at the house on the corner of North Wales Drive and Kissimmee Avenue. The first time the house had been quiet, the second time she had been able to hear music- and a thick, phlegmy voice singing along with the radio. She wondered what she would have done if someone had walked out the front door to confront her, if Chad had called her name. She tried to dare herself to make her way up the driveway, either to spy or knock on the door but she didn’t have the nerve.
Wednesday came and Thelma got up for school an hour early and bicycled in. She waited by the front entrance, reassuring herself that Samantha would be there, brimming with scandalous stories.
Do I slap her or hug her? Thelma wondered.
The homeroom warning bell came and went but there was no sign of Samantha. Thelma made her way through her classes trying to stay hopeful but in the cafeteria it was just her and Peanut again.
The school day ended and Thelma biked home hoping to find a message waiting for her on the answering machine.
Nothing. She got ready for work slowly; Burger Clown was the furthest thing from her mind. She toyed with the idea of calling in but decided against it. The drive in to work was something both she and her father looked forward to, it was a chance for them to catch up with each other. Dad would tell her about life at the office, what went wrong and what went right. She would tell him about school and work, about her worries and her hopes. Today however the ride was too brief and the conversation stilted. Her Dad hadn’t been feeling well lately, he was chewing antacids like they were candies and going to bed early. Thelma kept trying to talk about that last call from Samantha but she didn’t know how to start. Talking frankly about her friend would inevitably lead to questions about Chad. What would her Dad do if he found out his sweet, tomboy daughter had been at some older boy’s house all alone in the middle of the night?
Would he chuckle understandingly and talk about the mischief he’d gotten into in his navy days or would he be outraged?
What was it Samantha used to say? Sometimes it’s better if your parents don’t know anything, I mean they already suspect everything.
Her shift at Burger Clown went by uneventfully, the customers were well behaved, there were more than enough people working and the manager kept to the office with his paperwork and his ‘special’ thermos. With each rush of customers Thelma kept expecting to see Samantha come in.
When eight o’clock rolled around Thelma had made peace with the realization she’d been had. She was sure that Chad and his girls were probably having a good laugh at her expense. When the manager boozily asked for someone to empty the garbage cans and run the trash out to the dumpster Thelma volunteered.
By the time she reached the dumpster with the four bags of trash Thelma had decided to tell her father the whole bizarre story. It would be his call where things would go from there.
There was a door set into the dumpster at waist level but Thelma never opened it; the local rat population thought that it was an all you can eat buffet in there and she didn’t much like the idea of being eye to eye with one.
I’ve got enough rats in my life these days. She thought as she tossed the garbage bags up and over the side of the dumpster. The sky was cloudless and illuminated by a low hanging crescent moon, it was so bright that even the stars paled before it. Vega was reduced to an insignificant pinprick of light.
A crash of breaking glass startled her from her thoughts. A shape shifted inside the abandoned gas station, blundering out the front door.
“Oh no…” Thelma watched the shape take three unsteady steps and collapse. Thelma ran across the parking lot.
Samantha was lying on her back in the doorway of the decrepit building. Her one hand was over the right half of her face; the other was tapping restlessly on the concrete. Thelma slid to her knees beside her friend, when she tried to speak nothing came out.
“I knew I’d see you,” Samantha said dreamily, blood ran through her fingers. “I saw through everything and knew we’d be here.”
“What did they do to you?” Thelma turned back to the Burger Clown, her voice a scream, “Help! Somebody help!”
(Recommended Review) THE HORROR DIGEST goes out on a limb for SANTA SANGRE
I've been getting writer's block more and more frequently. Every time this happens I search for a way to get my creative juices flowing and always end up at Santa Sangre. By all accounts, Santa Sangre should be the key to unlocking a mind that is stuck in boring limbo--but for some reason it only makes my mind cloudier. I get lost for those 2 hours in a world of surreal circus life, elephant funerals, mambo music and Oedipus complexes. My creativity flies out the window every time the tattooed lady thrusts her gigantic tattooed boobs at me. Is it possible that Santa Sangre is less of a muse and more of a distraction? A good distraction anyway. After all, I'd much rather be stuck in the divinely surreal world of Alejandro Jodorowsky than be forced to return to normalcy. If you don't see me for a couple days, consider me lost to Santa Sangre...
(Recommended Review) DEADLY DOLL'S HOUSE OF HORROR gets its freak on with THE SENTINEL
For anybody that ever wanted to see Beverly D’Angelo’s breasts, there is Hair. For anybody that has ever wanted to see Beverly D’Angelo’s breasts PLUS her dressed like a trashier version of A Chorus Line’s Cassie’s masturbating furiously, there is The Sentinel.
Quick Plot: Successful but emotionally cuckoo fashion model Alison moves into a furnished apartment in Brooklyn in order to assert some form of independence from her boyfriend, played with a terrible mustache by the nevertheless dashing Chris Sarandon. There she meets a gaggle of oddball neighbors, including Doll’s House favorites Sylvia Miles (as D’Angelo’s leotard-wearing lover) and Burgess “I Was In 85% of Every Movie Made Between 1975 and 1985” Meredith (as a quirky old coot with a loyal pet bird and indigestion-suffering cat)...
Also I know this is a vidcap from the film but it is also your average Tuesday at my house...
(Recommended Read) 'The Placenta Of The Christ' by Ray Garton
At the end of chapel one morning, Tom Spinner, the vice principal, rushed to the pulpit. He alwaysrushed to the pulpit, as if to get there before the powers that be changed their minds about letting him speak. He was a man of medium height with auburn hair that looked like it had been cut in the dark. It was parted on the right and flopped down on his forehead boyishly. He had a long mustache that extended beyond the corners of his mouth. When he spoke, it was in an artificially deep voice. I don’t know how Mr. Spinner really talked, but whenever he talked to students or spoke from the pulpit, it was in that fake deep voice that trembled slightly as he struggled to maintain it. It always sounded like he was trying to do an impression of Mr. Sulu on Star Trek. On that misty November morning, he went to the pulpit and leaned close to the microphone, as always – his artificial deep voice was not very loud – and said, “I have noticed that when you are dismissed from the chapel, you all leave at once and get bottlenecked at the doors. This is a problem. I have come up with a way to remedy that...”
Monday, March 7, 2011
Is this a portrait of my inner child?
Will you be my mum? Spider monkey rejected by its mother clings to teddy (Article from THE DAILY MAIL)
This baby spider monkey clings on to the back of a stuffed version of herself, looking for familiar love and warmth, having been abandoned by her real mother when she was born.
Keepers at Melbourne Zoo in south-eastern Australia are working around the clock to look after tiny Estela, who was born on January 17.
Without maternal love and guidance, she has not had the opportunity to develop normally and carers, who fear for Estela's life, are even taking turns to sleep next to the fragile two-month-old so that she can be nursed back to strength after been traumatised...
Paper Hearts And A Red Haired Tart part twelve
Price Breaks and Heartaches
A journal of retail and failed romance
Chapter Five
Paper Hearts And A Red Haired Tart
part twelve
My Monday classes were a breeze; history, English, philosophy and then applied dramatics. Algebra and Business Writing were on Tuesday and I was terrible at those; I think it was because they might have had an impact on my finical standing in the future. I went from school to home; then I changed my clothes and headed out to work.
People were starting to notice the Paper Shredder store and business was picking up. The grand opening was scheduled for the first Friday of November; it would be a semi-lavish affair with free balloons, sales, prizes and visits from any Albany politicians that might be available and were not currently under Federal investigation.
A rare thing then and now.
Sunday had sped by, I barely remembered it, the whole day was just a thought free blur. My sister still wasn’t home, she and the man she had run off with were playing house and talking about marriage. My mother and stepfather were trying to lure her back home using a strange cocktail of forgiveness, guilt and outright physical threats.
In my opinion she was awfully young and immature to be even thinking of marriage but I’m sure if the thoughts of a nineteen year old man that didn’t know how to use a washing machine were really what she needed to hear.
The far row of the Paper Shredder’s parking lot was set aside for employees to use. When I got there I found Tallulah waiting for me. I parked my car a respectable distance from hers and approached cautiously. I asked, “Shouldn’t you be working?”
“I’m on break,” she replied. “How have you been?”
“It was a quiet week for me. Friday was definitely the high point.” I smiled.
She smiled back, “Me too.”
For all the wit and weirdness I might display in my writings I always feel uncomfortable when trying to say something serious or important. Still I tried . I began, “You know I’m sorry I lost my head a little that night,” I said. “I should have respected your personal space.”
“It was just unexpected,” her voice was almost a whisper, “but it wasn’t awful.”
I was stunned, “You sound like one of my rejection slips.”
She took a step forward, “Are you busy this weekend?”
“Not really I just…”
That was when Tallulah kissed me, stealing away the breath that held my next words and the next few ones as well. When it was over we were holding each other, oblivious to the brisk fall cold air and the demands of the Paper Shredder’s time clock.
Naturally I had to ruin it by asking, “What brought this on? What about what’s his name?”
“Let’s just take this one day at a time OK?” she said and then we kissed again.
*
Once again I had a girlfriend but I was in competition with another male. What was I? A ‘Not-Quiet Alpha Male’? A distraction or an amusement? All I knew was that I was determined to give Tallulah’s roadie boyfriend a run for his money.
And I swore to do it without playing games or by assuming new levels of intimacy could be bartered away with baubles and dates.
You see, I now knew that love wasn’t something that could be coaxed and wheedled from a woman. It could only happen if she saw into your heart and decided you were the man that could be her strength and her solace, her confidant and companion.
I was going to be the man and the lover I knew I could be. I was going to prove myself to all the people that mocked and derided me.
And by God I was going to get a hand job by Christmas.
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